Read Tara Holloway 01 - Death, Taxes, and a French Manicure for Free Online Page A

of trees and plants, but also by the way his well-formed bicep flexed each time he raised his wineglass for a drink. And the way he looked at me made me feel more beautiful than the colorful blooms inside the greenhouse.
    “I still haven’t heard the story,” he said. “How did you ‘not intentionally’ give blood today?”
    I tossed back the remaining wine in my glass, fished out the wine-soaked cherry, and set the empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter. “I had a little run-in with an uncooperative taxpayer today.” Okay, so calling the exchange “a little run-in” was an understatement. But that sounded better than telling him a hairy, deranged criminal had tried to send me to the Eternal Revenue Service in the sky. I popped the wine-soaked fruit into my mouth, noticing Brett’s gaze follow my fingers to my lips.
    I told him about my day, about reviewing the financial records for the auto parts store, Battaglia attacking me with the box cutter, Eddie jumping on the guy’s back. I left out the part where I shot the blade out of Battaglia’s hand. I wasn’t ashamed of my ass-kicking side. It’s just that right then, as I stood there in my beautiful sequined dress, with my perfect nails and carefully coiffed hair, I felt soft, sensuous, feminine. That’s how I wanted Brett to see me, at least for now. If this went anywhere, there’d be plenty of time to introduce him to my other side later.
    As I told Brett the story, his expression morphed from intrigued to shocked. “Does that kind of thing happen often?”
    “Thankfully, no.”
    “I hope the judge throws the book at him.”
    “Me, too.” And I hoped the book was the tax code. All five volumes of it.
    He took a sip of his wine. “So a special agent is like an investigator?”
    “You got it.” My job was to kick ass and take Social Security numbers.
    “Been with the IRS long?”
    “Only a few weeks.” I’d been thrilled to land the job. After years sitting in a cubicle at the accounting firm, I’d grown soft and hadn’t been certain I’d make the cut. I’d all but killed myself during my special agent training, losing six pounds and achieving six-pack abs in the process. I’d returned briefly to Martin and McGee to wrap up some projects, clean out my desk, and give two weeks’ notice to the managing partner, Scott Klein.
    Brett’s eyes roamed over me, sizing me up. “So if I don’t get my taxes filed on time, would you come after me?”
    “Yep.” My gaze locked on his for a moment, then I let my eyes roam up and down his body in return. “I might even seize your assets.”
    His eyes flashed as his pupils dilated. “That could be fun.”
    A classy guy with a naughty side. I knew right then I had to have him.
    “What about you?” I asked. “How long have you worked for Wakefield Designs?”
    Brett told me he’d worked for Wakefield for six years, since he’d earned his degree in landscape architecture from Texas A&M, a rival university. “I’d like to see you again,” he said.
    “I don’t know,” I teased. “I’m not sure I can date an aggie.”
    He crossed his arms over his broad chest in mock exasperation. “Should’ve known better than to ask out a snooty tea sip, ” he said, tossing out the antiquated, but still used, slur for UT students and alum. He shot me a wink and my body temperature soared. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, asking for my phone number and programming it into the device as I rattled it off.
    Alicia wandered outside then, teetering slightly on her heels. She’d apparently forgone the flowers and instead returned to the bar for another glass of wine or two. As much as I would’ve liked to stay and talk more with Brett, I could tell Alicia was as bored as I’d been when she’d dragged me to the modern art museum. No sense testing the limits of friendship any further. Besides, it couldn’t hurt to leave him wanting more, right?
    Brett and I bade each other good-bye,