reflected the multitude of lit candles, even though it was only five in the evening. All of the blinds were pulled closed against the evening light, so as not to ruin the ambience.
Most of the people milling about were dressed in forties-era evening wear. Narrow suits, quite a few shoulder pads, and glitteringly slinky dresses filled the rooms. It was a costume jeweler’s dream, with fat fake diamonds and strand upon strand of plastic pearls.
A bunch of adults, well-to-do if the cost of this event was anything to go by, all playing dress up on a train? Pretending to solve a fake crime that they all knew was coming?
Yeah.
Ridiculous.
Then his gaze fell on Marni as she wove her way across the room with the skill of a politician’s wife. A smile here, a chatty word there, always moving but totally unrushed.
He popped the mushroom cap into his mouth and watched her, pretending she wasn’t the sexiest woman he’d ever seen. And that he wasn’t anticipating, even a little, how fun it’d be once she reached his side.
“What do you think?” she asked when she reached him. Her laugh was breathless as she looked around the room. “Isn’t it great? I’ve never seen so many people outside a movie screen, theater stage or kindergarten classroom so into playing make-believe.”
“You look like you’re enjoying it.”
She was, too. Artfully made up, her eyes glowed and her cheeks had a flush that went perfectly with the pale pink of her satin dress. Unlike the other women, she didn’t glitter. She glowed. Long sleeves hugged her arms, but left her shoulders bare while the rest of her dress wrapped and draped over her curves. His hands itched to slide over that slick fabric, to feel those curves. To cup her hips. To curl over her luscious breasts.
She was so damned delicious. His body tightened, as if his brain needed that reminder that she was sweet sexiness wrapped in pink satin.
Because, yeah, his brain wasn’t already imagining the various ways he’d like to strip that fabric off her body and rediscover the delicious treasure he’d held only that morning.
Hardening painfully, he shoved his fists in the pockets of his jeans, wishing he was wearing slacks. Or sweats. Anything roomier.
“When’s the murder?” he asked, needing distraction.
A tiny frown creased her brow. Instead of answering, she accepted a flute of bubbling champagne and took a sip, staring at him over the rim.
“Didn’t you read your assignment?”
“I skimmed it.”
“You might want to update your skimming skills, then. It clearly outlined the timetable. Tonight is a meet and greet, costumes optional. Which is why you are here, in jeans, and nobody is suggesting you go shovel coal in the engine room.”
“And the murder?” he asked again. Not because he cared. But it was fun to see her try to school him.
“Even though costume is optional, character isn’t,” she hissed, leaning closer as a group of women commandeered the chairs next to them. “We’re not supposed to discuss the setup or details of the events except in our rooms.”
“Don’t you think you’re taking this a little too seriously?”
“The winner gets a thousand dollars and a trophy,” she pointed out.
“Ooh,” he teased. Not that a grand was anything to toss away, but money wasn’t one of his big motivators. And trophies? Those weren’t even little motivators.
She giggled, lifting one shoulder as if in agreement.
“I think it’ll be fun. I’d like to win, not so much for the prize, but because I think it’d be cool to figure out the mystery. Don’t you enjoy putting together clues, pitting your intellect against others and figuring things out first?”
Hunter gave her a curious look. Her words were pretty passionate, her tone awfully excited for a woman whose life revolved around clothes and dead people. Because those were the things that came to his mind when he thought fashion or biographies. Maybe that’s why these mystery events were such a big draw. Every accountant and housewife wanted to be a supersleuth.
“Mysteries are okay,” he said with a shrug. Not that he wasn’t a fan of piecing together the puzzle. But he got a bigger charge out of outsmarting dirtbags who thought they were above the rules. Who figured they were smarter than the law. Since he was the law, letting them know just how wrong they were was his ultimate pleasure.
“I’ll bet you’re more of a suspense kind of guy,” she guessed, tilting her champagne glass his way and leaning close to whisper. “Die Hard instead