First You Kiss 100 Men.... Carolyn Greene
time that if she’d been in her sister’s shoes, she would have been devastated.
‘‘Charlene married Nathan Kleinschmidt. They just had their first baby, a girl, last month.’’
Becoming an aunt had been a momentous event for Julie. Not only did her tiny niece give her someone to dote on, but little Evie had also stirred a long-held desire for a child of her own. Seeing the baby watch her mother’s face with an expression of pure love had triggered a need in Julie, a longstanding need that she’d only recently recognized. A need to be cherished.
Each time one of her former classmates had married, Julie had sat at the wedding, watching with envy the expressions of pure adoration the grooms had bestowed on their brides. Julie wanted to be looked at like that. She wanted to be the center of someone’s universe. And the birth of her niece had opened a flood of feelings that had been growing for a long time.
‘‘Please give them both my congratulations,’’ Hunter said.
He studied her for a long moment, and Julie felt like she was nine years old again.
‘‘As it happens, I am temporarily short on staff and could use you to fill in for about a month. I can’t promise anything permanent, but it should keep you going until something else comes along.’’
Then he named a salary that was higher than her pay—even with tips—had been at Merry Messengers.
Working at a private investigation agency wouldn’t give her much opportunity to meet new people, unless, of course, they happened to be lurking in a bush near hers. But it would keep food on the table, and maybe she could introduce herself to some of the people in the nearby offices.
‘‘Deal,’’ she said, holding out her hand to seal their arrangement. Julie did an admirable job of pretending not to notice the strength in his large hand, or the way his long fingers wrapped around her own. ‘‘You won’t regret this.’’
‘‘No offense,’’ he countered, ‘‘but something tells me I will.’’
If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought she was all set to attend a funeral…except no mourner would dare show up at such a solemn event looking as sexy as that.
The snug black turtleneck shirt would have shown off her trim figure, if not for the tailored, black leather jacket, which was zipped at the bottom. Then there was the skirt—also black and made of a touchable fabric—that slit enticingly over her left thigh. Sheer black hose and a pair of backless shoes finished off the ensemble. The only spot of color on her was the bright red lipstick that called attention to her wide smile.
Hunter fought to quell his physical response to the sight of her. Trying to focus on more professional matters, he led her to Trudy’s desk. ‘‘This is your station. Active client files are in the bottom-right credenza drawer, the procedure manual is in the top right and stationery and supplies are on the left.’’
She looked perplexed. ‘‘This area is so open. How am I supposed to get any work done without some privacy?’’
Now it was Hunter’s turn to be puzzled. ‘‘This is the most effective arrangement. Since you’re my right-hand staff, I’ll need you to be accessible at all times.’’
Julie shrugged and tossed her black purse into the knee well under the desk. ‘‘I suppose it’ll do. I’ll be on the road most of the time, anyway, so it’s not like I’ll be shackled to it.’’
Hunter flexed his hand. If he were at his own desk, he’d be working the grip exerciser that he kept in the bottom drawer. It was a great stress reliever, and he had a feeling he’d be using it a lot during the next month. ‘‘On the road?’’
She tilted her head, and a lock of soft brown hair fell forward over her shoulder. ‘‘Guess I’ll have to study up on the lingo. Maybe you call it being ‘in the field.’’’ When he failed to respond in the affirmative, she tried again. ‘‘‘Research,’ perhaps? Or ‘on stakeout’?’’
A groan escaped his throat. He hadn’t spelled out that her duties involved only secretarial work, so she had filled in the blanks with a glamorized image of what she assumed her job would be. ‘‘Sorry, Julie Beth, but there will be no stakeouts for you.’’ Remembering some of her childhood antics, he gave a little laugh. ‘‘Besides, I doubt that someone who used to be known as a Mexican jumping bean would be able to sit still during the long boring hours on stakeout.’’
‘‘I’m not a child anymore.’’ She crossed her arms at her waist, inadvertently drawing his attention to her flat stomach and the gentle curve of her hips. ‘‘I’ve grown up, in case you haven’t noticed.’’
A man would have to be blind, deaf and paralyzed not to notice. Hunter took a moment to indulge in the awareness of those changes. For one thing, her voice had deepened from a childish soprano to a sultry alto. The youthful roundness had vanished from her freckled face, leaving delicately defined features that seemed at once expressive and mysterious. The changes in her body had been the most noticeable, but now that he considered her, he could see that even her attitude was different. She was still exuberant like the little girl who used to shadow his steps, but there seemed to be an underlying focus to her actions, as if she had somehow managed to harness her boundless energy and use it for a predetermined purpose. Such a potent combination could be either dynamic or disastrous.
She sat on the edge of her desk, the slit in her skirt parting in invitation, and kicked off her shoes in an ages-old habit that she had apparently been unable to conquer. To his annoyance, Hunter’s thoughts led him to imagining her shedding other items of clothing. He flexed his hand again and chastised himself for his wayward thoughts. Julie was, after all, to be his secretary for the next month. It wouldn’t do to start their time together by harboring after-hours thoughts.
Her gaze left his as she smiled at someone behind him. Hunter turned to see that one of his investigators, Ben Irving, had slowed his steps and seemed to be considering joining them. But a glare from Hunter helped him change his mind, and Ben continued on his way toward the file room, glancing over his shoulder at Julie. If Hunter’s reaction was any indication, this was going to be a long, stress-filled month.
‘‘I think I’d make a good P.I.,’’ Julie persisted. ‘‘Just give me a chance, and you’ll see.’’
A chance to do what? Wreck the cases he’d worked so hard to bring to fruition? Although Mark, one of his investigators, was honeymooning with Trudy, Hunter had no intention of turning Julie loose on Mark’s cases. Those he would handle himself. ‘‘That’s a very tempting suggestion,’’ he lied, ‘‘but your duties will be primarily secretarial. My assistant is out on a month-long honeymoon, and I’ll need you to keep things going smoothly until she returns.’’
Why did that last statement give him a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach?
‘‘But I’m not cut out to be a secretary. I can handle detail work if it’s for something I like doing, but typing and filing for someone else leaves me cold. I’m much more suited to surveillance work, and I’m good at it, too.’’ Julie pointed a manicured finger at him. ‘‘I used to spy on you and Charlene all the time, and you never caught on.’’
Hunter couldn’t help laughing. ‘‘I knew you were there. Your favorite hiding places were behind the sofa or the drapes. And sometimes you lurked inside the TV cabinet.’’
‘‘You knew?’’ She seemed truly amazed, as if he were some kind of genius for having detected her whereabouts.
‘‘Of course. You always took off your shoes, and your stinky feet gave you away.’’
Julie slid off the desk and slipped her shoes back on. ‘‘My feet didn’t stink!’’
To her chagrin, his only response was an amused chuckle, and then he launched into describing her job duties. Secretarial duties.
She interrupted his litany about filing procedures and telephone protocol.