Lost and Found Read online

  “So they do frequent your store?” Duncan asked, not quite managing to hide his grin. He’d smiled more in the past three minutes than he had in weeks. What was it about this woman that made him completely lose his concentration?

  “Okay, they come in here, but you make it sound like they’re performing tricks in the self-help section,” Jessie said with a fierce look. Usually she wouldn’t argue with someone she barely knew. Especially someone as wildly attractive as this detective, but for some reason, it was important to her that this man know she ran a respectable business.

  “Jess,” Jamie said, laughing at her sister’s naiveté. “I think magicians perform tricks. Prostitutes turn tricks.”

  “Whatever. Don’t you have someplace to be?” Jessie asked impatiently, gazing meaningfully at her sister. Jessie knew she was being rude, but ever since they were infants, Jamie had reveled in aggravating her older sister. She just loved watching Jessie squirm. “My point is that this isn’t some kind of prostitute clubhouse,” she said to Duncan.

  “But they do come in here regularly? Prostitutes and some street kids? You know some of them?” Duncan asked, attempting to put the proper gravity into the question when he’d really prefer to forget about his reason for coming here. He would much rather concentrate on getting to know this woman better.

  “I suppose so, but we’ve only been open for a short time. I don’t know them all by name or anything. Two months isn’t really long enough to establish any kind of relationship, is it?” Jessie asked earnestly. “With a customer, I mean.” She looked up and her dark eyes locked with Duncan’s startling blue ones. Suddenly, Jessie wished Jamie would leave, and not just because the younger Martin girl was so determined to stir up trouble. Jessica was surprised to note that she desperately wanted to be alone with Detective Reinhold and explore this heat that seemed to be boiling over between them.

  As if reading her mind, Jamie moved away from where she’d been glued to Duncan’s side. From the sparks between her sister and the cop, she was pretty sure old Guido was going to be out of luck. “I’ve gotta go, you two. It was nice meeting you Detective. If you’re bored some night, come see me at the Kitty-Kat lounge.” With a flip of her auburn mane and a wink at her sister, Jamie was gone, leaving Jessie and Duncan alone.

  Chapter 2

  Jessica fought the impulse to call Jamie back. Now that she was alone with the detective, she felt extremely awkward. Jamie drove her crazy, but at least she kept things interesting. Jessica, when forced to interact with strange men, usually ended up saying something incredibly inappropriate or laughing either constantly or at the most inappropriate times. That was exactly why she’d hired her Assistant Manager, Clay. He was extremely adept at interacting with everyone, especially attractive men.

  She moved some books off the dark green chair opposite the one Jamie had been sitting on, and sat down on the edge. She waved a hand toward the other chair and Duncan sat down across from her. Now they were sitting squarely face-to-face with their knees just inches apart. She couldn’t remember his last question and didn’t want to look stupid by asking him to repeat himself. His long legs nearly brushed hers as she tried to think of something clever to say. All she could come up with was, “Do you read, Detective?”

  “Duncan. My name is Duncan,” he said. The words were out before he realized it. For some reason, he didn’t want her to think of him as a nameless, faceless cop. Duncan gave himself a mental shake. Why the hell would I tell her that? She doesn’t need to know my first name. What is wrong with me?

  “I read mysteries and historical biographies mostly, Miss Martin,” Duncan said, determined to get back on track. “But I didn’t come here to get a book.” He pulled a photograph out of his coat pocket, suddenly all business. “Have you seen this young lady around?” he asked, carefully watching her expression as she took the photo in her pale hand. He glanced quickly at her ring finger and was very pleased that it was bare.

  The picture was the standard posed graduation photo of an unsmiling young girl with frizzy blonde hair, mascara smudged eyes, and a heart-shaped face. Jessie studied it for a moment and then said, “That’s Theresa. I don’t know her last name Why would you be looking for her? She’s not a prostitute.” Jessica watched Duncan’s expression change from aloof and impersonal to palatable relief. There’s more to this than just an investigation, Jessie thought to herself. “She stopped coming in last week, but she’ll be back.”

  “Why do you say that?” Duncan asked, excitedly, reaching out to grab her wrist. “Do you know something? Did she leave something here?”

  Jessica stared at his large, tanned hand, gripping her wrist so tightly. It wasn’t a romantic touch, but the contact with this man thrilled her anyway. She wondered why he seemed so interested in what she’d said. Did he perhaps have a personal interest in Theresa? Jessie hoped not.

  “No,” Jessie said, easing her wrist out of his grasp, and holding the photo out to him. He took it from her and waited expectantly. “Theresa got a kick out of one of our sections,” Jessie said. “She knew I was expecting a shipment and liked going through them.”

  “What section was that?” Duncan asked. He didn’t really know why this was relevant, but there was something in Jessie’s evasive manner that made him wildly curious about Theresa’s reading habits.

  “Just one of our more unusual sections,” Jessie said, looking away from his intent gaze, she began clearing some imaginary dust off the table next to her with the edge of her hand. She glanced at him, and noted the cocked brow and determined, tight mouth.

  “Okay. She liked our Victorian erotica section, alright?” Jessie said, as color rushed into her cheeks. Within moments she was bright pink from the base of her throat to the side part in her hair. Duncan felt like touching that small valley where her neck met her sweater to see if she was hot to the touch.

  “Victorian erotica?” He asked, smiling again, loving the fact that she became more flustered by the moment.

  “Yes, Victorian erotica,” she said, standing up so quickly, she nearly tripped over his size fourteen feet. He reached out to steady her, but she was already gone, heading down one of the long aisles behind them in a flurry of skirt. She was back in seconds and dropped a small, red book into his lap.

  The book was called Pearl: A Journal of Facetive and Voluptuous Reading. It looked innocent enough, so Duncan flipped it open to see what the big deal was. Several pages in he found an old-fashioned, black and white photograph of a proper looking woman in profile, bent over a spindly looking couch with her derriere in the air. The next page revealed that same woman with her skirt raised and a fussy-looking man in formal attire with pork chop sideburns, and a monocle, standing behind her. Upon closer inspection, Duncan realized that the man was enthusiastically spanking the woman with what appeared to be a riding crop.

  Duncan slapped the book closed and felt his own face flood with heat, thankful that his dark complexion would camouflage his blush. He handed the book back to Jessie who was sitting across from him again. She tucked it between the arm of the chair and her thigh, like she wanted to deny its existence. “Theresa thought these books were hilarious. She would sit back here and just laugh and laugh. She liked the pictures, but the language seemed to especially delight her.”

  “Language? What kind of language?” Duncan asked, stupidly. These were not the kind of questions he was supposed to be asking her, but he couldn’t help himself. At this point, his mission was completely beyond him. All he wanted, more than anything, was to watch Jessie’s rosebud pink mouth form some dirty Victorian word. He felt his groin tighten in anticipation.

  “Well, the Victorians had a tendency to use rather flowery words to describe things. Intimate things. They were also prone to exaggeration,” Jessie said, embarrassment forgotten, she warmed to her subject matter, and leaned forward in her seat. Her voice took on an academic tone. “For instance, male genitalia might be referred to as something ridiculously large or colorful; like a
lance or a sword or a spear. Also, male parts did quite a bit of spurting, swelling, and leaping about. Kind of like in today’s modern romance novels, except way more graphic.” She looked up at him and finally noticed the volcanic look in his eyes.

  It must be the subject matter, she thought, as he moved forward in his chair until their faces were inches apart. He stared deeply into her eyes for a moment and Jessie forgot completely about everything in the world, except him and that compelling look in his eyes.

  “How graphic?” he asked, huskily, closing the distance between them. Jessie half closed her eyes in anticipation of his kiss and gave her dry lips a lick to moisten them. But he didn’t kiss her mouth as she’d expected. His breath puffed against her parted lips for a moment and then he bent his head to lightly press his mouth to the side of her warm throat. She sighed and he dropped his pen and pad of paper on the table next to him. He moved far enough away to look into her eyes again. Hers were dark with desire and her pink lips were slightly open in anticipation of his kiss. He could hear her sweet, minty breath coming out in soft, barely audible pants.

  Without a single thought to their surroundings or his purpose for being there, Duncan placed his long legs on either side of her knees, and his big hands on the outside of her thighs. There they stayed, slowly bunching up her skirt until her ankles showed, and then her calves. She tore her eyes away from his and watched, mesmerized, as her naked knees appeared below the slowly advancing hem.

  Jessie felt completely separate from her body, like she was watching these things happen to some other girl. Men never looked at her with that intense look in their eyes, especially men like Duncan. Her sister, Jamie, was usually the object of men’s desires, not her. Jessie wanted to see, just for a moment, what it was like to act impulsively like her sister.

  Duncan abandoned her skirt where it was and moved his callused fingers to the back of her knees. There he smoothed the delicate skin with feathery touches, while continuing his exploration of her throat with his mouth. Then, he wrapped his warm hands around the back of her calves and pulled her gently forward until her knees were firmly snuggled into the V of his hard, denim-clad thighs.

  She raised her eyes to meet his again and stared at his chiseled mouth, begging him with her eyes to kiss her. Softly at first, he touched his lips to hers. Jessie hadn’t done this for years, and had forgotten how overwhelming a kiss could be. She closed her eyes and attempted to copy his movements. His lips were surprisingly soft and Jessie almost giggled as his tongue tickled the corner of her mouth. He licked at them for the longest time; like they were a delicacy he couldn’t get enough of.

  Timidly, Jessie opened her mouth slightly. Duncan caressed the inside of her lips with just the tip of his tongue. She wasn’t sure what to do, but she experimented by touching his tongue with hers. He responded with a fevered groan against her mouth and pulled her chest against his. “Yes,” he whispered against her lips, and reached behind her to knead her buttocks.

  Jessie hadn’t touched him yet. In some part of her mind she knew it was crazy but she desperately wanted to feel this stranger under her fingers. Timidly, she moved her hands from where they still rested in her lap, and placed them on his wide shoulders.

  “Touch me,” Duncan gasped against her ear.

  “How?” Jessie asked, unsure how to proceed.

  “It doesn’t matter. Just touch me. I need to feel you,” he said, taking her earlobe firmly between his lips, he began to suck on it as his hands slipped beneath the bottom of her sweater and began caressing her back with just his blunt fingernails.

  Jessie moved her hands from his shoulders to his hair. It was wet and cool against her fingertips. She pulled gently on the strands and let them fall through her fingers. It felt so soft, like silk. She angled her cheek so she could rub it against the hair at his temple, like a cat against its master’s fingers.

  This close to him, she was overwhelmed by his unique scent. He didn’t wear aftershave, but she could detect the clean smell of rain, and soap from a recent shower. She took a deep breath and held it in her lungs for a moment, imprinting his scent on her body’s memory.

  “Are you smelling me?” he asked against her throat, his voice soft, deep and somewhat amused.

  “Yes, is that okay?” she asked, quietly. Exhaling into his hair, her breath brushed his ear and he shuddered in response.

  “I guess that depends on how I smell,” he said, pulling her sweater and silky ivory bras strap to the side so he could kiss a creamy white shoulder.

  “You smell delicious,” she said, arching her neck to give him better access to the crease of her neck.

  “Delicious? I like that. You smell like green apples. Like springtime,” he said, bringing his hand up, he gently pulled at the bun at the back of her head until her hair began to unravel. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the moment I walked in here.” He gathered the long strands of her hair in both hands and pulled it forward. It fell almost to her waist and was wavy, alive and vibrant against his fingers.

  Duncan reared back so he could see what she looked like with her hair down. He reached out and pulled off her glasses, placing them carefully on the table beside them. The transformation was dramatic. With her sweater pulled to one side to expose her shoulder and her skirt drawn up around her thighs, Jessie no longer looked like a spinster schoolmarm. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. She was a goddess. No, he thought, a siren. He could easily imagine her sitting on a rock in the middle of the ocean, tempting sailors to their doom. Duncan almost told her this, but he was afraid he would sound ludicrous. He was a cop, not a poet. And cops didn’t go around spouting flowery compliments.

  Jessie’s eyes were heavy-lidded and she seemed somewhat dazed. He looked down at his right hand, which was tightly fisted in a shank of her bright hair. His knuckles rested against her sweater-clad chest and he brushed one knuckle against the crest of one firm breast. Even through the barrier of bra and cotton knit, he could feel her nipple spring to life. Once, twice, three times he circled that aching tip with his knuckle until her eyes closed and she sighed.

  Duncan was leaning down to replace his fingers with his lips when the bell over the door sounded, again.

  Chapter 3

  A blond Adonis entered the store, shaking water from his perfectly highlighted hair. Clay Wood, Jessie’s Assistant Manager, had the finely chiseled, almost pretty features of a teenage pop star, and the compact, muscular body of a professional swimmer. He stopped abruptly when he spotted Jessie and Duncan staring intently at each other in the far left corner with Duncan’s hand firmly on Jessie’s left breast. Clay’s mouth opened in shock at the sight of them, but no words came out for several long seconds.

  First to recover, Jessie stood up jerkily and sprung away from Duncan like she’d been electrocuted. She scrambled for her glasses, and despite her kiss-swollen lips and red cheeks, did her best to put a professional expression on her face.

  “Of course, Detective,” she said to Duncan, surprised and delighted that her voice didn’t shake. “I will be sure to contact you if Theresa comes back.” She turned her attention to Clay. “Hi Clay,” she said, a tad too brightly. She waved her hand toward Duncan who was still seated. “This is Detective Reinhold. He’s here asking about Theresa. You know, the little blonde that comes in here at night sometimes?” Duncan nodded at Clay, and watched Jessie with amusement. He couldn’t quite understand why she was acting like a teenager caught making out on the couch with her boyfriend. She was the owner, wasn’t she?

  “Theresa? Really?” Clay asked, with raised eyebrows. He moved behind the cashier’s counter, took off his fashionably fitted leather coat, and hung it on the back of the chair to dry off. “She hasn’t been around this week. Is that why he’s here? Looks like he was doing a very in-depth investigation over there.”

  Jessie flushed anew, but ignored his innuendo. She turned back toward Duncan. “Do you have a card, Detective? So we can get in touch with you?
” Jessie asked, opening her eyes wide, she made a ’get out of here’ movement toward the door with her head.

  Duncan knew this was his cue to get up and get out, but unfortunately, his loose jeans would make his aroused condition a bit too obvious. Jessie was embarrassed enough without his enormous erection announcing his state.

  He made a show of looking through his coat pockets and then taking it off completely to search for his cards. With the coat firmly in his lap, Duncan stood up and handed a card to Jessie. “Miss Martin,” he said, pointing to something on the card with one tanned finger. His tone was very cool and professional, unlike the sexy rasp he’d used earlier. “You’ll find that you can reach me at the bottom number anytime. Please let me know immediately if Theresa shows up. She’s been reported missing and her family is getting desperate.”

  “Certainly, Detective. We’re happy to cooperate,” Jessie said, emulating Duncan’s crisp tone as she followed him to the door. She couldn’t help herself, her eyes dropped briefly to his high, firm bottom as he opened the door. He caught the direction of her stare and smiled wolfishly at her, pausing in the doorway.

  “You never answered my question,” Duncan said softly, leaning toward her so only Jessica could hear.

  “What question?” Jessie asked, clearly confused.

  Duncan reached out and gently pulled on a tendril of her hair. “You never told me how graphic Victorian erotica gets.” He gave her a meaningful look and walked out into the rain.

  For a moment, Jessie had the impulse to follow him, but quickly came to her senses, shaking her head in disbelief at her actions, and closed the door firmly on the glorious sight of him and his rain-soaked, nearly transparent white shirt. She leaned against the closed door and fanned her hot cheeks with his card.