Sinclair Justice (Texas Rangers #2)(9)
The top button of her silk blouse had come undone, exposing the slight edge of a lace bra, and he couldn’t help it; he fixated on it. She was shaped exactly as he liked, curvaceous instead of the model thinness so the rage in Hollywood.
She looked down. Even in the dim firelight he saw her blush as she quickly buttoned the blouse closed. Well, at least she didn’t use her sex appeal like the dangerous weapon so many beautiful women wielded. In fact, she’d tried to downplay her assets, no doubt because of the nature of her job. The fact that she was so sexy and appealing while trying not to be perplexed him, and, strangely, drew him more.
He rose. “I should have realized who you were. The way you were dressed, the East Coast plates. You knew me before you came here, didn’t you?”
“I only had to look at your name on the ticket. I knew your name, but you didn’t know mine. Shall we start over again?” She rose to face him and offered her hand. “Mercy Magdalena Rothschild. But please, call me Emm. As in Auntie Emm, except my nickname is because of the double Ms in my name.”
Reluctantly, he shook her hand. Immediately he released it because he’d felt that unwelcome warmth travel up his arm again, to his gut and below. Great. Just wonderful. He already had enough distractions just now, with the missing girls task force that was proving to be an interjurisdictional challenge and police departments nationwide were sending him new cases. Just today, the press was about to blow their cover. To say nothing of his entire family due to arrive momentarily for the annual gathering he’d barely had time to start planning. And now this.
When he didn’t speak, staring over her head moodily, she lifted her chin and said briskly, “Look, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot, but I came here with the best of intentions. Preserving old buildings is my calling, just as the law is obviously yours. We’re both well-educated professionals. Can’t we agree to disagree and not make snap judgments until we have all the facts?”
“I have all the facts, including a soil report and structural analysis—”
“I read them. They weren’t conclusive. With so many advances in structural materials, it’s quite possible a reasonable renovation could not only meet those tolerances, it could exceed them. I have to see the buildings themselves. Is it possible we could make an appointment for tomorrow?”
“In a hurry to get back to civilization?”
He wanted to call the words back the moment he’d said them, but it was too late.
Those cornflower eyes wilted to grayish blue as they went opaque. She pulled her jacket tighter about her shoulders and turned toward the door. “You have my cell number on the card. I’ll check into a hotel and wait for your call, but I cleared my schedule for a number of weeks, so I’ll be here until you have time to show me the buildings.” She marched toward the front door, where she turned to face him again. “I’m sorry for bothering you so late.”
Now he felt guilty. He followed in her wake, feeling both churlish and uneasy, two emotions so unusual for him, he could hardly give them names. He couldn’t quite say he was sorry, so he did the next best thing. “I can follow you back to town. It’s late and the turns can get confusing—”
“I have a good GPS, thank you.” At the door, she turned and offered her hand again.
This time when he reluctantly reached for it, her fingertips barely brushed his. She apparently didn’t want to touch him any more than he wanted to touch her. After the way he’d acted, he could scarcely blame her. He wasn’t clear on the consequences of a negative report from her, but he knew it would be one more hassle he wasn’t capable of handling right now, especially with the family bearing down on him, wanting to know why the development they’d insisted on funding couldn’t proceed.
As she reached for the huge front door lever, he said, “Look, I have a full schedule tomorrow, but I usually break for lunch. There’s a nice little café called Julienne’s half a block from our buildings. I’ll meet you there at noon sharp and give you a tour, if we can make it quick. Good enough?”
She gave a brisk nod. “I’ll be there. Thanks for the brandy. I hope you enjoy the cigars.”
He wanted to tell her no, he couldn’t, he was trying to quit, so she might as well have handed him a box of apples. He knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation, at least occasionally, but then everything about her was walking temptation, and the fact that she didn’t know it only accented her allure. But before he could say another word, the door had closed behind her. Firmly. Not quite a slam, but it was a heavy door.
Grinding his teeth and wondering why this strong attraction to someone totally inappropriate had to hit him at the worst time possible, he stirred down the fire and went up to bed. It was a while before his chaotic thoughts calmed sufficiently for him to get drowsy enough for sleep. The last thought on his mind was Emm. He said her name aloud, his lips stretching in a smile more wolfish than he realized.
No one had ever been named better, and he had to wonder if the nickname came from an old boyfriend. She didn’t resemble Auntie Em, or even Dorothy. Her name, when he drew out the taste of it on his lips, was “mmmmm.”
Back in town, after a two-hour circuitous route because her Maryland-based brand-new navigation system had trouble with Texas ranch roads, Emm finally opened her hotel room door. She’d chosen an historic boutique hotel downtown, not for convenience but because she’d much rather stay in an old building with character and questionable modern amenities than the steel monolith a few blocks away that no doubt had huge marble baths and steam showers.