He rang the bell and was pleased though not surprised to see that she had a security system in place. She opened the door a minute later and left him momentarily speechless. He’d never seen her in anything but a police uniform so the cotton skirt with a delicate calico print caught him off-guard. So did the tanned and toned legs that went on forever until they met a pair of light-blue espadrilles. Her button-down white shirt was tied at the waist and revealed the barest hint of cleavage. She wore only a whisper of makeup, just enough to enhance her gorgeous eyes. Free of its usual ponytail, her hair hung in loose waves around her shoulders. Alex gripped the doorframe to keep himself from running his hand through those waves.
“You didn’t know I was a woman, did you?” she teased.
“Oh, I was quite aware you were a woman, just…”
“Not the skirt-wearing kind?” She tilted her head and gave him the cutest smirk.
“Okay, I wasn’t expecting a skirt.”
She only smiled and spun on her heel. He followed her in when what he wanted to do was grab her up and see if she tasted as good as she looked.
“Thanks for bringing my leftovers. I hate to miss their enchiladas.”
“I hated to miss eating them with you. But I get it,” he added quickly, making sure she didn’t interpret his remark the wrong way. “Duty calls.”
“You do get it, don’t you?” She’d reached the open kitchen opposite the front door on the other side of her living room and put the bag into the fridge. “Can I get you some coffee? I made a fresh pot.”
“Sounds good, thanks.” He looked around her living room. Comfy couch with a couple of fluffy throws neatly folded and pillows on either end. Matching coffee table and end tables. Flat screen wall-mounted tv over a gas fireplace. Artwork of the Flatirons and other mountain scenes. Very few knick-knacks and no family photos that he could see. The overall impression was one of comfort and tidiness, but not sentimental. The first floor was open-concept, stairs to the right, with a cathedral ceiling on the left that went all the way to the back of the house. Through a large window, he could see the tops of the foothills.
“The view is spectacular from upstairs,” Sylvie said as she handed him a steaming mug of coffee. “Great sunsets.”
It’s not the view I’d be most excited to see he thought. “Now I get why you live here.” Alex took a sip of coffee while she tilted her head.
“Why wouldn’t I live here?” There was the tiniest bit of defensiveness in her voice. “It’s a nice neighborhood. Or it was.”
“I pictured you on a bigger piece of land, not a townhome is all I’m saying.” He raised his mug at the window. “Now that I see part of the view, I get it.”
She relaxed and he wondered what she thought he meant. “I bought this place during one of the crashes, when it was new. And yeah, I bought it for the views.”
They sipped their coffee in a silence that wasn’t entirely comfortable. Alex regretted setting off whatever tripwire she’d set up. He tried to think of a topic that might be safer. “How was your shift last night?”
“Not bad. That first call was to break up a fight at the bar. A couple of guys who thought they needed to fight over a woman. Stupid. She went home with a third guy while we were breaking it up.”
Alex laughed. “Smart.”
“Done?” she asked, looking at his mug. She seemed eager to get their day going. Did she want to spend time with him, or get him out of her house?
“I am.” As she reached for his mug, he was already on his way to her kitchen to wash it himself. “Sorry.”
“Hey, I like a guy who cleans up after himself.” Her playful smirk was back. Alex realized it might take him a while to learn how to read her moods—and that he was eager for the challenge. That was a first in a long time. He finished drying the mug after rinsing it and started to open one of her cabinets to look for where she kept it.
“I got it.” She took the mug out of his hand and crossed the kitchen to a cabinet closer to the coffee pot. It was mostly empty. Four mugs, four plates, four bowls. Maybe she had more china in a different cabinet?
“Ready?” She walked past him into the front room and picked up a couple of tote bags he assumed were full of Chewie’s things.
“Yeah. But is everything all right?”
There was that head tilt. “Of course. Why?”
“You just seem eager to get me out of your house.”
Her eyes widened slightly, then she laughed. “I imagine it does seem like that, huh? Sorry, I’m just not used to having people over. I like to be out and about. Plus,” her expression turned mischievous, “what I’m really eager for, is to show you my baby.”
“You really are going to insist on driving today, aren’t you?” Now he was standing close to her, close enough to catch a whiff of her perfume. Coconut. “I suppose you’re going to insist on carrying those bags yourself, too.”
“I am, and I am. I mean, you can drive yourself if you want, but you’ll be eating my dust. And, I think all your hesitation will disappear in a minute anyway.”
Foom. She’d turned again and was opening her front door before he could answer or take the tote bags from her. He grinned, shook his head, and found himself following her again, the hypnotic swing of her hips pulling him along like the tide. They walked along a concrete path to the side of her house, then between fenced back yards to a parking lot with a line of garages. She walked up to the one right behind her house and punched in a code. The garage door rose and Alex’s eyes opened wide when he saw the classic cherry-red Mustang.
“Wow, she’s a beauty.”
Sylvie grinned. “Now you know why I wanted to drive. And why you’re gonna want to ride with me.” She gave the Mustang an affectionate pat. “She’s way sexier than that big black box you drive for Watchdog,” she teased.
“Hey now. Don’t go dissing a man’s wheels.”
Sylvie laughed and she had every right to; even he sounded ridiculous to his own ears. The Stang was gorgeous and Sylvie was correct; he was eager to see how she ran—even if he wasn’t the one driving.
“I’m not dissing your wheels, just the tank they gave you. You told me last night what you drive, and she sounds pretty special.”
“Yeah, she is.”
“So I’ll let you drive next time, sound good?”
“Sounds good. But there’s nothing quite like driving a convertible along Highway 101 on a sunny day with the ocean breeze.”
Sylvie closed her eyes and smiled, looking utterly tantalizing as she pictured the scene he painted. “I can imagine.” She took in a deep breath, then opened her eyes. “Though, the mountains are pretty spectacular in Alison.”
He gave her a confused look and she clarified. “I named her Alison.” She patted the Mustang again, then popped the trunk and put the tote bags inside. “When I found her, she was a wreck. It hurt me just to look at her, to think she’d been so abused. And then that old Elvis Costello song “Alison” just popped into my head. That line about how the world is killing her. So, it stuck.”
Alex ran his hand along the cherry-red paint. “Where’d you take her for the restoration?”