Guilt and relief flickered in Rick’s face. “Yeah. There is.”
Damn, damn, damn. She’d geared up the courage to go after a man and he turned out to be taken. “I see. Now I’m sorry.”
“You had no way to know.” He bent to pick up the doll she’d knocked over.
So that explained his mixed signals. She’d been too lust-crazed to pick up the clues. She was mortified.
The doll’s leg thumped to the floor. She bent and picked it up, fighting to shift gears. “Look at the mess we made.”
“Yeah.” He grabbed the puddled teddy that had started it all and yanked it over the naked doll’s head.
Samantha busied herself fixing the lounging doll she’d practically tripped over, but in her nervousness, she turned the head so hard it came off in her hands.
Rick crouched beside her. “Allow me.” He took the head from her and gently twisted it back onto its bolt. Then he caught her gaze and covered her hand at the same time. “It’s okay, Samantha. And, trust me, if I were available, nothing would have stopped me.”
Lord, did he feel sorry for her? That was absolutely unacceptable. “That’s how it goes.” She shrugged like it was no big deal. “The problem is that I’ve been so busy with Bedroom Eyes that I haven’t had a chance to get out and…” Get laid? She couldn’t say that.
“Splash around, make big, messy waves?” he supplied, obviously trying to lighten the moment.
“Exactly.” She had to get away from those eyes of his, so she rose to slide panties onto the mannequin. Rick braced the doll that was shaking under her nervous fingers.
“Now that I have an assistant, of course, I’ll have much more time, so I can get out and get…busy.” Get busy? Even worse. The panties snagged and she jerked them up, making the mannequin rock back and forth. Rick steadied it.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“The same thing that’s wrong with me.” He gave her a wry smile, which made her feel better, even if he was exaggerating in sympathy.
“Anyway, looks like we’re about done.” She grabbed up the pale boa and draped it around the doll’s shoulder. She wanted to be finished, to get out of the window and away from Rick. “There. All done.” She jumped down and Rick joined her. “Thanks for the extra help. I’m sorry I can’t pay overtime, but—”
“It’s fine. I’m glad to do it. When do you want me, Samantha?”
“Huh?” Every minute of every hour. She couldn’t help it, standing so close to him, her lips still hot from his kiss. “Nine,” she managed to say. “We open at nine.”
“See you then. And thanks for the job.”
She couldn’t even remind him they were trying it for a week because she could hardly let him go now. He might think it was because he’d rejected her. “Sure, no problem,” she said.
No problem? Who was she kidding? She’d attacked an employee in the lingerie window. Holy horny Hannah, she would never stop cringing.
5
RICK GOT TO HIS DESK at the station before six the next morning to key in his notes for the update with his lieutenant. He’d scribbled down as much as he could remember about the various shop owners, the layout of the building, what he’d picked up about Darien Sylvestri from his wife and Samantha, especially the details of Lester Tabor’s loaned services. He hadn’t learned anything significant about the case from the Joey Balistero shoot, except that scumbag mobsters needed love, too.
Insomnia had left him foggy. Going undercover was always an adjustment, but Sawyer had seriously thrown off his rhythm.
That kiss had shocked him. But he’d gotten into it fast, yanking her tight against him and kissing her deeply, his heart banging so hard against his ribs he’d feared he’d bust one out right there.
Hell, he’d wanted to throw her down among those plaster dolls and find out exactly what she had on under her clothes. One of those open bras and skimpy panties they’d been fiddling with for torturous hours maybe? Or maybe sweet cotton panties with flowers on ’em?
He’d been weak. And way too human.
There’s someone else. Yeah, right. So lame. He should have cooked up some excuse, but he’d figured that since he had the job, the whole dinner-dessert idea was out for good.
But that story about how her lame-ass boyfriend had hurt her had gotten to him and then she’d kissed him and he didn’t need Mona’s massage to make him forget his name and where he was.
He liked how she forced herself to be bold—joking about the vibrator that clearly embarrassed her to death. He liked the sweetness she seemed to see as a weakness. She smelled good, too. Like talcum powder and flowers and apple pie and…home.