dynamite from shooting off prematurely.”
Instantly understanding the double entendre, he couldn’t contain a low laugh. He enjoyed this woman’s quick, naughty wit.
She blushed. So, maybe she hadn’t intended to sound so damned provocative. Either way, she was absolutely beguiling.
Who she was, and how she knew his cousin Mick, were things he’d have to find out soon. He hoped like hell she wasn’t his playboy cousin’s latest conquest, because he didn’t know that even family loyalty would keep him from stealing her away.
Jared had always filled the role of big brother to Mick. They were different, in looks and personality. But there’d been a bond between them from childhood. They’d been more like brothers than cousins, particularly since they’d each had only sisters.
Jared had covered Mick’s back more than once when his cousin had gotten himself into trouble with his smart-ass attitude. Hell, he still had a half moon-shaped scar on his left hand from saving Mick’s hide back in high school. That particular time, one of the girls his cousin had jilted had thrown a high-heeled shoe at Mick’s head. Jared had intercepted and its heel had left the scar.
When they were kids, he’d never taken advantage of being a year older to pick on his cousin, abandon him in the woods, cheat to win at Atari, or steal his Matchbox cars.
Gwen, however, was no Matchbox car. If she was Mick’s date…. No . She couldn’t be. Mick liked giggly, bouncy cheerleader types with big smiles and bigger hair. Not a seductress who could devastate with a flash of wit. Gwen wasn’t Mick’s type. Besides, even if she were, he knew his cousin well enough to know he wouldn’t let this woman roam around without him in a sexy white nightie.
Not Mick’s date . No way.
Judging by the absence of a ring on her left hand—along with no tan line to indicate she usually wore one there—he figured she was technically single. Damn good thing. Because he sensed their weekend was going to be downright combustible.
“All right,” he said, finally responding to her offer to help. “You can do something. You can start by telling me if the man in this photo could be here at the inn.” When she started to shake her head, he frowned. “Remember, he could be in disguise. For instance, the man with the foreign accent, the one you checked in today. Does he look like this guy?”
She nibbled at her fingertip, scrunching her brow in concentration. Jared liked watching her play along as if she truly believed she might help catch a criminal. In reality, if he’d stepped in here claiming to be a superspy, she’d probably be reaching for the phone to call for the men in the white coats.
“The man who checked in today was a little thinner.” Her eyes widened. “But, you know, if he were wearing a toupee, and glasses, and some kind of body girdle, it could be him.”
Body girdle. He nearly snorted. From Gwen’s description of the man, he’d first thought it was Mick’s father, Uncle Frankie, who was using a fake accent. Uncle Frankie did a fair impression of the Godfather. Particularly after he’d downed a few beers—or whenever Sophie, Mick’s sister, had brought a boyfriend around as a teenager.
But the day that man would wear a body girdle was the day Jared would willingly sit through an ice-dancing competition. Never . So, either Uncle Frankie was not the foreign-sounding gentleman. Or else Aunt Marnie had finally nagged him into giving up those all-you-can-eat fried chicken specials.
“All right, so it’s possible he’s here,” Jared said, trying to remain serious and in character as he pictured his Uncle Frankie eating yogurt, or anything steamed.
“What do we do? Should we call someone?”
“I am someone. Remember?”
She frowned. “But you’re alone.”
“I have you,” he reminded her, smiling in a way that probably hinted at just how much he’d like to have her.
“I suppose…but are you sure you don’t
Instantly understanding the double entendre, he couldn’t contain a low laugh. He enjoyed this woman’s quick, naughty wit.
She blushed. So, maybe she hadn’t intended to sound so damned provocative. Either way, she was absolutely beguiling.
Who she was, and how she knew his cousin Mick, were things he’d have to find out soon. He hoped like hell she wasn’t his playboy cousin’s latest conquest, because he didn’t know that even family loyalty would keep him from stealing her away.
Jared had always filled the role of big brother to Mick. They were different, in looks and personality. But there’d been a bond between them from childhood. They’d been more like brothers than cousins, particularly since they’d each had only sisters.
Jared had covered Mick’s back more than once when his cousin had gotten himself into trouble with his smart-ass attitude. Hell, he still had a half moon-shaped scar on his left hand from saving Mick’s hide back in high school. That particular time, one of the girls his cousin had jilted had thrown a high-heeled shoe at Mick’s head. Jared had intercepted and its heel had left the scar.
When they were kids, he’d never taken advantage of being a year older to pick on his cousin, abandon him in the woods, cheat to win at Atari, or steal his Matchbox cars.
Gwen, however, was no Matchbox car. If she was Mick’s date…. No . She couldn’t be. Mick liked giggly, bouncy cheerleader types with big smiles and bigger hair. Not a seductress who could devastate with a flash of wit. Gwen wasn’t Mick’s type. Besides, even if she were, he knew his cousin well enough to know he wouldn’t let this woman roam around without him in a sexy white nightie.
Not Mick’s date . No way.
Judging by the absence of a ring on her left hand—along with no tan line to indicate she usually wore one there—he figured she was technically single. Damn good thing. Because he sensed their weekend was going to be downright combustible.
“All right,” he said, finally responding to her offer to help. “You can do something. You can start by telling me if the man in this photo could be here at the inn.” When she started to shake her head, he frowned. “Remember, he could be in disguise. For instance, the man with the foreign accent, the one you checked in today. Does he look like this guy?”
She nibbled at her fingertip, scrunching her brow in concentration. Jared liked watching her play along as if she truly believed she might help catch a criminal. In reality, if he’d stepped in here claiming to be a superspy, she’d probably be reaching for the phone to call for the men in the white coats.
“The man who checked in today was a little thinner.” Her eyes widened. “But, you know, if he were wearing a toupee, and glasses, and some kind of body girdle, it could be him.”
Body girdle. He nearly snorted. From Gwen’s description of the man, he’d first thought it was Mick’s father, Uncle Frankie, who was using a fake accent. Uncle Frankie did a fair impression of the Godfather. Particularly after he’d downed a few beers—or whenever Sophie, Mick’s sister, had brought a boyfriend around as a teenager.
But the day that man would wear a body girdle was the day Jared would willingly sit through an ice-dancing competition. Never . So, either Uncle Frankie was not the foreign-sounding gentleman. Or else Aunt Marnie had finally nagged him into giving up those all-you-can-eat fried chicken specials.
“All right, so it’s possible he’s here,” Jared said, trying to remain serious and in character as he pictured his Uncle Frankie eating yogurt, or anything steamed.
“What do we do? Should we call someone?”
“I am someone. Remember?”
She frowned. “But you’re alone.”
“I have you,” he reminded her, smiling in a way that probably hinted at just how much he’d like to have her.
“I suppose…but are you sure you don’t
Similar Books
