Page 10 of Eye Candy

Under Chase’s watchful eye, I tried to pretend I always startedmaking coffee by finding coasters. Meanwhile my mind was spinning with possibilities.Does he suspect that I’m not really Teddy? Has he already called the police?And, annoyingly:Why did I put on sweats today instead of a sexy camisole set?

Finally, I located the coffee in a cupboard alongside ten different kinds of bread.

“Bread?” I offered, as if that was what I had been searching for.

“No. Thank you.”

It was a minor stumble, but it unnerved me. I was sick of failing. I’d failed to make it on my own terms as a burly in this city, the thing I’d spent my entire life working for; and now, because of this persistent man, Gerard might not give me the second half of the money he’d promised me.

I needed to get back on familiar ground.

An idea came to me.

Chase might not be susceptible to Teddy, but there wasn’t a woman-liking man alive who was immune to Summer. And how hard could it be to fluster a prude?

Taking a deep breath, I sank into a more familiar character. I would either frighten him or flirt him into complicity, Summer-style.

CHAPTER 5

CHASE

Teddy’s impersonatorwas a confident woman, so to see her flustered—and by me, no less—made my blood pump. I was not someone people were usually flustered by.

“Can I help?” I offered.

It was clear she didn’t know where to start looking for the coffee maker. Being flustered by someone arriving at your apartment unannounced was understandable—I felt a stab of conscience about that—but how had anyone, including my brother, believed this woman was Teddy Bircher? Seeing her for a second time confirmed it. She had passed for Teddy on the strength of her distinctive chin and because the force of her personality made people uncomfortable. No one had looked closely. They’d taken one glance and seen what they wanted to see.

I, meanwhile, couldn’t stop staring.

“Forget about coffee. Let’s sit on the couch.”

She kicked off her slides, and I followed her to the sofa. Shewalked like she was going to overbalance, her hips veering dramatically from side to side.

On the coffee table there was an ornate wooden chessboard, set for play. It was like it was waiting for me, the perfect tool to confirm this woman’s fraud. Hair and accents were imitable, so was rudeness, but no one could pretend to be as good at chess as the real Teddy Bircher. Not many people knew this about the party-girl heiress, but she was a fanatical chess player. Joe told me her life ambition was to become a chess master.

Tamping down the feeling of anticipation—this was crime detection, nothing more—I nodded at the chessboard. “Shall we play?”

She blinked. “Chess? That’s what you’re thinking about?”

I kept my expression mild and nodded.

Abruptly, her forehead cleared. “Sure. But let me get comfortable. It’s so hot in here…” Then she grabbed the bottom of her T-shirt and pulled it off over her head.

White lace cupped her breasts and held them up like an offering to a lecherous deity. As I sat there, stunned, she tugged the waistband of her pink sweats up high over her hips, then rolled it down once, twice, so a tiny barrel of fluffy fabric circled her waist and strained tightly over her generous hips and thighs.

My mouth went dry.

These simple movements had disarmed me. Slowly, my brain came back online. I wasn’t much of a chess player—certainly no match for the real Teddy—but even I knew there was no need to be nearly naked. Chess wasn’t like beach volleyball, with sexist dress codes for female players.

She was fucking with me.

When she sank to her knees across the table from me, her breasts were level with the board. I kept my eyes firmly on the pieces to play my opening move. (Later, when I explained to Joe how I had exposed the woman who had tried to defraud him, I would have to leave out this part). She slid a black pawn directly into the path of the white pawn ready to take it. That was all theconfirmation I needed that she wasn’t Teddy Bircher. I could leave now. Mission accomplished.

But I didn’t.

“So, Chase,” Teddy’s impersonator said conversationally as she picked up a bishop and rolled the tip of it between her fingers, “do you often follow women home?”

My eyes locked on the way she fondled the piece.

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