Free Weddings Can Be Murder by Christie Craig Page A

lied?” His dark brow creased.
    “I heard it in your voice. Like you heard it in mine, when I said I didn’t paint.” She glanced down at the array of dishes in the box. “You don’t even have a dog, do you?”
    “I have a dog,” he said indignantly.
    She tried to remember what he’d said about the dog that made her think it was a lie. “But it isn’t a big dog, is it?”
    The surprise lit his eyes and she chuckled. “What? He’s not a manly dog? Is that why you lied?”
    When he didn’t answer, she laughed harder. “What is it? A little Yorkshire terrier?”
    He stared at her, then answered. “A poodle.”
    Oh, this was too rich. “That tells me a lot about you, Carl.”
    “It tells you what?” His eyes stayed on her.
    “It tells me that you’re the macho kind of guy who thinks he has to have macho things or he’s embarrassed.” She leaned against the wall and watched him watch her. “So, what happened? Some girlfriend stick you with the dog?” She laughed again.
       
    The sound of her laugher washed over Carl. Never had he heard a more beautiful sound. He didn’t give a rat’s ass that he was the cause of her laughter. She could poke fun at him all day because…Damn, but she was beautiful when she laughed. Her eyes lit up and her mouth—a full mouth perfect for all sorts of bedroom things—melted into the most beautiful smile.
    “Well?” she asked. “Is that it? A girlfriend left the dog?”
    “Yeah.” He didn’t try to lie. Her comment about old girlfriends should have had him laying bricks to rebuild his guard. Should have had him backing away from this playful place they’d arrived at. But blast it if he didn’t like this place.
    “So you think I’m macho, huh?” He grinned.
    “Yeah. So much that owning a poodle offends you enough that you lie about it.” She made another cute face.
    “I’m not offended. It’s just not the kind of dog I’d get if I went to get one. Besides, I don’t own it. He was abandoned. I’m probably going to take him to the shelter.”
    “Bull. You love the dog. You just won’t admit it.”
    “Why wouldn’t I admit it?”
    “Because you’re macho,” she repeated with a smirk.
    It was the smirk that clued him in. What a second ago had sounded like a compliment, now didn’t ring that way anymore. “And macho doesn’t do it for you, huh?”
    Okay, he should cut this crap out. He was flirting, flirting with danger and with a woman so unlike his type. Hell, the type of woman he’d dated, before he’d stopped dating, didn’t blush, didn’t hesitate to fill him in on their do-it-yourself toys. The women he’d dated hadn’t been engaged to someone else.
    Plain and simply, he didn’t date the marrying kind. And perhaps that was why she intrigued him. She was just so damn refreshing. And he was having more fun right now than he’d had in years. Never mind that they were locked up in a room cold enough to be a morgue and, appropriately enough, that there was a dead body a few rooms away. Fun, in spite of the cold that dug into his gut.
    “Macho isn’t
in
anymore,” she answered.
    “What’s in?” He forced his attention to the box’s contents. Doodads. He picked up a figurine. Dust catchers. And women wanted to set them all around a house for what reason? He had a box in the attic that Amy had left along with her dog.
    “Women want metro men,” she said.
    “Metro?” He looked up and watched her shiver. “Men who use public transportation?”
    She grinned again. “Metrosexual men aren’t afraid to be in touch with their feminine side.”
    He closed the box. “So women want gay men? When did this happen? Don’t tell me, it was the movie. Broken Mountain .”
    “ Brokeback Mountain .”
    “Well, something was broken for someone to make that film. Not that I got anything against it.”
    Her sexy mouth twisted into another smile. “Metro isn’t gay. Just men who aren’t afraid of being sensitive. Men who aren’t afraid to