Love on the Boardwalk Read Online Free

broad chest. “Are you ashamed to tell her?”
    Wow. Thorough was his middle name. Trina bet he was the kind of guy who flossed every night. Never skipped. Because it was the right thing to do. She backed up until her butt met the opposite railing. Mirrored his pose. “I just never got around to it. Do you tell
your
best friend every single thing you do at work?”
    “Coop’s my partner. He knows what I do all day, ’cause he’s with me.”
    “Oh, yeah.” So much for trying to deflect the question back on to him. That was supposed to work in an interrogation. Trina made a mental note to figure out later how she’d screwed it up. Mistakes were learning tools, after all. And she sure learned a lot on any given day.
    “Besides, a strip club isn’t work. It’s a one-way ticket to a crap life.” One big step was all it took to bring him flush with her on the other side of the narrow path. Brad caged her in with his arms. “Do you need money? A job? All you have to do is let me help. Because let me tell you, what you’re doing now with your life is a very bad idea. Very dangerous.”
    It absolutely tickled her that he was pulling this gallant routine. Such fierce protectiveness for someone he barely knew said a lot about Brad’s character. It made him even more appealing. But the hammering away at her had to stop. No matter how blue his eyes were, Trina refused to put up with being talked down to like that. “I don’t need a job. I have one. And your cousin got it for me, so don’t be so judgmental.”
    His mouth gaped wide open. Brad stepped back. Plowed a hand through all that thick and perfect hair. “Coop got you a job in a strip club?”
    “No, silly.” Oh. That’s why he wouldn’t drop this thing. She’d forgotten to mention that Club Eden was just a ruse. A loud and smelly sham of a career. Of course, a hard-core sham. One that forced her to walk miles every night in painful shoes, and knotted up her shoulders from carrying the loaded drink trays. “I’m here undercover.” Trina dropped her voice to a stage whisper on the last word.
    “What the hell do you mean? ’Cause from where I’m standing, you’re barely covered at all.” Sandwiching the lapel of his jacket between his thumb and fingers, Brad slid his hand up and down it, knuckles
almost
touching her breast.
    Trina almost forgot to breathe. Then sucked in a lungful, hoping it would expand her chest enough to cause an accidental touch. Maybe all Brad needed was a little shove in the right direction. That direction, of course, being right onto her lips. “Um, that private eye Coop hooked me up with at the beginning of the summer? Joe Shulman? I’m working for him on a case right now. I’m officially a junior investigator trainee.”
    His hand fell back to his side as he snorted. “That sounds like a certificate that you send away for with three cereal box tops.”
    Okay. So she’d made up the title. Joe, in a weak moment, had agreed to let her use it. It might not sound as official as Detective Hudson’s title, but it made her
feel
official. That mattered. Especially after the first few months of filing and research and general gopher-type assignments Joe heaped upon her. She’d been okay with paying her dues, as long as it meant she was on track to become a full-fledged investigator. Using the title was a way to remind Joe, and herself, of the endgame.
    Brad looked out across the dune at the blackness. Shook his head. Turned back to her. “I need to hear you say it. Tell me that you don’t really want to be a topless dancer.”
    “Of course not. My boobs aren’t big enough, for starters.”
    All that fierce protectiveness fell from his face. Replaced by a different kind of fierceness as he dropped his gaze and flat out ogled. “They look fine to me. Just big enough.”
    “Thanks, I guess.” Lame. Not a flirty response at all. She needed to regroup. Get him off the topic of her pretend job. Put it to rest once and for all and