His laughter, deep and rich, filled the room. “You know your Jacks.”
“I like movies. I’ll watch anything so long as I’m not watching it alone. Sharing snarky comments is all part of the fun.”
“I think doing anything with you would be fun.” His smile made me smile. I couldn’t stop it. Were we flirting? Was that a flirting smile? Was I flirting with a thief?
“How about Danger?” he said. “It’s got a good ring to it. Strong, brave, but also daring.”
“Jack Danger.” I put the name into the form, my lips quivering with amusement. “How about an address?”
“I’m staying at the Pendry in the Carbide & Carbon Building.”
My finger froze over the keyboard. “You don’t live in Chicago?”
“Not for a long time. I’m just here on business.”
I felt a curious little stab of disappointment. It wasn’t that I was in any way attracted to the kind of man who would hide in the bushes outside a museum to steal a $25 million necklace. He was simply different from anyone I’d ever met. “The suit will take a few weeks,” I said quickly to hide my lapse. “If you have to leave, we can send it after you by courier.”
“Let’s assume I’ll be here to pick it up. If not, I’ll call with a forwarding address.”
He gave me his cell number and paid the deposit in cash. After I’d filled in the rest of his details, I pulled out the measuring tape.
“We take a lot of measurements to ensure the suit is a perfect fit.” I wrapped the tape around his broad chest. He was all rock-hard rippling muscle, so unlike the soft pasty bankers and potbellied lawyers who made up most of my dad’s clientele.
“Do what you need to do.” His voice dropped, low and rough. “I look forward to the experience.”
Electricity pulsed in the air between us. My breath hitched and heat pooled low in my belly. I took a deep breath and thought about orange jumpsuits.
“Is there a special occasion coming up or is the suit for work?” I measured his shoulder, neck, arm width and length with only the barest tremble from my rattled nerves. I’d never enjoyed touching a client more.
“I may have to pay a visit to a country estate in Lake Bluff,” he said. “I don’t think my usual clothes are appropriate.”
“Not unless you’re trying to make the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs.” I didn’t expect him to get the Star Wars reference, but he laughed.
“Funny. You’re very funny, Simi.”
I froze with the tape around his waist. “How do you know my name? I never introduced myself.”
“It’s on your name tag.” He tapped the gold tag on my chest. “Simi Chopra.”
“Jack Danger.” I repeated his name for no reason other than the press of his finger on my chest had sent a zing of electricity straight to my core. Hands shaking, I tightened the tape measure. He was built like a Greek statue—all smooth, hard perfection. “What kind of suit are you looking for?”
“I want to blend in.”
“You’re not really a blend-in kind of guy.” He wore a tarnished pendant on a black leather string around his neck over a vintage Led Zeppelin shirt from the band’s 1979 concert at Knebworth House. His biker-style boots were black, polished, and shiny, and very unlike the mud-covered boots he’d been wearing the other night.
“You didn’t see me until I grabbed you the other night,” he pointed out.
“That was, perhaps, the most terrifying moment of my life.” I tapped the last set of measurements into my tablet.
His face softened. “I was trying to help.”
“I know. Sometimes when I’m highly stressed, my brain loses the ability to executive function, and I run purely on impulse. If you hadn’t grabbed me when you did, I probably would have done something crazy.”
“You tried to scale a wall with your bare hands in the pouring rain,” he said. “I was silently cheering you on.”
No laughter. No mocking. No frustrated sigh or head shaking with disappointment. I’d always been a source of exasperation for my family, but not for him.
I moved behind him, as much to hide my surprise as to take measurements from the back.
“Are you going to frisk me?” he asked when I stepped in close to measure the width of his shoulders. He smelled of pine and leather and the fresh ocean breeze—wild and free.
“This is a custom tailor shop, not a police station.”
“I might have a dangerous weapon in my pocket,” he teased.
I pulled the measuring tape tight under his arms, reminding myself that I was a professional. I was totally unaffected by the rock-hard pecs that flexed under my hands or the fact that I was now so close, I could feel the heat of his body. It was disconcertingly intimate. I’d measured many clients over the years for my dad and not once had I ever felt like I needed an immediate date with my vibrator.
“I felt your dangerous weapon when you were holding me hostage in the bushes,” I said. “I wasn’t impressed.”
Laughter rumbled in his chest. “I have a feeling it would take a lot to impress you.”
I squatted behind him to get the waist-to-floor measurement.
He looked over his shoulder. “While you’re down there . . .”
“Behave.” I glared up at him. “Or I’ll ask Cristian to take over.”
“Cristian’s more interested in your measurements,” he said. “I’m going to have a word with him on the way out.”
“A word?”
“Very civil. Very polite. I’ll let him know you’re out of his league and he should stop wasting his time.”
“Now who’s the funny one.” If there were leagues, Cristian and I were miles apart. He may have been a womanizer, but he was as comfortable at a gala as he was at a pub crawl. He knew how to dress, what to say, and how to navigate every echelon of society. I was lucky if I made it out of a social event with my dignity intact.
“Simi?” His deep voice pulled me out of my downward spiral of self-loathing.
“Yes?”
“Are you planning to take any more measurements? Usually when a woman spends that much time staring at my ass, I buy her a few drinks and invite her to my hotel room to get naked.”
Mortified, I stood and entered his measurements into the online form. “It would take more than a few drinks to get me naked in your hotel room.”
His smile broadened. Seriously, nothing seemed to faze this guy. He could take whatever I threw at him and gave it right back. “How many?”
“You wouldn’t be able to keep up.” I’d been blessed with a fast metabolism and a high alcohol tolerance. Not one of my brothers could outlast me when it came to drinking games.
“You complicate my life when you say things like that,” he said. “I’d appreciate it if you could be less interesting.”
I didn’t know if he was flirting or joking or just trying to pass the time, but I was as far from interesting as a person could get. My job didn’t involve danger or excitement. Paparazzi weren’t hiding in the bushes every time I stepped outside. I wasn’t jetting off on foreign vacations or hitting a home run at Wrigley Field.