The Damsel in This Dress Read Online Free Page B

his mouth, chucked his plate into the sink and wiped his hands on a paper towel. “Nah. Too much excitement for an old broa— I mean, a lady with such fragile sensibilities.”
    “ Fragile sensibilities? You’ve been watching PBS again, haven’t you?” Taylor accused. “It would be funny, though, don’t you think,” he chided, “if you met her face-to-face? Like, what if she’s young and beautiful and you fall for her?”
    Soldier laughed and patted his jeans pocket where he’d shoved the drawing and her obtuse e-mail message.
    “Fall for her ?” he chuckled, squinting at his brother over the top of the fresh beer he’d just opened. “Taylor, if I ever met Elizabeth Tremaine, the last thing in the world I would do is fall for her.”

Chapter 2
     
     
    E nchantment struck him like a doubled fist. His pulse raced, his mouth went dry. If somebody asked his name right then, his tongue would have been too thick to form the words.
    Soldier knew he was staring, but he couldn’t stop. There was something about her that held him in thrall, but he couldn’t have put words to his feelings even if that fist was circling around for another blow.
    He swallowed and stared. He fiddled with his pen and stared. He scratched his chin and stared. He felt like he had the first time he’d had sex. Real sex with a real girl, not some wet dream. He felt . . . anticipation. Sweet and strong and elemental.
    Whoever she was, every inch of her was made for every inch of him.
    She wasn’t beautiful in the classic sense, and she wasn’t exactly thin, either. And she didn’t look like the kind of woman a man dated or just messed around with. She looked like the kind of woman a man married.
    That should have caused an alarm bell to ring loudly in his head, and the fact that it didn’t took him by surprise.
    Soldier liked a woman who looked like a woman. A lady with full breasts and real hips and curves that made his hands ache and his nether parts stand up and take notice. And this lady had it all.
    The Northwest Crime and Punishment Writer’s Conference was always a popular event, so he’d anticipated that the Evergreen Ballroom at Seattle’s Crowne Plaza Hotel would be packed like a sardine can, and had come down from his room a little early to get a good seat. He’d just relaxed into his chair when he looked across the room as she entered through the ballroom’s double doors.
    The cop in him had immediately kicked in. Female Caucasian. Between twenty-five and thirty. About five and a half feet. Blond hair. Eye color unknown: too far away to tell. No visible scars or marks. No weapon. Creamy skin, rosy cheeks, plump, kissable mouth. When she smiled, she had deep dimples in both cheeks. Damn!
    She was dressed in a soft, kind of cashmere looking peach-colored sweater and a long floral-print skirt. The fabric of both the sweater and skirt hugged her curves, tempting a man to run his hands over her hips and down over her bottom. On her head, she wore a summery straw hat encircled by pastel satin ribbons and delicate pink flowers. She looked feminine and . . . well, nice. She looked like a real nice woman he’d like to get to know.
    And take to bed.
    Just looking at her, his heart raced and he felt like that damned bunny rabbit in Bambi , the one that got all twitterpated.
    He doubled his fist. A thirty-three-year-old Seattle detective did not get twitterpated. Except that he was.
    As she moved between the closely set chairs, she smiled at each person she passed, flashing those dimples, making Soldier nearly overheat. Every man she left in her wake grinned after her, their eyes following the sway of her skirt. She, however, seemed completely oblivious.
    He frowned at a couple of the men, but they were paying no attention to him.
    The lady must have felt his stare, for at that moment she looked up. Their gazes locked. Her eyes widened and she blinked. Those plush lips formed a small O. Then her cheeks flushed and her lips became a