“That’s…” she squirmed, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink. “Well, go on. I’m more interested in your point.”
He was more interested in her perspectives on lingerie, but he’d hold off on that for another day. “It’s just a surprise. A woman can be wearing a plain old sweatshirt and baggy jeans. But if a man is looking at her, he’s wondering what’s underneath.” He looked out at the view of the mountains, ensuring that he never glanced her way. Even though he’d often wondered what she wore underneath her prim slacks or skirts. She was always so neatly dressed, he was certain that she wore something sexy underneath. Hell, he’d even like it if she wore those cotton panties! Over the past few weeks of working with Kinsley, he’d come to the realization that he was completely fascinated by everything she did. He loved watching her walk and he loved talking with her. But there was more. He loved wondering what it would be like to kiss her. Would she be prim and delicate? Or voracious?
Either way, he’d like it. Too much, probably.
“So you’re saying that a groom cares about the first glimpse of his bride in her wedding dress?”
“Hell yes!”
She blinked at his adamant response. “But…Carl wouldn’t care.”
“Then he can’t be that interested in marrying you.” He firmly believed it, but suddenly worried that he’d hurt her feelings.
Thankfully, she wasn’t hurt. His abrupt comment only caused her to smile and lean back in her chair, sipping the lemonade as they appreciated the clear view of Mount Rainier. “Carl cares,” she asserted with absolute confidence.
“If he’s already seen the dress, then I guess he must not mind. I mean, if the dress is in your closet, then he’s definitely seen it.”
That assumption pulled her eyes away from the majestic view of the mountain. “Why would he run into my dress all the time?”
He frowned at her in confusion. “Do you have separate closets then? I thought you lived in an apartment.”
“I do,” she confirmed with a nod.
“Then how is he not seeing your wedding dress all the time?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “He doesn’t live with me, of course.”
Lincoln paused, still staring at her. “He…doesn’t?” That seemed…off. “But…when he spends the night, wouldn’t he…”
She shook her head, her dark, silky hair wafting around her neck. “He doesn’t spend the night.”
He grunted, popping another chocolate into his mouth. “I’m not sure I understand your relationship.”
Unfortunately, his cell phone rang. Not many people had this phone number, so if his cell phone rang, it was important. “I’ve got to get this. But this conversation isn’t over,” he told her and stepped away to take the call.
Kinsley collected the remnants of their lunch, smiling as she packed everything away. Conversations were always exciting with Lincoln Meyers, she thought as she closed the lid on the potato salad. It took a great deal of effort to keep up with him, but Kinsley was discovering that she really enjoyed the challenge.
She paused as she closed the lid to the chocolates, admiring the beautiful truffles. They were all carefully crafted, small works of art. But…why had Lincoln brought these to their lunch? They looked special. And expensive! Surely he’d just packed up a lunch with supplies that he kept in his house. He hadn’t gone out and bought these chocolates.
The idea that Lincoln had bought the chocolates for another woman came to mind, and the idea actually hurt. The stab of pain was like an ice pick to her chest and she paused in her clean up, trying to figure out why she would be so upset at the idea of Lincoln with another woman. Surely he was dating someone. She looked over at him. The man was still talking on the phone, but she could see his strong profile. He really was a shockingly attractive man. Rugged, muscular and…still with those silver, gold-flecked eyes that never ceased to fascinate her.
But that was too complicated and Lincoln sounded as if he were about to finish his phone call. The confusing feelings meant that she needed to retreat. She needed to work through the reasons as to why she was so hurt before she could talk to him again.
So, Kinsley stuffed everything back into the paper bag, then grabbed both chairs with her other hand. It was awkward, but he’d done this yesterday, so surely she could do it today.
“Kinsley, I’ll get the chairs. Just leave them.”
Kinsley glanced over her shoulder at him. “I’m fine,” she assured him, then carried everything towards the building.
Chapter 6
The gruff old man stood by the window, drink in hand, and blinked in shock as Francesa Winward stepped through the ornate doors of his office.
“You’re Frankie Winward?” he demanded, the drink sloshing slightly as he gestured. His rheumy eyes taking in her red-copper curls, pale skin and a figure a Victoria’s Secret model would kill for…except she didn’t have the height. But the lush breasts, tiny waist and long, slender legs? Check, check, check! She also had an attitude that warned the world that she didn’t put up with stupidity…and that only added to her appeal.
Edward Meyers stared at the woman, unconsciously licking his lips. Five years ago…well, maybe twenty years ago…this woman would have been his! He would have made this woman his mistress! Damn, he hated being old! He hated the cancer that was eating away at his brain! He hated the fact that this beautiful, redheaded goddess was a private investigator, and not his personal assistant to control and manipulate!
Setting the glass down on his desk, he ignored the
