Ten minutes later, on the nose, Rachel slid into the passenger seat of Mick’s car. He quickly angled his phone away so she couldn’t see the screen, hit the home button, and then slid the phone in his jacket pocket. Didn’t know why he felt guilty. He’d been googling her. So what? Should have done so right off the bat. Hadn’t yet found a match. It was going to be like searching for a needle in a haystack because there appeared to be a shitload of Rachel Joneses in the world. As Rachel’s car door shut, a hint of her scent wafted over the center console to torment him. She smelled like spring, fresh scrubbed, cool water with a hint of honey-milk soap. Her hair was wet and slicked back. The darker color accentuated the milky creaminess of her skin, and the cut highlighted the swanlike length of her neck. Mick noticed a droplet of water quivering in the shallow hollow above her collarbone. She must have missed it in her dash to towel dry and get into clean clothes. And the impulse to reach out and capture that shimmering droplet of water on his fingertip, to taste it, was almost overwhelming. Mick forced his gaze forward, shifted into drive. It wasn’t until they were halfway down Benedict Canyon that he was able to shake off the temporary lust-driven insanity. “Thank you,” he said in the most reasonable of tones. “I appreciate you helping out on such short notice.”

“A thank-you? Oh, my stars.” She smirked. “There, now,” she said, as if addressing a recalcitrant four-year-old. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Mick managed to choke back unexpected laughter. Barely. He glanced over, but Rachel had turned forward again. Her profile reminded him of a cameo brooch he had seen in a pawnshop window as a boy. She was dressed in the same nondescript outfit that she’d arrived on his doorstep wearing: conservative cream-colored blouse, black slacks, and sensible footwear. An outfit designed to keep a person at arm’s length. Unfortunately, it seemed to have the reverse effect on him. Why?

No answers were forthcoming. Although, maybe it wasn’t her wardrobe that was the issue, as her pink robe and pajamas had had a similar effect on him. He turned left onto Coldwater Canyon. When he did a shoulder check to switch into the right-hand lane, he noticed she wasn’t wearing glasses. Must have left them behind in the rush. He cursed softly under his breath.

“What?”

My fault. Shouldn’t have hurried her out the door. “Your glasses.” He kept his voice flat so she wouldn’t think there was any implied criticism.

She blinked, then lifted her chin in that way she had, her hands clasped neatly in her lap. “I’m wearing contacts.”