Charade by Barri Bryan Page A

revealing?” He noted the way the abbreviated skirt hugged her hips before it flared around her very shapely bare legs. She had on black patent leather pumps with three-inch stiletto heels.
    Why should what she had on bother him so much? Damn it, he didn't know why, but it did. He turned his back on her and hurried toward his pickup.
    As Lynn overtook and passed him, she said with a toss of her head, “You said look sexy."
    Trace seemed rooted to the spot where he stood. He watched the way her body moved with a mixture of desire and disgust pumping through his veins. It was apparent, even from a distance that she had on very little under that damn dress.
    Lynn got into the pickup and slammed the door hard before sticking her head out the window to ask, “Are you coming?"
    Her words galvanized Trace to action. Climbing into the driver's seat he put the key in the ignition and gave it a vicious twist. “When did I say ‘look sexy'?” He pulled the pickup into reverse and stepped on the gas. “I don't remember saying anything of the kind.” He was lying. He remembered all too well. Why hadn't he kept his mouth shut?
    The little truck shot like a gun from its parking place. Lynn grasped the dash with one hand. “You did, last Monday night just before you left my apartment.” She fastened her seat belt. “Do you think Ralph will be properly impressed?"
    Trace revved the motor before driving toward the busy street. “Oh, he's going to be impressed all right.” Every man in the Grange Hall was going to be impressed. The problem was that those impressions would be far removed from proper, and for some reason that bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
    Trace stopped his truck and looked both ways before pulling into the steady stream of traffic. “There is more than one kind of sexy.” He wanted to get his point across as tactfully as possible. “There's sleazy sexy and there's stylish sexy.” He looked briefly in her direction. “If you'd like to go back and change, we have time."
    He had expected maybe an argument. What he hadn't expected was an insult. Lynn turned in the seat to face him. “You uncouth son-of-a-bitch; you can take me back period. I'm not going anywhere with you."
    Trace's anger flared. This woman was disrespecting both him and his mother. But in the length of time it took him to wheel into a parking lot and hit his brakes he realized that he couldn't let this golden opportunity to rescue his dad slip away because he was angry. “Suit yourself.” He shrugged one shoulder, and struggled to appear cool and collected. “But if you don't go with me tonight, I don't go with you tomorrow night."
    After a spate of condemning silence, Lynn agreed, but grudgingly. “Okay, I'll go with you. But it will be as I am. I'm not changing clothes.” She folded her arms across her breasts and turned to stare out the windshield. “That was a rotten thing to say."
    He had hurt her and that hadn't been his intent; at least he didn't think it had been his intent. Why had he reacted so strongly to Lynn's wearing such revealing apparel? “It was, wasn't it?” He'd been crass and insensitive. Trace found himself doing something he seldom did, apologizing. “I'm sorry."
    Lynn batted her eyes. “You should be. If I cry my mascara will run."
    Trace had to smile. He found her honesty refreshing. “Then don't cry.” She might look sexy but she obviously didn't know the first thing about being sexy. He'd like to teach her some of the fundamentals of being a woman. With her spirit and fire, she would no doubt be an apt pupil. He decided, not knowing quite how he had arrived at the conclusion, that Joel Evans was either a jerk or a fool. Maybe he was both. Trace started his pickup. “Let's go over our plan again.” He pulled back into the line of traffic.
    "I don't need to go over that stupid plan again.” Lynn continued to stare out the windshield. “I know it by heart already. Let's just get this thing