Don't Mess With Texas by Christie Craig

unsupported girls swayed against the thin cotton.
    His attention lowered for a fraction of a second to her unintentional bounce. “I’m not opposed to bartering.”
    Her breath caught. Okay, she’d misread the hero image. “I don’t do
that
, either.”
    “Don’t do…?” His eyes crinkled at the corners with suppressed laughter. He let go of a light chuckle. “I’m honored your mind took you there.”
    “My mind didn’t take me anywhere. You did.”
    His grin didn’t waver. “I don’t see how, because I was talking about your paintings.”

 
    I T HAD BEEN a while since Dallas had seen a woman blush. While he’d never thought of it as sexy, he was having second thoughts. Maybe even a few thirds. He found her… refreshing. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. Perhaps because her emotions were so readable… or maybe it was her frankness, her unpretentiousness. Though, after you upchucked on someone, he supposed it was hard to be pretentious.
    “My paintings?” Her big blue eyes seemed bluer when she blushed.
    “You’re an artist, right?”
    She nodded.
    Sensing he’d made her uncomfortable, he pulled back his smile.
    She tugged at the sheet around her waist. “How did you know I was an artist?”
    “I excel at my job.” He hesitated. “I had one of my partners Google you.”
    She half-grinned. “Of course.” She stared at her hands and, when she glanced back up, he spotted a determinedglint in her expression. Then she squared her shoulders and her chin inched up.
    She was planning to tell him no. And here he thought he’d spotted some intelligence in those baby blues. What a shame.
    “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I… I don’t think I need a PI. It’s like you said, the waiter is going to confirm my story. When the detective talks to the waiter—”
    “That’s exactly why I think you need me.”
    “What?”
    “I didn’t mention this to the detective, but the waiter was more than eager to tell me that you told him you were planning to kill your ex.”
    “But—”
    “No, let me continue.” He moved closer. He couldn’t force her to accept his help, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t tell her the facts. And no matter how refreshing she came off, he wouldn’t sugarcoat it. “First, because nine times out of ten a person is murdered by someone they know, the cops always suspect the victim’s spouse or ex. And statistics prove them right. Oh, and in this case, the victim’s ex is…” He pointed at her. “You.”
    “Yes, but—”
    “Let me finish.” He stepped closer, and lost his train of thought when the hospital gown slipped down her shoulder, exposing what he knew would be very soft, feminine skin. So okay, in addition to refreshing, he found her sexy as hell but it meant nothing and he pushed those thoughts aside. “Then the cops always look hard at the last person who is known to have seen the victim alive.” He looked directly at her. “And, that would be… you.”
    She started to speak again and he held up his hand.“Another thing the police look at is where the body is found. Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t it found in the trunk of
your
car?”
    “I didn’t kill him.” She tugged her gown up. The concern in her voice sent an ounce of relief to his gut. “And you found his keys. That will explain how he got in there.”
    “That’s going to help. However, innocent people are seldom caught driving around with a dead body in their trunks.”
    Those big angel eyes blinked. “Do you get a kick out of scaring people?” she asked, showing a little spunk behind her softer appearance.
    “I do if the person is too stupid to realize she needs to be scared.”
    Her mouth dropped open. “Did you just call me stupid?”
    “Depends. Did you change your mind about accepting my help?”
    “Are you always so arrogant?” she came back, her spunk level up another notch.
    “It comes and goes. But it mostly happens when I know I’m right.”
    She didn’t