U.S. Male Read Free Page B

eat-him-with-a-spoon sexy.
    She squared her shoulders and held out her hand. “Joss Chastain.”
     
    B AX WASN ’ T sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t her. She looked like nothing so much as a gypsy in her long flowered skirt and cropped T-shirt, her dark hair sweeping loose and wild down her back. It had red highlights, he noticed, then frowned at himself.
    “Simon Fleming sent me over.” Her hand was softer than he’d expected, and stronger. When she tugged it away from him, he realized he’d been holding it for far too long.
    “I know. He called me. Come on back to my office.”
    He led the way down the winding hallway with its crown molding and subdued lighting.
    “Pretty fancy digs for a private eye,” she commented.
    “I’m not a private eye. I’m a security consultant.”
    “Which means?”
    “I check out security setups and do some investigative work—legal, industrial espionage, that sort of thing. My kind of clients expect to see this kind of office.”
    “Are you saying that I’m not your kind of client?”
    Prickly, he thought. Nerves, maybe. Sometimes people got that way before they had to spill their story. Or maybe she was just feisty. She had that look. “I usually deal with corporate personnel. They’re more comfortable with this sort of look.”
    “But you’re not a cop?”
    He opened his office door. “No. Strictly private sector.”
    “Exactly. Private eye.” She walked past him, leaving a whisper of scent in her wake that had every one of his hormones sitting up and panting.
    Now he was the one feeling prickly. Bax crossed to his desk. Taking his time, he studied her. She had the kind of bone structure that you saw in old Italian paintings, the mysterious arch above the eyes, the haunting hollows in the cheeks. Something in the set of her shoulders told him that she was very used to having her way. Her mouth was wide, the upper lip just a bit more full than the lower. When he’d first seen her, it had given her the look of a mistreated child, but now it made him think of stolen kisses in the darkness. He wondered suddenly what she looked like when she laughed.
    “Let me know when you’re finished,” she told him, shifting to get more comfortable in his client chair, draping an elbow over the back. The trouble was, she didn’t look like any client he’d ever had before and she was playing hell with his concentration.
    Bax leaned his elbows on the desk and tried to ignore the taut belly exposed by her T-shirt. “So why are you so dead set on getting a private detective?”
    “I need someone who’s good at finding things. Are you?”
    “When I decide to be. What do you need to find?”
    She studied him in her turn. Finally, she nodded to herself, apparently deciding he passed muster. “A stamp.”
    “I’ve got a whole roll of them here in my drawer.”
    “Cute. This particular stamp is worth a bundle. It was stolen from my grandfather and I want to get it back.”
    “Why isn’t he the one here?”
    “He’s on an extended vacation with my grandmother. My sister and I have been taking care of his business and the theft happened on our watch.” She pushed the tumbleof dark hair back over her shoulder. “I want to get the stamp back before he comes home.”
    Just for a second, that anxious kid expression came back. The urge to wipe it away flickered through him. “Do you know who stole it or where it is?”
    “I have an idea. A colleague of my grandfather’s, Stewart Oakes, was approached by a Swedish collector who wanted my grandfather’s prize pair, the Blue Mauritius and the one-penny red-orange Mauritius.”
    “I’ve heard of the Blue Mauritius,” Bax said slowly. One of the most valuable stamps in the world, as he recalled. “It’s extremely rare, isn’t it?”
    “And worth a bundle. About three million for the two of them together.”
    Bax whistled. “I can see why you want them back.”
    “It. We got back the Blue Mauritius. It’s only the