island, where her discarded sketches smothered the top. Immediately, she snatched them up, but he set his hand on one, tilted his head one way, then the other. “You drew these?”
“Yes, but they’re my discards.”
“They’re pretty good to be discards.”
“That’s nice of you to say, but trust me, they’re discards.”
He pointed at the almost-complete sketch on her pad. “That one looks great.”
“Thank you. I was stuck on which colors to use. Sometimes when I put it on paper it helps me work it out. When the sun lit this room—” she swooped one hand “—it was spectacular. I think I need bursts of tangerine in here.”
“Uh, okay.”
Lexi laughed. “You didn’t tell me where your sling was.”
“Home. It annoys me. I’ve been trying to do a few hours each day without it.”
“Maybe you should check with your doctor about that?”
“Nah.”
As suspected. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those know-it-all stubborn males.”
He gave her one of his cocky grins where one side of his mouth quirked, and she immediately wanted to draw it. “Don’t call me stubborn.”
Once again, that smile, a little devilish, a little charming and a whole lot irresistible, turned her liquid. It had been months since she’d had even a remote interest in a man. Finding your so-called soul mate sprawled across his desk with another woman tended to do that to a girl. Made her a little less inclined to trust males in general and a whole lot more inclined to demand absolute honesty. No secrets. At all.
And now, tough guy Brodey Hayward had released her smothered sexual desire. On the bright side, at least she wasn’t a dead loss and still felt something. Even if it was only lust. “What are you doing here so early?”
He held up the envelope. “My dad got me copies of crime-scene notes. I wasn’t sure if you worked on Saturdays, but figured I’d get here early and get out of your way. Who knew you’d be here at the crack of dawn?”
“You rolled out of bed this early so you didn’t mess up my schedule?”
He shrugged. “You compromised with me yesterday. I owed you one.”
All that female desire inside her whipped into a frenzy and she damn near needed a cold shower. “Please tell me you’re single because I could kiss you smack on the lips.”
“I am most definitely single.”
She snorted, then waved him off. So much for her hoping to make him blush. Huh. How she loved a man participating in a little verbal swordplay. “Brodey Hayward, I think I like you.” She gestured to the laundry room. “I don’t need to be in there yet, so help yourself. I can work around you for an hour or so.”
He held up the file. “Thanks. I read the detective’s notes, but I need to see the room. Something isn’t right.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have the photos yet. Can’t picture the scene. If I set it up, it’ll make sense. Want to be my dead body?”
Ew. “Are you kidding?”
“Actually, I’m not. I brought tape, but it’ll help if I could see an actual body. All I need is for you to lie on the floor.”
She glanced at the sketch desperately waiting for her attention.
He held up his hand. “It’ll take five minutes. Promise.”
“Five minutes?”
“That’s all. I need a visual.”
A visual. Considering her early-dawn sketching, she could relate. “Fine. But only because I understand about visuals.”
“And, uh, after you play the dead guy, I’ll take your place on the floor and maybe you could sketch it for me?”
A frustrated laugh burst free. This man. “What happened to five minutes?”
He grinned. “That’s just for lying on the floor. The sketching is separate. Look at it this way. The faster I know what the scene looked like, the sooner I form opinions and hand this thing over to my sister. Then I’m out of here and you’re free to do your thing.”
Now this boy was talking. And good for him for being intellectually competent enough to figure out how to motivate her.
“If I sketch and lie on the floor, you’ll let me get to work in there? Including tearing up that tile?”
“Assuming we don’t discover evidence that needs to be collected, yes.”
Lexi sighed.
“Hey, I know,” he said. “But I won’t promise that until I know what I’m dealing with. At the very least, it’d be irresponsible.”
For that, she’d give him credit. Some men would lie simply to get their way. Like her cheating ex. Not going there. Thinking about him only aggravated her.
She tore her sketch off the pad, set it aside and grabbed her chalk and a pencil. “I have a house to dismantle. Let’s get to work.”
* * *
BRODEY WATCHED OVER Lexi’s shoulder as she finished her sketch, and the faint smell of her shampoo, something minty, he thought, like spearmint but not really, worked its way into his system and—look out now—relaxed him. He liked it.
Maybe too much.
She angled back, looking up with those greenish-brown eyes, and something in his brain snapped. Something being the male side of him that hadn’t seen any action from a female in a couple of months. Sure there were women he could call, but with the damned arm in a sling, everything—sex included—was way too much work. And it scared the hell out of him because how many men didn’t want sex? None that he knew.
Whatever. Mind snap.
“Are you paying attention?” Lexi asked.
More than you know...
“Yeah. I’m thinking.” He brought one arm around her so he could point at the sketch and brushed her shoulder along the way. Immediately, he regretted it. Even that meaningless interaction brought his body—very male body—into the red zone. Only thing to do here would be to put his growing erection out of his mind. Maybe today would be the one time that trick worked, but not likely. Considering it had never worked before. “The body needs to be closer to the door.”
“Well, Brodey, this is not to scale. You have to allow for some wiggle room.”
“I know. It still needs to be closer.”
She flipped her pencil to the eraser side and scrubbed it across the paper. A minute later, she’d busted off the outline of the body in the exact place he wanted. “Perfect,” he said. “You know, you’re really good at this. You should work for the PD.”
“No. Thank you, though. What was he wearing that night?”
“Black pants.”
She filled in some shading to reflect the slacks the victim wore. “That’s better.”
“Why not?”
She glanced over her shoulder at him, her perfect lips slightly puckered, her eyes zeroed in as if she’d read his every X-rated thought. Only the hum from the furnace below could be heard in the quiet house, and Brodey’s pulse knocked harder. All he had to do was bend down a few inches and those perfect lush lips would be his.
“Wow,” he said.
She stepped away, putting distance between them. “It wouldn’t work for me. I generally don’t sketch people. I do furniture. Furniture