“I should be back about five,” she said, stopping in front of the couch, which seemed to have become Mik’s office.
Sigrid struck a pose with her hand on her hip. Let him see what she’d made of herself—she looked damned good and she knew it. The dark wool Michael Kors mini-skirt set off the simple white silk shirt perfectly, and the short, fitted, rust-colored suede jacket from Peter Jensen provided just the right finishing touch.
Rechecking one of her gold coin earrings to be sure it was secure, she allowed a slight, sneering smile to cross her face. “Have fun in Elk River.”
Mik’s eyebrows went up as he checked her out, which should have reassured her, but actually made her a little nervous. He rubbed his chin for a second, then stood up.
She tensed as he walked around her like Tim Gunn critiquing a fashion design, but she refused to give ground.
That damn eyebrow of his went up. “Hmmm. Let’s see—the cleavage would give a saint wet dreams, and those suede boots are an open invitation to kinky sex. Are you—uh--meeting someone special for lunch?”
Sigrid felt her jaw tighten as she strove for self-control. It was a wonder she hadn’t ground her teeth down to nubbins of their former selves since she’d brought Mik home.
“Don’t start anything, Mik. We’re not married anymore. I have a right to have male friends, and this one happens to be an assistant district attorney.”