Epiphany Read online

  With her laden tray, she moved to the dining room and prepared the table. Though she got the distinct impression that her bodyguard wasn’t the fruit-and-yogurt type, he was a guest in her home and she didn’t do the whole bacon-and-eggs breakfast. She imagined that a couple of days of health-smart food would be good for his cholesterol level if not his attitude.

  He’d knocked on her bedroom door half an hour ago and let her know that the house was clear and it was safe for her to emerge from her room.

  She rolled her eyes. As if she’d needed him to tell her that. Her security system had already told her that all doors and windows remained secure. Heat burned in her cheeks when she thought of last night’s fiasco. What did it say about her when her security people were startled to see a strange car in her driveway?

  Pushing the subject away, she considered that Detective Murphy had seemed surprised to see her fully dressed when she opened the door. Did he believe she slept the best part of the morning away?

  On the contrary. She’d completed her morning yoga workout, showered and prepared for work. As she’d gotten dressed she’d made a couple of necessary calls. Last night she’d had time to consider the ramifications of having a detective loitering in her shop for the next four days. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the added security, but if his manner of dress carried through, he would stick out like a flawed stone in a mound of perfect diamonds.

  Rebecca prided herself on being kind to people. She had no desire to mention her feelings regarding his wardrobe. The rest of her security wore black suits, shirts and ties. The look was elegant but understated.

  So, she’d made a decision. The only way Detective Murphy would fit in was if he appeared as part of the holiday enhancement, which led her to a perfect conclusion. Detective Murphy would be Santa. In addition, she wouldn’t have to worry about being distracted by him if he was disguised in such a manner. She sighed; truth was, the decision had more to do with the latter than the former. How was it that he could tap into her curiosity so easily? She didn’t have an answer for that. Having him dressed as Santa would be for the best all the way around. Besides, her shop was one of the few upscale gift and jewelers in town that encouraged family shopping to include the children.

  She returned to the kitchen for the coffee server and cups. On second thought, she added cream and sugar to the tray. Though she preferred her coffee strong and black, she had no idea how the good detective liked his.

  Just as she reentered the dining room he appeared wearing similarly faded jeans and the same sports jacket as yesterday. The shirt was blue this time. Looked attractive with his eyes. But there was, as she’d suspected, no tie and no true polish to his appearance. And yet he looked incredibly sexy…in a rugged sort of way. Her mouth parched and she couldn’t ignore the sudden increase in her pulse rate.

  That simply wouldn’t do.

  “Morning,” he said gruffly as if he needed coffee to cut through the haze sleep had left behind.

  “Good morning, Detective.” She indicated the place to her right. “We only have about thirty minutes before we have to go, so we should get started eating breakfast.”

  He glanced at the table then back at her. His expression had lapsed into something akin to a grimace. “Thanks.” He waited for her to take her seat before he settled into his.

  She placed a blueberry in her mouth and chewed slowly, her attention distracted by the detective’s hesitant moves. He picked up his toast and looked around the table.

  “Would you like butter or fruit spread?” she asked, assuming he didn’t like his toast dry.

  “This is fine.” He bit into the toast with a loud crunch, then licked the crumbs from his lips. He’d scarcely chewed before he downed half his coffee.

  With a mental wince, she considered that his table manners were almost as rustic as his appearance, which should not come off as even remotely appealing. And it wasn’t, was it?

  Rebecca silently scolded herself for being unkind. Since she had no brothers, she really had no experience with men in their natural state. Though she’d dated a number of gentlemen, she assumed that the behavior she’d been exposed to so far was courtship influenced. Men were likely on their best behavior when out on a date. She imagined they saved the burping and chest scratching for when they were at home alone.

  Since she and the detective were not together for the purpose of companionship, perhaps he preferred to simply be himself. Perhaps she was overreacting. Or attempting to pass off lust for disgust…

  Don’t be fooled by his rustic charm, she chastised herself. Men like him are not reliable on an emotional level. She knew first hand.

  He finished off the toast and fruit before she’d taken her second bite, poured himself a second cup of coffee, but left the yogurt untouched.

  “Yogurt is good for your heart,” she said more to herself than to him as she lifted a spoonful to her mouth.

  Those blue eyes claimed hers. She licked her lips, presumably to ensure no yogurt lingered there, but actually she just couldn’t help herself.

  “Sex is good for the heart, as well, but I don’t imagine I’ll be having that for breakfast, either.”

  Rebecca felt her face redden with the heat of embarrassment. She dabbed her lips with her napkin and cleared her throat. Apparently polite conversation was out of the question.

  She took one last sip of her coffee and stood. No point lingering. She gathered her dishes and carried them to the kitchen, chastising herself the entire way for even attempting to be civil. This was precisely why she didn’t date men like him.

  The kind who made your blood simmer in your veins but didn’t care in the least what you thought or how you felt about things…things besides sex.

  She tensed when he came up behind her and that irritated her all the more. This was ridiculous. Reacting to him like this was completely inappropriate as well as foolish.

  He set his dishes on the granite countertop. “Okay. I apologize for my crude remark.” He exhaled loudly. “It was uncalled for. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  Rebecca finished placing her dishes in the dishwasher before she bothered to respond. To avoid eye contact, she turned and reached for his glass and plate. “Apology accepted, Detective.”

  When she’d closed the dishwasher door he spoke again. “This kind of situation can cause undue tension.” He shrugged one of those broad shoulders. “I was just trying to lighten the moment.”

  There was no way to avoid looking at him. She’d wiped the counter near the sink. Had rinsed and dried her hands. Any further evasion would be ill-mannered.

  She tacked a smile into place and garnered as much good cheer as she could muster. “That’s perfectly all right, Detective, I’m certain you consider the subject proper dining conversation. We simply see things differently, that’s all. No harm done.” She swiped her palms together in a concluding gesture. Good. At least she sounded unimpressed.

  He blinked, looked a little stunned or confused, but, mercifully, the doorbell chimed before he could rally a response.

  “Excuse me, Detective.”

  Rebecca didn’t fancy herself a speed walker, but she would wager that she established a new record getting to the front door. And still, Detective Murphy beat her there.

  “I’ll need to clear any visitors,” he said firmly before peering through the viewfinder to ascertain the identity of the caller.

  Flustered but determined not to show it, she crossed her arms and waited while he performed his duty. A part of her realized that he was right, but she despised being bossed around. Maybe she’d been the boss too long.

  In that case, she was wrong to feel this way and should not give him any grief for her own shortcomings. She did, however, note that he had fine buttocks to go along with those broad shoulders. Interesting, she mused, she didn’t usually notice male backsides.

  “You expecting a delivery?” Detective Murphy reared back from the door and eyed her speculatively if not s
uspiciously.

  She cleared her throat. Prayed he hadn’t somehow picked up on her last thought. “Yes.” There was no reason to elaborate, he would know the rest soon enough.

  “Step away from the door.”

  Rebecca glanced heavenward and did as he demanded.

  He opened the door and checked to see that no one accompanied the delivery man and then asked for official ID. The man in the familiar brown uniform complied good-naturedly. Then Detective Murphy stepped back and gestured to the delivery man. “He’s all yours,” he said facetiously.

  Rebecca ignored him and signed for the package before wishing the patient deliveryman a merry Christmas but refrained from saying more. He’d scarcely trotted down the steps before Detective Murphy snatched the box out of her hands and shut the door.

  Renewed irritation bubbled up inside her but she held it back. She would not make a scene. Any further delays and she would be late getting to the shop. Not once in her life had she been late, she wasn’t about to start today.

  “What the hell is this?”

  Detective Murphy had opened the box and stared at the red suit it contained.

  “I meant to tell you about that at breakfast, Detective,” she said smartly, “but you had other things on your mind.”

  TREY HAD WORKED too many undercover operations to list. He had gotten his man, or woman as the case might have been, every single time. And not once, not even for a second, had he been forced to humiliate himself as he had been this morning.

  He sat near the refreshment counter, a line of kids waiting for the opportunity to sit in his lap.

  “Well, Linda,” he heard a customer say to the woman doling out spiced cider and cookies, “you’ve added something new this year, I see.”

  Feeling the guy’s stare, Trey would shoot himself before he’d look in that direction. It wasn’t likely that anyone would recognize him in the Santa getup, big fluffy beard and all, but he wasn’t about to take the risk.

  He was no wet-behind-the-ears rookie and he didn’t appreciate being treated like one.

  “Oh, Santa wasn’t my idea,” Linda said. “Miss Rebecca came up with that one. She recognized a need and filled it without question. She’s simply remarkable.”

  Trey heard the smile in the older woman’s voice, didn’t have to look to know her cheeks would be as pink as her lavishly beaded dress. Ms. Linda evidently got her jollies flirting with the male clients.

  But the overfriendly lady was correct. Rebecca Saxon was remarkable all right, Trey thought grumpily. She’d done this on purpose, to make him miserable. What the hell was wrong with her? Didn’t she know he was here to help?

  His gaze narrowed as he studied her pretty face across the distance between them. Be that as it may, beneath that delectable exterior beat the heart of an ice queen. He’d already figured that one out. Hell, he’d been around enough women to know when one was cold. Not once in his adult life had he experienced the first inkling of trouble in the women department. Truth was, he had a reputation for laying on the charm and getting the desired results. But this one—he glared at Rebecca Saxon—appeared immune to him period.

  In fact, he appeared to be the one scrambling for mental purchase in the situation. Case in point, she’d worn another of those fancy suits today, this one emerald-green, and to say she looked amazing would be a world-class understatement. He hadn’t noticed until last night but she had shoes to match every outfit it seemed. The matching green high-heels put her almost at eye level with him. Standing at the front door when that delivery man had arrived, it was all he could do not to lean into that challenging gaze and taste those deliciously red lips.

  It was crazy. She didn’t even like him. Why the hell was he so intrigued by her? And there was no denying his interest. Last night as he’d touched her lingerie he’d gotten a little aroused. Lying in bed afterward, just thinking about her had made him hard. Needless to say, he’d gotten about zilch sleep last night.

  Far too little to be on his toes today.

  And he had no one to blame but himself.

  He was an idiot.

  One screwup on the job and everything went to hell.

  “I don’t think you’re listening to me, Santa.”

  Trey jerked back to the here and now. He blinked, stared down at the kid in his lap. “Sorry, young fella,” he said in his most jolly tone, “Santa just got a little message from the North Pole.” Trey tapped his temple and winked. “But it’s all right now. Why don’t you start over?”

  The little boy looked up, his face confused. “I didn’t know Santa was telepathic.”

  What the hell did he say to that? What kind of five-year-old knew how to say telepathic much less what it meant? Of course, this child, like the adults that shopped at Saxon’s, was rather well-dressed. Looked a little like a Harvard professor. All he needed was those little round eyeglasses.

  Trey leaned close to the little boy and whispered, “I have a special communicator in my hat, but don’t tell anyone.”

  The little boy’s eyebrows pulled together for a moment of intense consideration. Trey could almost see the wheels turning in his head.

  “I don’t believe you,” the child said abruptly. He hopped off Trey’s lap. “I think you’re an impostor.”

  Before Trey could grab the kid he’d turned and shouted his conclusion to the rest of the children in line, most of which either started to cry or wail for their mommies.

  “Now hold on, children,” Trey said, barely able to get the words out with his jaw attempting to clench with frustration. “You surely don’t want to upset Santa.”

  But he was too late. Indignant mothers were already ushering their children away from the line.

  “Excuse me, Santa, may I have a word with you?”

  Trey looked up to find Rebecca Saxon glaring down at him.

  Great. Just freaking great.

  She executed an aboutface that would have made any military general proud and strode toward the back of the store. Trey followed without argument.

  When she’d reached what was apparently her office, she closed the door behind him.

  “Look, that kid with the bow tie started it,” he said in self-defense.

  Trey now knew with absolute certainty what seething looked like. He’d seen upset plenty of times, but this lady was too sophisticated to get angry. Nope, she seethed. Rebecca Saxon, looking like a million bucks in her emerald suit that was probably silk, glared at him, her arms folded sternly over her breasts. D-cup breasts. He’d read one of the labels in the bathroom last night, but he hadn’t really needed that confirmation. She had all the right curves. Too bad her inside didn’t get as hot and fiery as the outside, at least not for the same reasons anyway.

  “Do you realize that in a single morning you’ve managed to accomplish what no one in my family has done in four generations?”

  He lifted one eyebrow and eyed her skeptically. “Made a spoiled kid cry?”

  “That, too,” she snapped.

  He dragged off the Santa hat and pulled down the beard. “Look, I didn’t mean—”

  “Detective Murphy,” she cut in, “in all those years of operation no one who worked at this shop ever, ever sent a customer out those doors dissatisfied. In a matter of hours you have ended a record that took decades to build.”

  Okay, maybe she was angry. Trey took a deep breath and said what he knew she wanted to hear, “I’m sorry. I was ill prepared for the job.”

  For several more tense seconds she stared hard at him, but somewhere along the last second or two, her lips quirked. Just the tiniest bit, but he saw the movement, saw the smile that challenged her determination to stay furious.

  She lifted her chin a little higher, probably in an attempt to stifle the smile fighting to escape. “You are correct, Detective. I should have better prepared you for the task. So, I won’t hold this one against you.” She raised a hand to stop him when he would have thrown in his two cents’ worth. “But I will not have you ups
etting my customers in any way. Is that understood?”

  Tension vibrating through him to the point he could hardly stand still, he forked his fingers through his mussed hair and somehow worked up a humble tone. The last thing he needed was her complaining to the chief. “I understand, Miss Saxon.”

  He tugged the hat back on his head and pulled the beard into place on his chin.

  She started to move toward the door but stopped abruptly and turned back to him. “Just so you know,” she said as if she’d given the subject some regard and suddenly decided to share with him, “the little boy who called you an impostor is a student at a school for the gifted, so he had an advantage over you if that makes you feel any better.”