LITMIR.BIZ

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at the clothes. Maybe a loose-fitting dress would work.

      A blue-and-white print caught her eye and she pulled it out. The fabric fell in tiers from a standing collar to an A-line skirt. She checked the tag. A size eight by Proenza Schouler. She’d never heard of the designer. A size eight over her size sixteen curves. She cringed. Better than a size two, but still.

      Chucking her dirty clothes, she pulled the silk dress over her head. The fabric caressed her arms, hugged her breasts and skimmed her hips. She hummed her pleasure. Feeling a bit like Sleeping Beauty approaching the Evil Queen’s enchanted mirror, she tiptoed over to a full-length mirror. She stared at the floor, stomach knotted painfully. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her gaze. Her eyes widened and she forgot to breathe.

      The dress bared her shoulders and the hem stopped at mid-thigh.

      She looked…she looked…different. She bit her lip. Her shorts and tank top had revealed just as much skin, but the dress accentuated the things she liked about her body. The shoes did amazing things for her legs.

      Gathering up her clothes, she tugged a simple linen bag off a shelf and stuffed them inside. With a final wistful glance, she closed the closet doors. Spying an attached bathroom, she detoured to wash up, only to draw up short inside. The bathroom was lined with mirrors. There was even a mirror in the shower stall. She had zero desire to see that much of her self naked, so a thorough scrub in the sink would have to suffice.

      She left Celia’s bedroom freshly groomed and feeling light-years away from the girl who’d set out from her town house that morning. Feminine contentment curled through her. She was determined to enjoy every minute of this singular experience. She’d never be able to afford these kinds of clothes on her salary. Not unless she spent an entire paycheck on one outfit. Then she’d be homeless, and what would be the point of beautiful clothes when she had to cuddle up to a smelly old man in an alleyway for warmth?

      Ally winced anew at the destruction when she passed through the living room. Greg worked at the sleek granite counter in the kitchen. He turned when she entered the room, her shoes clicking across the tiled floor. His eyes widened, his jaw went slack and irrational pleasure flooded her.

      His mouth snapped shut and he cleared his throat. Twice. “I see you found something to wear.”

      A slow smile grew, but she remained silent.

      He returned to his work on the counter.

      She crossed the kitchen to stand beside him. He was making sandwiches of dense bread piled high with turkey, lettuce, tomato, avocado, mushrooms and some sort of sauce. Her mouth watered. The food smelled amazing.

      “Hungry?” His voice was husky.

      “Starving.”

      For once, she wasn’t self-conscious. Maybe the trauma of having a gun held to her head was to blame, or the amazing clothes. Then again, she hadn’t eaten since her grapefruit, egg-white omelet and yogurt breakfast eight hours ago. Her stomach rumbled.

      Greg handed her the laden plates and she carried them into the dining room. She set them down and glanced over her shoulder, catching him staring at her rear end. She could get used to that. Maybe. Okay, so give her five minutes and she’d start worrying about her butt again.

      He scooted her chair in as she sat. Ally swallowed. She hadn’t been on a date in so long his behavior felt foreign. Not that they were on a date. She stared at her plate. “Is there really some guy out there who wants me dead?”

      “’Fraid so.”

      Her ears rang and her pulse pounded like a whole section of drummers partying in her head. “Why?”

      “That’s the million-dollar question.” His eyes narrowed, the hard-boiled cop banishing Surfer Dude. “Run into any suspicious-looking characters lately? Cross any homicidal maniacs? Borrow money from a loan shark?”

      “Funny.”

      “You seriously have no idea what’s going on?” He leaned forward, crowding into her space, none of the attraction from two minutes ago in his hard eyes.

      Like she was hiding a violent criminal past. Sheesh. He was the policeman. Wasn’t it his job to know these things?

      “Yes, I seriously have no idea what’s going on.” She resisted adding, you big jerk. He was trying to help her. “I’m a claims processor for an independent health-insurance company. Trust me, I lead a very ordinary, very boring life. No homicidal maniacs and no loan sharks. Do I look stupid to you?” She rolled her eyes, muttering, “Never mind.”

      “You aren’t, Ally. That’s not what I meant.” He rolled a crumb between his fingers, contemplating her. “A claims processor. Huh.”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?” She leaned back and crossed her arms.

      “Nothing.” He grinned. “Testy, aren’t you? And not hungry, apparently.”

      Ally looked down at her untouched plate of food. She should eat something. Her stomach twisted. She shrugged and rose. They cleared the table and stuck the dishes inside the dishwasher.

      “Let’s head out, Sugar Lips.”

      “Where are we going?”

      Greg winked. “It’s a surprise.”

      She made a quick trip to Celia’s room and grabbed a soft sweater. Greg met her in the foyer with a cheerful grin, a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

      How he could be so carefree was beyond her. Glass and broken china crunched beneath his feet in his trashed living room and he had a naïve, frightened woman to protect—namely her. He clearly had issues. Serious, thrill-seeking issues.

      They stepped into the elevator and his spicy cologne snaked around her, making her eyes cross and thighs tremble. She slid a little farther away. She didn’t need this stupid attraction. Especially now. Figuring out what was going on took priority. Not to mention getting away from Mr. Super-Cop before she did something stupid, like fling herself at him. Queasy self-consciousness crept in and she tugged at the too-short hemline of the slinky dress.

      The doors opened onto the garage, but Greg held her back. She leaned on the brass paneling of the elevator and stared at the ceiling panel while Greg did his thing. Deep breathing slowed her racing pulse. Fear and attraction were a toxic combination.

      Hopefully, there weren’t any hit men, mobsters or otherwise criminally inclined individuals lying in wait to kill her. How many times could a girl be threatened in one day? She’d surely surpassed her lifetime limit.

      Greg hauled her out of the elevator. The He-Man tactics didn’t exactly warm her heart. She stumbled along behind, desperately trying to keep up and maintain her balance. Years of flats and sandals hadn’t happened by accident.

      He held the passenger door open, scanning the garage. She climbed in and buckled her seat belt, trying to swallow around the lump of fear in her throat. Greg slammed the door shut. On the driver’s side, he dropped down beneath the window then climbed in without a word.

      “Well?”

      “Well, what?” He buckled up and started the car.

      For the love of… “Do you always crawl around on the ground before leaving?”

      “Just making sure nobody attached a little surprise to the bottom of my car. Considering how badly this guy seems to want you out of the picture…” He shrugged.

      The dull throb in her head exploded into life with vicious enthusiasm.

      The engine rumbled as he pulled out of the garage. He glanced at her, a little frown between his brows. “We’re fine, Ally. We just have to be careful. I’m sure my name has come up with these guys by now. Whatever you know, or they think you know, they’ll figure you’ve told me. Which means keeping either one of us around isn’t safe.”

      She moaned, leaning her head against the seat. Her life had become

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