A Glimpse of Fire
Debbi Rawlins
Is she for real?One look at the mannequin in the Manhattan department-store window and ambitious executive Eric Harmon knows no woman could be that perfect. But the leggy blonde is actually ex-model Dallas Shea. And she's very much alive. When he spies her at a stuffy corporate dinner, he's amazed it's actually her–his flawless beauty. And he's got to find out if the mystery woman feels as authentic as she looks.Good thing Dallas is aroused, too. Being Eric's mystery woman has had her hot 24/7! But there's only one way to keep the embers burning. Reveal nothing about herself, except what she expects from him in the bedroom. Play up the fantasy. And pray he never gets more than a glimpse of the truth.
“I’ll be gentle with you,” she said
Eric cleared his throat and tried not to make anything of the way Dallas was moistening her lips. Tried not to stare at her glistening lower lip. “Not too gentle. That would take out all the excitement.”
Her eyebrows rose.
Eric smiled. “Bring it on.”
She laughed, deep and throaty, the sound skating down his spine. “You’re giving me carte blanche?”
“I’m all yours.”
“Hmm…”
She bit her lip. And it was tempting, he thought, incredibly tempting. She liked him. The chemistry was certainly there. This is obviously what she wanted.
He moved closer. She didn’t retreat. Excellent sign. “So what would you like to do with me?”
“Oh, I never tip my hand too soon.”
“Oh, right. A woman of mystery and surprise.”
“You have no idea.”
Dear Reader,
One of the most common questions I’m asked is where do I get my ideas? The first time I was asked this I had trouble answering. The ideas just come to me, usually unbidden. They’re kind of always there, lurking, waiting to be triggered by the most obscure thing. My imagination just doesn’t quit. A Glimpse of Fire is a perfect example.
I live in Las Vegas, where imagination seems to run amok. One evening I took visiting friends to The Venetian, an Italian-themed casino where they have gondola rides and an “outdoor” courtyard designed to look like a quaint Italian village complete with white-faced, costumed street mimes. I wasn’t sure the first one I saw was a real person. I caught a glimpse of movement and then stared for the longest time waiting for the next flicker. A dollar tossed in the bowl at his feet earned a slight nod. That was it. And so the idea for this book wouldn’t let go.
Hope you enjoy Eric and Dallas’s ride. Hang on!
Best,
Debbi Rawlins
A Glimpse of Fire
Debbi Rawlins
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This is for Steve and E. I’m so glad you found each other. You’re everything I write about.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
1
DALLAS SHEA CHECKED HER WATCH and then shoved her keys and two twenties into her jeans pocket. She’d planned on walking the eighteen blocks up midtown but now she had to catch a cab or she’d be late.
“Oh, good, you’re still here.” Her roommate burst out of the tiny bathroom they shared while she pulled her long red hair up into a ponytail. Behind her a heap of towels lay near the foot of the ancient claw-foot tub.
Dallas sighed. The woman was the consummate slob. Funny, spontaneous, ambitious and a loyal friend but a total slob. “Not for long. I’m on my way out.”
“Can you walk Bruiser first?”
“No.”
The furry black mutt heard his name and came from behind the green floral couch, which was the extent of their tiny living room, wagging his tail, looking up at Dallas with soulful black eyes. He had to be up to seven pounds by now—big difference from three months ago, when Wendy found him scrounging for food in an alley near Nineteenth Street.
“Please, Dallas. I’ll make dinner.”
Giving Wendy a dry look, Dallas headed for the door, trying to avoid looking at Bruiser. If she did, she’d give in. “That’s what you said the last time.”
“I came through, didn’t I?”
“Hot dogs from Howie’s cart is not my idea of dinner.”
“Come on, please. I have an audition.” Wendy hopped on one leg as she pulled on a tennis shoe over her purple tights. “It’s really important. A new musical and they need twelve dancers. This time I’m going to get it. I know it. Right here.” She pressed a palm to her tummy. “This is gonna be my big break.”
Dallas undid the dead bolt. Then hesitated, reminding herself this wasn’t her business. But Wendy was crazy for chasing after these jobs. Sadly, at twenty-nine, she was already too old for Broadway. A new crop of eager, energetic young twenty-somethings were getting all the gigs.
She looked at her friend and then down at Bruiser, whose expectant eyes met hers, his tail still wagging. Even he’d already figured out what a pushover Dallas was.
Sighing, she opened the door for Wendy. “Go.”
Grinning, Wendy hopped toward her as she slid on her other sneaker. “You’re the best.”
“Be careful of those feet. I need your share of the rent.” Dallas scooped up Bruiser before he made a break for the open door, then grabbed his leash off the hook on the wall. “Don’t worry about dinner. I’m meeting Trudie.”
“Tell her I said hey.”
“Break a leg,” Dallas said as Wendy slipped out into the hall and closed the door.
She put Bruiser down and crouched to secure his leash. “What are you looking at me like that for? Huh?” She stroked his curly black fur, laughed when he licked her chin, rearing back just in the nick of time to avoid a sloppy kiss.
“Okay, boy, I know it’s been a while since I’ve had a date but I like my guys a little taller.” She stood, grabbing the plastic bag she needed to clean up after Bruiser.
In a way she envied Wendy. She never gave up. Her optimism and enthusiasm seemed boundless. Even after she’d lost the contract with Revalyn last year. A week after her twenty-eighth birthday, the company decided they needed someone with younger-looking hands for their print ads. Thank God feet didn’t age as quickly.
Dallas sighed. Boy, was she glad she’d gotten out of that world quickly. She’d modeled for a year during her senior year in college. After the blowup with her parents when they’d cut her off, she’d needed the money. But that had been enough. There had always been someone taller, slimmer, prettier. She’d hated every minute of it.
She led Bruiser out of the apartment, careful to double lock the door, then checked her watch as she waited for the elevator, hoping the damn thing wasn’t on a milk run. Of course, that it was working at all was cause for celebration. If she had the money, she’d move out, but finding and affording another apartment without having to move to Brooklyn would mean working a whole lot of overtime. Or worse, taking another job. The kind her parents would approve. The thought made her shudder.
“THANK GOD YOU’RE HERE.” Trudie looked up from a pink phone slip on her desk, her heavily outlined brown eyes filled with worry. “Close the door, would you?”
“Sure.” Dallas did as asked and then dropped into the worn burgundy leather guest chair. “What’s up?”
“I’m totally screwed.”
Dallas tried not to smile. Her friend had a penchant for drama. Their circle of college friends had been certain Trudie would end up on Broadway and not dressing department store windows. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m in charge of doing the Fifth Avenue window display for the Fourth of July sale. It’s also the store’s tenth anniversary.”
“Sounds like a big deal.”
“Yes,” Trudie said miserably. “And I’m about to blow it big-time.”
“How?”
Trudie shoved the pink slip she’d been studying across her crowded desk, between a stack of fashion magazines and a pile of fabric swatches.
Dallas picked up the phone message. It was from someone named Starla Jenkins. It simply said she had a stomach virus and had to cancel tomorrow evening.
“Okay,” Dallas said slowly, sliding the pink slip back toward Trudie. Her friend was obviously upset, so she forwent the wisecrack that came to mind. “And?”
“I am so screwed.”
“Who’s Starla Jenkins?”
“A model I’d hired.” Trudie exhaled sharply. “Stomach virus, my ass. I haven’t heard of anything going around.”
“So? I’m sure there are fifteen others who’d love to take her place. Call the agency.”
“It’s not that simple,” Trudie said and then remained silent as she stared at Dallas with an odd expression on her face. Her gaze dropped to Dallas’s hands and she wrinkled her nose. “Your nails are horrible.”
Dallas reflexively balled them into fists. “I just got off work.”
“That’s okay.” Trudie flashed her a quick smile. “We can fix them.”
“I don’t want them fixed.” She studied her friend for a moment, a bad feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. “Look, if you need to cancel dinner so you can find a replacement, I totally understand.”
Trudie’s gaze stayed steady. “I already have.”
Dallas stared back, feeling uneasy. Trudie couldn’t possibly be thinking— No, of course not. Ridiculous. She knew better. But just in case… “No.”
“Come on, Dallas. I’m not asking you to do it for free.”
“Why ask me period? You could find a replacement in half an hour.”
“No way, toots.” Trudie shook her head. “I promised my manager something special. A live mannequin.”
Dallas’s mouth opened but didn’t cooperate any further.
“You gave me the idea,” Trudie said in an accusatory tone. “Remember how in college you used to fake everyone out. Jill and I’d take bets you could stay perfectly still for a half hour at a time. Hell, we used to clean up. Pay for all our gas and entertainment.”
“That was eight years ago.”
“You did it again at the Christmas party last year and took fifty bucks off that snobby Chandler Whitestone.”
“That was different. He ticked me off.”
“Please, Dallas. You have to bail me out.”
Dallas sighed. Did she have Sucker written across her forehead or something? “I have faith you’ll find someone else. Or come up with another window display.”
“By tomorrow?”
“I’m not standing in a damn department store window. I’m too out of shape.”
“Bull. You should have never left the business.” Trudie glanced at Dallas’s hands again. “Your nails suck, but other than that you’re every bit as pretty and—”
“I’m twenty-nine.”
Trudie’s mouth twisted wryly. “There’s that.”
Dallas stood. “Moot point. Are we doing dinner or not?”
“Look, my career’s on the line here.” Trudie hesitated. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.”
“Have you even tried to find someone else?”
“Yes. I swear.”
Dallas sank back into the chair. She believed her. Trudie wasn’t one to ask for favors. Even after her jerk of a boyfriend had moved out along with half of Trudie’s furniture and the next month’s rent, she hadn’t asked Dallas or Wendy for a thing. Hadn’t accepted anything that was offered either.
“Come on, Dallas. As soon as Starla gets over her virus or whatever, she’ll call and you’ll be off the hook.”
“I’m not on the hook.”
“Oh, God, are you going to make me beg? Do I have to get down on my knees?”
Dallas sighed, knowing she was going to regret this. “Okay,” she said slowly. “How long do I have to pose and what do I have to wear?”
Trudie’s smile faltered. “Come on, let’s go have a drink or two first.”
“Trudie…”
Her friend got up from her desk, grabbed her purse and headed out the door. “I’m buying.”
Dallas followed. She was not going to like this. Not one bit.
ERIC HARMON PAID THE cabdriver and got out near Sixth and Lexington. No sign of Tom. He checked his watch. Traffic had been surprisingly cooperative, and he’d apparently beaten his friend to the rendezvous point a block from their office where they both worked for Webber and Thornton Advertising.
He squinted up at the twentieth floor and counted four windows from the corner, which was Tom’s office. The light was still on. But of course, so was the light in Eric’s office, two over from Tom’s, and Eric had no intention of returning to work. Not today. He was too beat.
They really should’ve met at Pete’s Grille, he realized. After the meeting he had just left, he could really use a double scotch about now. He checked his watch again, moved out of the way as a horde of pedestrians left the crosswalk and headed for him, then withdrew his cell phone from his suit jacket pocket.
“Put that away. I’m right behind you.”
He turned toward Tom’s voice and slid the phone back into his pocket. “I need a drink.”
“Me, too.”
Eric looked down at the briefcase his friend was holding. “Since when do you take work home?”
Tom shook his head, his expression grim. “I don’t care how bad your meeting went, be damn glad you weren’t in the office this afternoon.”
“Great. Tell me it doesn’t have to do with the Mercer account.” The advertising business could be a bitch. When you bonded with the client, you were on top of the world. But then there were those times when you thought about ordering a one-way ticket to Siberia.
“I’m not talking work until after I have a scotch.” Tom stepped back, accidentally bumping into a short blonde in a khaki suit. “Excuse me.”
At his dimpled smile, her irritation promptly vanished. “No problem.” She returned the smile, laced with a brief but obvious invitation.
Eric sighed. “Come on, Romeo. Let’s get to Pete’s before your wife calls and tells you to get your ass home.”
Tom gave the blonde’s swaying rear end a final appreciative look before turning toward Fourth Avenue. “Speaking of wives, since you don’t have one—” Tom said as if it were a crime “—who are you taking to Webber’s annual thanks-for-the-job-well-done-but-you’re-not-getting-a-bonus party?”
“Who says I have to take anyone?”
“Unspoken rule, my friend. You always show up and you don’t show up alone. The guy’s old school. He thinks everyone should be married and settled by the time they’re thirty. A mark you’ve already bypassed. Besides, didn’t you get the picture after the Christmas party? He didn’t like it that you were the only one flying solo.”
Eric scoffed. “That attitude’s not only ridiculously antiquated, it’s illegal.”
“Tell him that.” Tom’s head swung around after a redheaded jogger in a skintight green tank and running shorts who’d passed them.
“And then there are some guys who just shouldn’t be married.”
“What?” Tom glanced at him and laughed. “Only looking, pal. Only looking. Something you should be doing more of.”
Frankly he didn’t know how Tom did it. Juggle a wife, a successful but demanding career and an active and strategic social life. Of course, Tom’s first putt in life came with a handicap. Prominent Westchester family. Ivy League education. No student loans to repay. A wife with an impressive social pedigree.
Must be nice. Eric wouldn’t know. His background was Pittsburgh blue-collar all the way. Of his entire extended family, he’d been the first to graduate from college and escape a life sweating in the steel mills.
“Seriously, Eric,” he continued, “when was the last time you brought someone to a company function?”
“Why are we discussing this?”
“Tell me when and I’ll drop it.”
“Why would I subject a date to one of Webber’s boring parties?” He was about to cross the street when the light turned red. Normally that wouldn’t stop him, except a stretch limo came barreling around the corner from Lexington.
“See? Good reason to get married. Then the girl’s gotta go and be bored.”
“Right.”
Tom elbowed him. “Check out the blonde at three o’clock. The one in the red stiletto heels.”
Eric casually glanced in that direction. “Not bad.”
“Not bad? Are you nuts? That one could put you in intensive care for a month.”
Eric started to cross the street as soon as the light changed. Two cabs ran the red light and honked at the pedestrians who’d entered the crosswalk. Across the street several other cabs blasted their horns for no apparent reason. You’d never know the city imposed a three-hundred-fifty-dollar fine for unnecessary honking.
They’d barely made it across Fifth Avenue when Tom started in again. “Okay, I want you to point out your idea of the perfect woman.” He gestured toward the mass of people, mostly women in suits and running shoes, coming toward them. “You have a wide variety right here.”
“What is with you today?”
“Humor me.”
Eric shook his head in disgust, at the same time catching sight of a department store window display, taken aback by the realistic beach scene. Sand, sun, a threatening wave that looked as if it were about to crash over two incredibly lifelike mannequins and then right through the window onto the sidewalk. Computer generated, obviously, but realistic enough to earn some gasps from the crowd of onlookers and send an older couple back several steps.
Remarkable as the special effects were, what caught his attention was the blond mannequin in the red bikini. She looked so damn real. And perfect. Long honey-blond hair, sexy blue eyes, full lips that formed a tempting bow. And man did she have legs….
“Are you listening?” Tom got in his face.
“What?” Eric hadn’t realized he’d stopped. Right in the middle of the sidewalk, blocking everyone’s way. People muttered curses and stepped around him. “No.”
He looked back at the window. At the mannequin. She was amazing. Incredible. Too bad that kind of perfection could only be synthetic.
Tom followed his gaze just as another wave swelled threateningly, and he ducked. Clearly realizing his foolish reaction, he straightened and glanced around. Several other onlookers had done the same.
“Damn, that’s amazing.”
Eric nodded. “Genius. Pure genius. Look at how many people the window’s attracting.”
“No shit. This should earn someone a nice little bonus.”
Eric shook his head. Lately with Tom it was always about money or women. As if he needed to worry about either. “Let’s go.”
“Wait. No more changing the subject. You have an assortment of lovelies right here. Blondes, brunettes, redheads.” Ignoring a sharp look he received from a well-dressed older woman who’d obviously overheard, he gestured toward a group staring at the window. “I’m not moving until you choose one.”
Eric shrugged and turned to leave. “I’ll say hey to everyone at Pete’s for you.”
Tom snagged his coat sleeve. “Come on.”
Eric sighed. His gaze went back to the mannequin, to the tiny beauty mark at the corner of her lush mouth. “Her,” he said with a jut of his chin.
“Who?” Tom scanned the group of women close to the window. “Which one?”
“There.” Eric barely contained a smile as he fixed his gaze on the mannequin. “She’s perfect.”
It took Tom a moment for it to register and then he laughed. “Why, because she can’t talk?”
“A big bonus, you have to admit.”
“I’ll give you that.” Tom studied the mannequin. “Great legs, too. I wonder if she’s busy this weekend.”
Eric shook his head and headed across the street. “I’m gonna go have a drink. You do what you want.”
Tom started after him when he heard the crowd gasp. He turned just in time to see the two mannequins throwing their hands up as if frightened by the wave, and then they repositioned themselves, again going perfectly still.
The crowd began murmuring and talking excitedly, loud enough that Eric turned around to see what was happening. Tom took off after him.
“What’s going on?” Eric asked.
“Nothing. Another wave.” Tom shouldered him, urging him to keep walking. “Let’s go before my keeper calls.”
Tom could barely contain himself. This was rich. Totally awesome. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do yet, but the opportunity for something really big was there.
Like Saturday night—the company dinner. God, this was too perfect.
In his excitement, he nearly tripped over his own feet.
All he had to do was keep Eric away from that window for the next two days.
2
TEN MORE MINUTES. FIFTEEN tops, and the store would be closing, judging by the steady stream of shoppers exiting the Fifth Avenue doors. She could do this. Wait fifteen minutes before she sprinted to the bathroom. Dallas simply had to stop thinking about how her bladder was ready to explode.
Even though she’d purposely laid off the coffee and Cokes made available in the dressing room, the knowledge that she was stuck in the window and couldn’t leave was enough to make her desperate for a pit stop. One five-minute break in four hours just didn’t cut it. She and Trudie were going to have a serious discussion tomorrow.
Dallas heard her partner’s stomach growl and used every ounce of self-control to keep a straight face. Steve did an admirable job of remaining impassive himself, and she kept her gaze fixed on the fire hydrant across the street. It was easier that way, to focus on one particular object until the soft beep told them it was time to change positions. Besides, making eye contact with anyone in the crowd outside wasn’t a good idea. Made it much harder to keep a straight face and not blink.
She’d almost blown it earlier. Two yuppies had stopped and stared, obviously more interested in her bikini than the window display. The taller one had caught her eye with his dark wavy hair and light eyes and a tanned face with a deep cleft in his strong chin that had a way of sending her thoughts in a dangerous direction.
The announcement came that the store would be closing in five minutes.
Freedom. Hallelujah!
She and Steve exchanged a brief glance.
That’s when she noticed him. Approaching the window. One of the guys she’d seen earlier. Not the good-looking one with the dimpled chin but the shorter one.
He stopped dead center and stared at her intensely, thoroughly, as if she were a museum exhibit. She tried not to move, not to give any sign of acknowledgement. Then he mouthed something to her, but still she refused to focus on his lips or try to understand what he was saying.
Panic knotted her tummy, and she tried to disguise the deep unsteady breath she took. Just what she needed—some pervert following her home later. She’d have to duck out the employee door, maybe even get Steve to share a cab with her.
The guy walked up to the security guard, who stood at the door making sure no one slipped inside, and the two men shook hands. They apparently knew each other, which brought Dallas some relief.
Behind her, Trudie’s assistant opened the door to the window, at the same time dimming the display lights, a signal it was over. They were free. At least until tomorrow night. She and Steve looked at each other. He smiled. She groaned. Of course, he looked as if he were barely out of his teens. His back and legs probably didn’t ache as hers did.
“You okay?” he asked, his incredibly pretty blue eyes clouding with genuine concern. Nice guy. Idaho born and bred, he’d only moved to the city six months ago. He’d change. They all did.
“Terrific.”
“You look awful.”
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” He actually blushed as he stepped aside to let her out first.
She grinned. Too bad he wasn’t older. “Aren’t you a little stiff?”
His brows rose in surprise. “Why?”
“Never mind.”
She climbed out, smiling ruefully to herself. It wasn’t that she was in bad shape. Just the opposite. Working in construction for the past year and a half had probably gotten her into the best condition she’d ever been. This was different. Holding the same position for an hour at a time wasn’t easy. Nothing like it had been eight years ago in college.
A couple of stragglers leaving the store stopped to stare at her. She accepted a robe from Trudie’s assistant and pulled it on over the tiny red bikini before heading for the dressing room. The lights flickered—the store’s final warning for everyone to leave.
“Hey, you wanna go for a drink?” Steve threw his robe over his shoulder.
Drink? Bathroom? Oh, God. “How about a rain check?” she said without breaking her stride.
“Sure.” He shrugged, smiled. “See you tomorrow evening.”
Dallas sighed as he walked ahead of her. He sure was pretty. Young but pretty.
“Excuse me.”
Dallas heard the voice behind her and glanced over her shoulder. It was him. The guy who’d been standing outside a moment ago. Her chest tightened. “The store is closed. You’ll have to leave.”
He gave her a boyish grin. “I know the security guard. Besides, I only need a minute of your time.”
“I don’t have a minute.”
“Look, I want to hire you.” He produced a business card from his jacket pocket. “For Saturday night. Your usual modeling fee, of course.”
She barely glanced at the card. “I’m not a model. I’m doing this as a favor for a friend.” She tried to hand him back the card but he wouldn’t take it.
“Call my office,” he said. “Check me out. Or ask Jimmy.” He inclined his head toward the security guard.
She shook her head. “Look, I—”
“I’m not a kook or a pervert.” His boyish grin took a chink out of her resolve. “Well, my friends may argue that point. But seriously, I only want to play a practical joke on my friend. He was here earlier with me and saw you and…well, we have a company dinner at the boss’s house this Saturday and I thought it would be pretty funny if you showed up.”
Of course she remembered the guy. His face was surprisingly clear in her mind. That strong, dimpled jaw stood out in particular.
“He thinks you’re a mannequin.”
That startled a laugh out of her. Oops! Bad move. She squeezed her thighs together. “I’ll think about it and call you, okay?” she said as she started toward the bathroom.
“Tom!” The security guard motioned the man to the door. “I gotta lock up.”
“I’ll be waiting to hear from you.” Tom backed toward the door. “Either way, call me, will you?”
“Sure,” she said, amazed that she was even considering it.
“I THINK YOU’RE NUTS IF YOU don’t go.” Wendy plopped down on the love seat with a bowl of buttered popcorn that she placed between her thighs. “How totally cool. You’d be like the mystery woman.”
If Dallas denied being intrigued by the prospect, she’d be a liar, but the situation was just so way out there. “Pass me some popcorn, would you?”
“You won’t like it. I used a whole block of butter,” she said, licking her fingers.
“I don’t suppose you set any popcorn aside for me.”
“Sorry.”
“Thanks.” Dallas sighed as she pushed off the purple beanbag chair. Some things never changed.
They’d been roommates for three years, but Wendy still hadn’t grasped the concept of sharing. She had other good qualities, Dallas reminded herself as she grabbed an apple from the basket of fruit they kept on top of the refrigerator—the only spare spot in the minuscule kitchen.
“So, you saw this guy, right?” Wendy asked between handfuls of popcorn.
“Briefly. Anyway, it’s not like it’s a blind date. Just a prank.”
“What does he look like?”
“Tall, kind of wiry, athletic-type body, dark hair, hazel eyes, strong square jaw.”
Wendy snorted. “Just a brief look, huh?”
“Keep stuffing your face and shut up.” Dallas sank back into the chair and stretched her legs out. “I called that guy Tom’s office. I didn’t talk to him. Just made sure he really worked there.”
“And what about Saturday night? How do you know it’s legit?”
“I pretended I was a florist and wanted to confirm the delivery date for the dinner.”
“Very sneaky. I’m impressed.”
Dallas groaned. “But I still don’t know if I should do this.”
“Did Trudie have an opinion?”
“Please, you need to ask? She thinks I’d be crazy to do it.”
“Screw it. She’s gotten too conservative since she caved in and got a nine-to-fiver. Go. Be daring. Have fun. What else do you have to do Saturday, anyway?”
Dallas watched a popcorn kernel slip from Wendy’s hand and fall to the floor to join several of its friends. Dallas sighed. Wendy was right. What else did she have to do Saturday night besides clean up Wendy’s mess?
ERIC FINISHED HIS COGNAC and debated having another one before he slipped out. As usual he’d come late, for-going the cocktail hour and arriving just minutes before dinner had been served, along with a different wine with each course. Easy to get stupid with all that booze. And he made it a policy never to get stupid in front of the brass.
Webber, of course, was here. It was his house. He always threw the parties. New money. He still had a lot of showing off to do. The firm’s other partner, Joseph Thornton IV, came from old money. Nice guy, old-school polite, but with the exception of Webber, no one from the office had ever seen the inside of his house. At least no one Eric knew of. Not that he was the type to be invited to the Thornton estate. But some day…hell, some day he’d have a nice three-story brownstone like this with a view of Central Park.
Near the white marble fireplace, Tom and Serena were talking to Harold Carter, the company’s controller and possibly the most boring human being in Manhattan. Eric wasn’t in the mood to make small talk, so he circled around the room, heading for the bar.
“Another cognac?” The bartender reached for the bottle.
“Yep, one for the road.” Eric put down his empty snifter. Most bartenders had amazing memories. “Go ahead and refill this one.”
He’d picked up a clean glass but set it aside. “No argument from me. One less to wash.”
Eric glanced at the guy’s name tag. He remembered him from the Webber’s Christmas party. “Tell me something, Chuck. You ever get tired of these private parties?”
Chuck shrugged. “They aren’t so bad. Pays the rent.”
Eric sighed. “Yep, that’s what it’s all about.” He surveyed the plush living room, impeccably decorated in gold and burgundy, a van Gogh over the fireplace and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a couple of Gauguins on the dining room wall. He hated these affairs. Ridiculously formal and mandatory—unspoken, of course. “Money.”
Chuck grinned. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“Not a thing.” Eric had to agree. Not to would make him a hypocrite. Wasn’t that why he was here when he’d rather be just about anyplace else? Not just because he was the only guest without a date—something which Webber had again commented on. But that was Eric’s choice. He could have brought a date if he’d wanted.
Most of the time he could be political and schmooze the bosses with the best of them. He certainly did his share when necessary. Frankly he had to. It was all part of the game. But social situations weren’t his favorite milieu. He always felt at such a disadvantage.
“The class of people at these private affairs are better than working the bars.” Chuck motioned with his chin toward the foyer. “Like her. What a knockout! Can’t believe I didn’t notice her earlier.”
Eric looked in that direction and saw the blonde entering the foyer. The Webber’s maid had just let her in the double glass front doors. No escort. Just her and that slinky black dress.
She turned in his direction and his jaw dropped. That face. Those lips. That tiny beauty mark near her mouth. Those legs. He knew her….
Impossible.
He blinked. Took a deep shuddering breath. Exhaled slowly.
Chuck muttered an oath. “Sorry, man, I hope that isn’t your wife or anything.”
“What?” Eric barely glanced at the bartender before his gaze drew helplessly back to the woman. “No, I, um, I don’t know her.”
“In that case, I’d go introduce myself if I were you, dude.” Chuck grabbed a crystal flute and poured some champagne. “Here. Take this to her.”
Eric didn’t move. He just stared. Blinked hard. Stared again. In total shock. The woman’s resemblance to the mannequin he’d seen three days ago was remarkable. The hair on the back of his neck went straight up as he watched her enter the living room and take Mrs. Webber’s extended hand.
“I need a scotch,” he said to Chuck, his eyes never leaving the woman.
“Hey, dude, you okay?”
No, he wasn’t okay. He was friggin’ hallucinating. He finished his cognac and set it aside as he waited for Chuck to pour the scotch, and then he downed it in one gulp.
Tom.
Eric peered toward the marble fireplace where he’d last seen his friend. Where the hell was he? Tom had seen her in the window the other night, too. He could prove Eric wasn’t going crazy.
Eric left the empty glass on the bar and moved toward the fireplace area while trying to keep the blonde in his sights. Wasn’t hard. Everyone else seemed to be eyeing her, too. Of course, all the other guests knew each other. But it wasn’t just that she was an outsider. She was stunning.
He spotted Tom, but before he could get to him, the blonde and Mrs. Webber approached him and his wife. Tom and Serena shook hands with the blonde. Not a trace of recognition on Tom’s face.
Eric took a step back. Obviously he’d been working too hard lately. He was losing it. He needed to sit down. Have another drink. Better yet, go home.
“Hey, Eric. Come here.” Tom motioned him toward them. “I’d like you to meet someone.”
The blonde smiled. Her teeth were dazzlingly white and perfect. So was her skin. Flawless. Golden and creamy. And her honey-colored hair…the way the light from the chandelier touched it, lighting it with shimmering highlights, was a work of art.
A tiny half-moon-shaped scar near her jawline surprised him. Nothing bad or ugly but certainly unnecessary. A cosmetic surgeon could probably eliminate the imperfection with a thirty-minute office visit.
Too late to retreat gracefully, Eric moved forward and forced a smile.
Mrs. Webber leaned over and straightened his tie. “Don’t leave too soon, okay? I have a very special dessert planned,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes before drifting across the room.
“This is Eric Harmon,” Tom said to the woman. “And Eric, this is Dallas.”
She smiled and extended her hand. Eric’s palm was so clammy, he was embarrassed to touch her. He took her fingers and brought her hand to his lips, pressing a light kiss to the back, which earned a choked snicker out of Tom.
“A pleasure meeting you,” Eric said and released her hand as quickly as he could without seeming rude.
She blinked, surprise flickering across her face. “The pleasure is mine,” she whispered, her voice soft and breathy and matching her perfectly.
The heady scent of roses and mystery swarmed his senses and he actually felt weak in the knees. His lips tingled from the silky warmth of her skin.
Too much scotch. That’s all.
He caught the tail end of the amused look Tom and Serena had exchanged and he cleared his throat. “Tom, could I speak with you for a moment in private?”
Tom hesitated. Long enough for their boss, Morgan Webber, to call for Tom and motion for him across the room.
“Sorry, pal,” Tom said, looking anything but as he hurried across the room toward Webber, Serena in tow.
Eric took a deep breath and turned back to Dallas. Her long, delicate fingers absently stroked the gold chain she wore around her neck. It held a small ruby heart that followed the deep V of her dress and rested in the tantalizing valley between her breasts.
He tried his damnedest not to stare. Forced his gaze up to the slender column of her neck, to her lush peach-tinted lips, the cute upward tilt of her nose and then to dive headfirst into eyes so sexy and blue, he thought he might have to loosen his collar to breathe.
He cleared his throat. “It’s nice to see a new face at one of these parties. They get pretty stale after a while.” He stopped, swore under his breath. “Tell me you aren’t the Webbers’ niece.”
She smiled and shook her head.
“Or in any way related.”
This time she laughed, the simple innocent sound seductive as hell. “No, you’re safe.”
Eric exaggerated a sigh of relief and then smiled. Up close he realized the scar on her jaw wasn’t that old. Maybe a year or so. At least he knew she was a real live person.
God, he was losing it. He had to talk to Tom. Or then again, maybe he shouldn’t. His friend was likely to have him committed. “How do you know the Webbers?”
Dallas looked blankly at him for a moment. And then her gaze shifted past him. “Would you get that waiter’s attention, please? I’d really like a glass of wine.”
“Of course.” Damn, he should’ve brought the champagne Chuck had poured.
Eric snagged the waiter’s attention. On his tray he had both white and red wine and flutes of champagne. Eric turned back to her to ask which she preferred and was surprised to find her nibbling nervously at her lower lip.
Their eyes met, and her lips immediately stretched into a smile, her expression one of utter composure.
“Red, white or champagne?” he asked.
“Red, thank you.”
He lifted the glass off the tray and handed it to her. He thought about having another drink himself but decided he needed a clear head to survive the twilight zone.
“At the risk of sounding tedious, have we met before?” he asked and then waited for her to finish her sip.
She lowered the glass, and a tiny droplet of wine shimmered from her upper lip. Battling the urge to lick it was bad enough, but when she pursed her mouth, her lips forming a tempting pout, he totally lost his train of thought. What the hell had they been talking about?
“I’m sure I would remember,” she said finally.
“Oh, yeah, right. Me, too.” He should have had another drink. Never had he been so tongue-tied or at such a loss for words with a woman. “I mean, Dallas is an unusual name.”
“Not in my family. My sister’s name is Dakota. My brother’s name is Cody.”
“I’m sensing a pattern.”
Her lips curved in a wry smile. “Very astute.”
He smiled back. “Cody isn’t so unusual.”
“Not now. Thirty-three years ago it was, and he hated it with a passion.”
“Ah, he must be your much older brother.”
Laughter sparkled in her eyes. “Much older.”
He guessed she was in her midtwenties, not that it mattered. “Where do you fall in the pecking order? Middle?”
Her eyebrows rose, and she seemed a little annoyed. “Does it show?”
Eric shrugged. “I haven’t been around you long enough to know.”
She didn’t say anything but sipped her wine, still looking a little put off.
He understood her touchiness, which he wisely didn’t point out. As far as he was concerned, whoever had come up with the “middle child syndrome” theory was on to something. He knew firsthand. “I’m right smack in the middle myself. A brother three years older and one three years younger. Both pains in the ass.”
Her smile returned. “But you love them anyway.”
“Yep, though I admit I don’t always like them.”
“Amen.”
“We have something in common then.”
Her voice lowering to a husky pitch, she said, “I wonder what else we have in common.”
He took another sip of scotch. This had to be a joke. She was too perfect. And she’d just handed him the perfect opening. “How about we find out over dinner sometime?”
She blinked, uncertainty flitting across her face.
Eric silently cleared his throat. Had he misread the signal? Had he screwed up? It wasn’t as if he’d been pushy. “Look, I—”
The lights flickered once, twice.
The room quieted for a few seconds, until the tinkling sound of metal meeting crystal broke the silence.
“May I have your attention?” Mrs. Webber stood with a crystal goblet in one hand and a silver spoon in the other. “I’d like you all to return to the table. We have a special dessert we’re about to serve.”
Great. Just how he wanted to spend the next hour. Eric turned back to Dallas.
She was gone.
3
AFTER EVERYONE WAS SEATED, the lights went out and two waiters carried trays of flaming Baked Alaska high above their heads into the dining room. Several people clapped, and during a chorus of oohs and aahs, the lights came back on.
Across the long table, where Tom had made sure Dallas was seated with him and his wife, Eric’s eyes bored into hers as if the lights had never gone out. As if even in the dark he’d been drawn unerringly to her. And like a deer caught in the headlights, Dallas held his gaze, totally powerless to look away.
“This is rich. This is just too friggin’ rich,” Tom murmured, drawing her attention. “I should have brought a damn camera.”
Thankfully the waiters began serving the Baked Alaska, and Dallas used the distraction to pull herself together. If she were smart, she’d excuse herself from the table and leave the party. Between his staring and the other guests’ curiosity, she was bound to trip up. Make a fool of herself.
She’d purposely come after dinner so that she could flit about the room just out of his reach, engage in some harmless flirting, make him a little crazy and then disappear. The last thing she’d wanted was to be stuck at the table. Damn, she didn’t even like Baked Alaska.
Her gaze drew back to him. Sitting beside him, a slim fortyish woman wearing too many diamonds on her fingers and an unhealthy tan had managed to monopolize his attention. Dallas used the opportunity to give him a once-over. Watch the way his mouth quirked up on one side in a sort of lopsided smile.
He really was good-looking in a conservative way. She’d like to see his hair a little longer, but that was cosmetic. The basics—the structural stuff, like the strong square chin—were there. Great lips, too. Nice and full on the bottom.
Then again, the clean-cut look wasn’t bad for a change. Many of the guys she worked with had hair long enough to tie into a ponytail. Except for her best bud Tony, and even his dark, shaggy mop rested on his collar.
Tom made an odd gurgling noise behind his napkin, trying to stifle a laugh. “Look at him. He’s in a daze talking to Miriam Lancaster. Doesn’t even know what hit him. Did you see when he was trying to get my attention earlier? Do I have a poker face, or what?”
“Tom, stop it.” Serena’s warning voice was low, but both Dallas and the woman next to her heard. Serena’s voice dropped a few pitches. “Besides making an ass out of yourself, you’re going to blow it.”
“Okay, okay.” He stared at his plate until he was able to compose himself. It lasted three seconds before he started to chuckle again. “Did you see his face when—?”
“Tom, I mean it. I’ll leave.” Serena glanced at Dallas. “This is so incredibly juvenile. I’m sorry he involved you.”
“Juvenile, hell. This is priceless.” Tom’s eyes gleamed until Serena picked the linen napkin off her lap and started to fold it, preparing to get up. “All right, I’ll shut up.”
She hesitated and then laid the napkin back down on her lap. Tom cast another glance at Eric and then at Dallas, pressed his lips together and picked up his fork.
Through the rest of dessert, Dallas sat quietly even though her heart raced like a thoroughbred rushing for the finish line. She’d figured she’d be nervous. And she was a little. Had almost backed out at the last minute. She’d certainly never expected the exhilaration she felt or the giddy headiness of power and control that continued to build.
While Eric knew nothing about her, she knew a lot about him. Knew he was a Columbia graduate who’d been steadily climbing the ladder of success from the day after he’d graduated. His hard work had paid off, and he was a rising star with Webber and Thornton, a company that believed in family and socializing outside of the office. Eric was the only holdout, unmarried and never even bringing a date to the company functions.
She liked that about him. A rebel, kind of like herself. But the similarity ended there. His friends and acquaintances belonged to an elite circle. The kind she shunned. No, not shunned, really. That wasn’t accurate. But her world was definitely more eclectic. By choice.
But that’s what made tonight’s cameo appearance fun. No one knew anything about her. Not even Tom. He assumed she was a freelance model. She hadn’t bothered to correct him. Wouldn’t he be surprised if he discovered the truth?
She surveyed the other guests, all dressed to the nines, every hair in place, perfect manicures and polite smiles. They’d all be surprised to learn what she really did for a living. Disgusted maybe. As her parents were. To some extent, at least her brother and sister understood her need for autonomy. Not that they approved of her choices.
Dessert seemed to go on forever. Lots of cognac and fancy liqueurs were served. Fortunately enough subdued chatter muffled private conversations that she was able to easily fend off the polite curiosity of the other guests before Eric could get wind of their exchange.
According to Tom, only he, Serena and Mrs. Webber knew about the joke. Everyone else thought she was a visiting friend of the Webbers’ absent daughter. Dallas stuck to the story, and curiosity generally died quickly.
Not Eric’s, though. His gaze often strayed in her direction, although to his credit, the woman beside him would never know he was distracted. He smiled and inclined his head toward her when she spoke, did all the courteous things expected of him.
Only Dallas knew his thoughts were about her, that more than curiosity burned in his eyes when they met hers. Every nerve ending in her body reacted. As if two live wires connected and sparked with each look.
She tried to avoid the contact. Pretended interest in a boring conversation with Serena about the upcoming Heart Ball and the local celebrities who’d be attending. But she was just as hopeless, her gaze drawing back to him, admiring the breadth of his shoulders, the generosity of his smile, as the woman kept him busy.
He looked at her suddenly as if he’d felt the weight of her stare. To her amazement, she didn’t look guiltily away. She held his gaze for a long, torturous moment, gave him a slow smile that invited all sorts of possibilities.
He wasn’t shy about returning the volley. His gaze wandered down the front of her dress, lingering just long enough on her breasts to remain respectful yet make her tingle all the way down to her toes.
She finally had to look away. Or end up in an embarrassing puddle on the floor. He had the most incredibly intense eyes. The eyes of a man who knew what he wanted and went after it with everything he had in his arsenal. The thought frightened her, fascinated her, and then she remembered that she had the power here. Anything that happened would be by her design. She was no Cinderella hoping to be swept off her feet, rescued from life’s drudgery.
Dallas’s life was just fine, with or without a man. Less reliance on the old vibrator might be nice for a change, but that didn’t mean she was willing to settle for just anyone. But Eric…well, he was looking like a pretty damn good substitute. Smart, attractive, successful, ambitious. Not that his view of success was important to her. In fact, her lack of interest in such matters was what put her at odds with her family.
But all that along with his standing in the business community made him a safe bet. At least for a couple of nights. What would it hurt? He didn’t even know who she was. Even if he tried to contact her through the store, Trudie was the only one who knew her and Trudie wouldn’t tell him anything. Trudie thought she was insane for doing this as it was.
Maybe she was crazy. This certainly wasn’t her style. Her gaze drew to Eric again. He’d been watching her. Her pulse skidded. She nearly dropped her fork. This was going to be one hell of a night.
HE HAD TO TALK TO HER AGAIN. Alone. Away from the party. The Baked Alaska dishes had been cleared from the table. Cognac had been served. People had begun milling around. In about a half an hour they would start leaving. He had to make his move.
If he could find her. She’d left the table five minutes ago. He’d tried to follow but gotten waylaid by Brian Sutter’s wife. Brian motioned for her a moment later, but Eric couldn’t get away before Eve Dinton ambushed him.
Tonight of all nights it seemed as if everyone had to talk to him. Normally he didn’t mind making polite conversation with his coworkers’ wives, but if he heard about another unfair Little League game or about the rising cost of produce, he’d jump off the…
“Hello again.”
Her feminine scent tickled his senses even before he turned to find her directly behind him. His attention immediately went to her glistening peach-tinted lips. They parted slightly and she drew back a step.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said almost in a whisper, and he realized he was just standing there. Staring. Speechless. Like an idiot.
“You didn’t.” He touched her arm when it looked as if she might take off. “Not at all.”
She smiled tentatively. “You seemed so deep in thought.”
“The truth is—” he lowered his voice “—I was thinking about the Webbers’ rooftop garden.”
“Oh.” Her eyebrows drew together, and she hesitated, looking confused. “You like to garden?”
He laughed. “I was thinking about jumping off.”
Her eyes widened.
“This isn’t exactly my first choice for spending an evening.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Nice people.” He shrugged. “But I see most of them every day at the office.”
“Coworkers are kind of like family. You don’t choose them,” she said thoughtfully. “But you do have to make nice whether you like them or not.”
He snorted. “That’s debatable.”
She smiled. “You get a point for honesty.”
“Does that mean you’ll go someplace for a drink with me?”
“Leave here?”
“I know this bar right around the corner. It’s a nice place with piano music and—”
She’d started shaking her head. “I can’t.”
“Okay,” he said slowly, “no problem.”
“I’d like to, really…”
“But?”
She glanced over at Tom and Serena still sitting at the table. “I just don’t think I should leave.”
“Tell you what, how about we take a couple of cognacs up to the garden?”
“On the roof?”
“Sure. It’s quiet. Great view of Central Park and Columbus Circle.”
She seemed reluctant though definitely interested. “Won’t the Webbers mind?”
“Not a bit.”
“Sounds like you’ve done this before.”
He smiled. “Actually I’ve only been up there once, when Mrs. Webber gave the grand tour a couple of years ago.”
She glanced at her watch. “I suppose it would be all right for a few minutes.”
“Then you turn into a pumpkin?”
Her lips curved in a mysterious smile. “Something like that.”
THE GARDEN AREA WASN’T LARGE. Dimly lit, about the size of a guest room, flowers grew everywhere. Red geraniums, white daisies and sprays of pink blossoms spilled from several barrel-size stone urns. A trellis leaning against the reddish brick was covered with tiny climbing white roses that perfumed the air with their seductive scent.
Beyond the decorative black wrought iron that surrounded the rooftop garden were the lights of Manhattan and the shadows of Central Park.
“What a fantastic view.” Hands gripping the rail, she leaned out, a gentle breeze blowing back her honey-blond hair, giving him an unobstructed view of her profile. The small, slightly upturned nose and skin that was remarkably flawless except for the scar.
Eric’s curiosity got the better of him and he asked, “How did you get that?”
She turned to look at him and he pointed to his own chin. Her hand shot up to touch the marked area, her mouth twisting wryly.
She rolled her eyes. “Totally my fault. I got it at work when I wasn’t paying attention.”
“At work? How?”
She looked away. “This is a beautiful view. I wonder how much one of these co-ops cost.” She smiled. “Not that I’d ever be able to afford one.”
“I will someday.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Ambitious or optimistic?”
He laughed. “Both.”
“I wish you luck.” She gave him a peculiar smile and then turned away to look out over Central Park.
“You must make good money modeling.”
A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “What makes you think I’m a model?”
He stared, waiting for a telltale flicker to cross her face. She didn’t even blink. “Aren’t you?”
“No. But I’m flattered.” She seemed so damned sincere. Maybe he was going crazy.
“Then what do you do?”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Just making conversation.”
“Then you won’t mind talking about something else.” Her lips curved in a smile that made him her slave.
A totally new experience for him. He liked women, of course, but he hadn’t found one yet that had him thinking with the wrong head. Not since high school, anyway. “You like being the mystery woman, huh?”
The smile lingering on her lips, she lifted her chin and shook back her hair, lifting her face to the balmy breeze.
“So, if I can’t get more than your name, how am I going to ask you out to dinner?”
After a moment’s hesitation she looked directly at him and asked, “When?”
“Tomorrow night.” God, he hoped he could get a reservation this late. “Amuse Bouche. It’s that new restaurant at the—”
“I know it.” Amusement lit her eyes. “Trying to impress me?”
“Damn right.”
She laughed. “Another point for honesty. But unless you had another date cancel on you, we will not be getting into Amuse Bouche tomorrow night.”
“I confess. No reservations, but I know the maître d’.”
“Ever been to Hakata on West Forty-eighth?”
He frowned. “Sushi place, isn’t it?”
“Among other things.”
Just his luck, the woman was one of those adventurous-eater types. That was the trouble with New Yorkers. They weren’t happy with a simple steak. “You wanna go there?”
She grinned. “Ever tried sushi?”
He sighed. All the guys in the office kidded him. When they went for sushi, he went to McDonald’s. “I have a feeling I’m about to.”
“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.”
“The stuff is raw. Can’t be good for you.”
She laughed. “Common misconception. Sushi can include raw fish but not necessarily. Don’t worry. I’m a pro at ordering for neophytes. I’ll be gentle with you.”
He cleared his throat and tried not to make anything of the way she moistened her lips. Tried not to stare at her glistening lower lip. “Not too gentle. That would take out all the excitement.”
Her eyebrows rose.
Eric smiled. “Bring it on.”
She laughed, deep and throaty, and the sound skated down his spine. “You’re giving me carte blanche?”
“I’m all yours.” He hoped they weren’t talking about sushi. Or he was screwed.
“Hmm…”
He moved closer. She didn’t retreat. Excellent sign. “So, what would you like to do with me?”
“Oh, I never tip my hand too soon.”
“Oh, right. A woman of mystery and surprise.”
“You have no idea.”
“I’m willing to stick around until I get an idea.”
She smiled. “You get another point for being adventurous.”
“Yeah? And what exactly are these points worth?”
She tilted her head to the side and pursed those sexy lips of hers. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“I don’t.” He took her hand, and when she didn’t resist, he pulled her against him and slid his arms around her narrow waist.
She tilted her head back, her eyes glittering with unmistakable challenge. He lowered his head and she lifted her chin to meet his lips. They touched, gently at first, tentative, searching, exploring, and then she opened her mouth to him.
He slid his tongue between her lips and tasted her eagerness. That’s all the permission he needed to plunge deeper. When she put her hands on his chest and slid her palms up to his shoulders, the tips of her fingers doing this little stroking thing that drove him crazy, he stifled a moan, willed his sudden hard-on to calm down before he scared the hell out of her.
But he couldn’t calm down and she didn’t scare. Instead she moved her hips, taunting him, driving him beyond insane. He cupped her backside, not sure if he wanted to stop her or make her grind harder.
Taking the decision out of his hands, abruptly she moved back, stared at him for a moment and then let her hands slide down his chest. “I have to go.”
“Now?”
She smiled. “Tomorrow?”
“Yeah, sure— Wait!”
She’d already headed for the door that led to the stairs but stopped hesitantly and then turned to him.
“Dallas?”
“I’ll be there at seven,” she said and then took off.
4
DALLAS HAD BARELY FINISHED her first cup of coffee when Wendy plodded into the kitchen, still wearing red boxers and a white tank top—her preferred pajamas.
“What are you doing up so early?” Dallas asked, wondering the same thing about herself. She’d only had four hours’ sleep, tops. After she’d gotten home, she’d been so wired, she’d stayed up and watched Pretty Woman for the twentieth time.
Well, she hadn’t actually watched it. Stared, really. While she’d replayed the kiss over and over again in her head. While she’d imagined his hands curving over her butt, drawing her against his erection.
“I’m dying to hear about last night.” Wendy got her usual morning cola out of the fridge. “Did he totally freak when he saw you?”
Dallas smiled, thinking about the stunned look on his face as he’d approached her. “He pretty much kept his act together when we were introduced. Although I’m not sure when he first spotted me.”
“Who did he think you were?” She popped the tab of the can, sat cross-legged on the love seat and then yawned before taking her first sip.
“A friend of his boss’s daughter. But we kept it vague.”
“How late were you out?”
“I got in around midnight. You need a haircut.”
Wendy’s hand went to her spiky hair, and she hopelessly tried to pat it down. “I know. As soon as I get a few bucks together, I will. Maybe next Friday.”
Dallas forced herself to keep her mouth shut. She was always ready to bail someone out. It wasn’t that she was a pushover. She preferred to think of herself as a nurturer. Anyway, even if she offered Wendy a loan, she wouldn’t take it. To her credit, Wendy watched her finances. “Any news on the audition?”
“I didn’t make the final cut.”
“I’m sorry.”
“C’est la vie.” Wendy shrugged. “Maybe I should start sleeping with directors.”
“Right.” Dallas rolled her eyes. “That would be a good move.”
“Hey, I didn’t get up early to talk about how I screwed up yet another audition. Tell me about last night.”
Dallas briefly turned away to pour another cup of strong black coffee. “Speaking of getting up early, I had to walk Bruiser again.”
“Oh, no. Sorry. You should have knocked on my door.”
“He yelped and howled for five minutes. If he couldn’t get you up, I doubt I could have.”
Wendy sighed, and then her lips started to curve as the curly black mutt, having heard his name, lumbered out of his cushioned basket and then stretched before leaping up onto the love seat with Wendy. “He’s so cute, isn’t he?”
“Adorable. Especially at six in the morning.”
Wendy gave her a sheepish look but then narrowed her eyes. “You’re trying to avoid talking about last night.”
Dallas rubbed the back of her neck. “Not really,” she said, even as she privately acknowledged there was some truth there. “Last night was great. More fun than I’d expected.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Dallas leaned with her elbows on the kitchen counter that served as their table and a room divider. She cradled her mug in her hands and stared at the black liquid. “Eric is really a nice guy.”
“And?”
“And I’m seeing him again tonight.”
Wendy’s hand froze in Bruiser’s curly black fur. “You’re kidding.”
“Why not?”
“Alone?”
“At a restaurant. I’m not totally insane.”
“This is so totally not you.”
“That’s the fun part.” Dallas grinned. “It’s not me.”
Wendy put down her cola, linked her fingers together as she often did when she angsted over something, which wasn’t often enough. She generally acted first, thought later. “Okay, what’s really going on here?”
“Nothing.” Dallas straightened, her defenses rising. “What’s with you?”
“You’re worrying me.”
“This coming from someone who’d sleep with a director for a role?” Dallas snorted. “Besides, you’re the one who encouraged me to go last night.”
“Hey, I was kidding about the director.” Wendy rubbed her eyes and sighed heavily. “How much did you tell this guy about yourself?”
“I haven’t told him anything.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
Wendy studied her with an annoying mixture of curiosity and concern. “You don’t trust him enough to tell him anything about yourself but you’re willing to date him.”
“It’s not about trust. And I’m not dating him. It’s one time. Jeez.” Dallas sipped her coffee and took a mental time-out.
“I don’t like the idea of you seeing him alone.”
“We won’t be alone, Mom. That’s why I chose a restaurant.”
“Which one?”
“Like I’m going to tell you.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want you spying on me.”
“Would I do something like that?”
In a New York minute. Dallas didn’t bother to answer. Only gave her a look.
“Okay, what if I promise not to?”
“What does it matter which restaurant?”
“If he turns out to be a serial killer and no one ever sees you again, I need something to tell the police.”
Dallas groaned. “He’s not a serial killer. He works for Webber and Thornton Advertising, for goodness’ sakes. If anything, he’s too conservative for me.”
“Really?” Wendy smiled. “So, why are you going tonight?”
Dallas stared blankly at her friend. The truth was she had no idea.
SHE’D LIED. TO WENDY AND to herself. As soon as she saw him, Dallas knew why she’d agreed to come. She wanted him. Even for just one night. The situation presented the perfect opportunity. Anonymous sex. Behavior she normally wasn’t into. But something about him really drew her. Sparked a need she’d suppressed for a long time.
He stood near the register, stoically watching the guys making sushi behind the bar. He’d beaten her to the restaurant. And she was five minutes early.
After spending more time deciding what to wear than she’d care to admit, she’d chosen her newest pair of low-riding jeans and a light blue stretchy top that exposed about an inch and a half of her midriff and showed off her new tan, courtesy of Trudie. Casual but not sloppy.
Eric had dressed up a little more, in khakis and a hunter-green designer polo shirt, his tasseled loafers perfectly polished. She glanced down at her sequined flip-flops. At least her toes were polished; an electric pink, again courtesy of Trudie.
His fascinated interest in the sushi-making process came to an abrupt halt and he took a step back. The chef presented a plate of intimidating hamachi-and-eel sushi he’d been working on to a couple at the bar. Dallas smiled, and taking pity on Eric, she moved toward him.
“Hi.”
He turned to her with relief in his eyes. “You showed up.”
“Of course. I suggested the place, remember?”
He half smiled, and she realized he wasn’t talking about the sushi.
The petite Japanese hostess returned from seating another couple and grabbed two menus off the counter. “How many?” she asked without a trace of an accent.
“Two,” Dallas said, “and we’d prefer a table in the back if you have one.”
“Let’s see…”
While the woman searched the crowded restaurant, Eric whispered, “We can still make a break. There’s a steak house right around the corner.”
Dallas laughed. “Behave yourself and I won’t make you eat anything raw.”
“Follow me, please.” The woman led them toward the back, her waist-long black hair swaying and shimmering like expensive silk as she wove in between tables. “Is this all right?” she asked, waving a perfectly manicured hand with long red fingernails at a table for two in the far corner.
“Perfect.” Eric flashed her a grin that put a sparkle in her dark eyes.
“Enjoy your meal.” She left the menus on the table and moved back toward the front as if she were gliding on air.
Dallas sighed as she took her seat. She really didn’t mind being so tall, liked it usually, but sometimes she envied the seemingly effortless femininity of petite women.
Eric sat, too, his back toward the other diners. He didn’t pick up his menu, only stared at her. Not in a rude way but enough to make her uneasy.
She cleared her throat. “Do you trust me to order for you?”
“Is this where the ‘I’ll be gentle’ part comes in?”
“I thought you didn’t like gentle.”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
His lips curved as he thoughtfully studied her for a moment. “So, that’s how you wanna play.”
She smiled back. “I’m not playing.”
Challenge flickered in his eyes, but before he could deliver a comeback, the waitress appeared for their drink orders. He asked for a scotch, and Dallas ordered white wine. But that would be it for her. Work started at seven tomorrow.
“You come here often?” he asked, glancing around at the other diners, mostly tourists, mostly couples but a few families.
“This is only the third time, but the food is good and reasonable considering they advertise in one of those tourist magazines.” She stopped herself from volunteering that it was also close to her apartment.
“Yeah, I was surprised you chose a tourists’ hangout. I figured you must live nearby.”
She smiled and picked up the menu even though she knew exactly what she’d order. “You’d better have a look at the menu.”
“I already know what I want.”
The huskiness in his tone made her look up. She met his eyes and there was little doubt as to what he meant. She held his gaze but only for a moment before she had to look away. He didn’t scare her. She frightened herself. Never before had the reckless urge to shun common sense been so strong. To jump in headfirst and consider the consequences later.
What the hell was it about him that made her want to be foolish? She pretended to study the menu, hoping her ridiculous desire to skip dinner and go straight to a hotel room would pass.
“What are you going to have?” she asked, keeping her eyes lowered to the menu.
“The teriyaki rib eye steak.”
“You big chicken,” she said, shaking her head at him.
“Hey, it’s not like I’d ask them to leave off the teriyaki sauce.”
They both laughed.
She laid down the menu. “How adventurous of you.”
“You have no idea.”
“Where are you from?”
“The Pittsburgh area. And you?”
She’d expected the return question and saw no harm in answering. “Right here. I was born at New York General, although I grew up mostly in Tarrytown. It’s about forty minutes away.”
“I know the area. Nice.”
She nodded. “So green and pretty. I miss it but I like living in the city.”
“Which part is that?”
She smiled. “How long have you lived here?”
“In Manhattan, about five years.” His gaze roamed her face, lingered on her mouth. “I think our drinks are coming. Ready to order dinner?”
“Are you in a hurry?”
He gave her that sexy look again. “As a matter of fact, I am.”
THEY LEFT THE RESTAURANT AN hour later. The sun had set, but there was still another half hour of light left. No way would Eric let this evening end. He still didn’t know her last name or anything else about her. Other than she was from Tarrytown but now lived in the city.
Of course, knowing she’d grown up in Tarrytown provided more insight. He could safely bet his Rolex that her family had some money. The upper-middle-class community was a far cry from the steel-mill neighborhood where he’d grown up. Hell, even the Rockefellers had an estate there.
Although he didn’t need particulars to know she came from a genteel background. Breeding showed in every step she took. The softness in her voice. The graceful way she moved. Modeling, of course, gave her polish, but she had her own natural panache that couldn’t be learned or faked.
“How about a walk?” he asked before she could flag a cab and disappear.
“Sure. It’s nice out. Not as sticky as last week.”
“I say we head for Central Park.”
Her eyebrows rose. “It’ll start getting dark by the time we get there.”
“Afraid of the big bad wolf?”
“Should I be?”
He smiled. “I think Tom probably assured you that I’m an okay guy.”
“Tom?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets as they turned down Sixth Avenue. He badly wanted to touch her, but he’d wait for a signal. Let her call the shots. That’s what she wanted. That’s why she insisted on the secrecy.
“Was Tom at the party?” She seemed genuinely confused, which gave him pause.
“I figured it out, Dallas. We both saw you in the display window. Tom had to have put you up to this.”
“What are you talking about?” She slid him a sidelong glance, her eyebrows drawn together in a skeptical frown.
“There’s no other explanation.”
She shook her head with a wry smile. “Maybe we ought to skip the walk. You need some serious rest.”
“Yeah, I hardly slept last night.” He kept watching her, noticed her near misstep, the way her cheeks colored a little. “What about you?”
“Fine. I slept just fine.”
“Good. Then you shouldn’t be in any hurry to get home.”
She laughed. “Very sly.”
“Look out.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her close when she nearly collided with a shabbily dressed man staggering wildly, obviously drunk.
“Thanks.” She leaned against Eric as she glanced over her shoulder at the man, who’d already passed by—but not so his rank odor. “Sad, isn’t it?”
The compassion in her eyes touched him, as misplaced as it was. He took another look at the guy, evidently homeless and drunk. “He needs a good meal instead of spending his money on booze.”
“You don’t know his circumstances.” She pulled away. “He may have just lost his job or received some horrible news.”
“You’re right.” He drew her back against him and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “I shouldn’t have said that. But there were a lot of steel mills where I grew up. I saw what happened to men who lost their jobs.”
Looking away, she murmured, “Yeah, I’ve seen it, too.”
That surprised him. What did she understand about that world? About the blue-collar laborer who was so readily sacrificed to improve the bottom line of a corporation’s financial statement? He understood. Too well. His brothers were fools for languishing in the mills, and settling for the same scraps their father had.
He caught a glimpse of Central Park a couple of blocks away, along with the lineup of carriages and horses with their colorful hats. “I have an idea. How about a carriage ride?”
“Are you serious?” She laughed softly. “Only tourists do that.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t we just eat in a touristy restaurant?”
“Touché.”
“Come on. Let’s pick out a horse.”
She made a face. “We don’t have much time before it gets dark.”
He smiled, his body thrumming with anticipation. “Sometimes interesting things happen in the dark.”
5
BY THE TIME THEY GOT TO THE fourth horse—wearing a straw hat with an orange band and large drooping yellow daisies—Dallas knew Penelope was the one for them. The chestnut-colored mare had sweet, soulful eyes and a soft neigh, and Dallas immediately bonded with her.
She stroked her velvety head. “Penelope’s definitely the one.”
“You’re sure now?”
“Positive.” Glancing at Eric, she realized he was teasing her and she lightly punched him in the arm.
“Okay.” He laughed. “Penelope it is.”
He spoke to the driver a moment—an older man with drooping eyes and a face lined and brown as shoe leather—and then helped Dallas into the carriage. In seconds they were trotting into the park, the sound of Penelope’s clopping hooves on the asphalt stirring a wistfulness in Dallas.
She sighed. “I haven’t ridden in ages. I used to ride every weekend when I was in high school.”
“Where?”
“At my grandparents’. They had a couple of Arabians and a palomino.”
“Am I allowed to ask where?”
She smiled. “In Connecticut.”
He slid his arm around the back of the seat and she snuggled closer. “They have ranches in Connecticut?”
“I didn’t say they owned a ranch.”
“Just recreational stables.”
“You ask too many questions.”
“I believe that was a statement.”
She just shook her head. He chuckled, and then they rode in silence for a while, enjoying the slight breeze produced by the movement of the carriage.
Ironically, more and more questions about him paraded through her head. Based on what Tom had told her, she’d figured she knew exactly who Eric was. The Rolex around his wrist, the Gucci shoes, the designer clothes—all accessories of an image-conscious social climber—confirmed her belief.
Eric was exactly the kind of man her parents wished she’d bring home. He was precisely the type she never would.
But his comments about the steel mill usurped her logic. Made her wonder about his link to the other side of the coin. Not just because he had lived in an industrial city like Pittsburgh. A variety of jobs existed there just as in any other city. But there had been something personal in his voice, a tinge of bitterness that came from firsthand experience.
“See? Playing tourist isn’t so bad, is it?” he whispered, his mouth so close to her ear that his warm breath sent a shiver down her spine.
“I’ll admit this is nice.” She turned her head toward him, knowing exactly what would happen.
His lips brushed hers lightly, a teasing swipe that left her wanting more. She angled toward him, resting her palm on his thigh. She heard his sharp intake of breath and realized just how high up she’d placed her hand. Resisting the urge to jerk back, she pressed her lips harder against his.
He ran the tip of his tongue across the seam of her lips until she opened to him. She heard voices along the path, someone giggling, but she didn’t care. Her pulse raced with every swipe he took with his tongue, exploring the fleshy inside of her mouth, leisurely tracing her teeth.
Heat spread through her chest and up her neck. And then the warmth flooded her belly, spiraled lower, until she had to squeeze her thighs together.
Eric moved his hand to her waist, his fingers probing her bare skin where her shirt ended. She sucked in a breath as he explored her belly and then moved his hand higher so that he cupped the underside of her breast.
The driver started to whistle an unfamiliar tune. He hadn’t turned around and seen them, she was relatively certain, but the reminder that they were out in public put a damper on her excitement.
Eric obviously sensed her retreat and stilled his hand. He broke the kiss and pulled back to look at her. She couldn’t see his face very well. It seemed to have gotten dark so quickly.
“Something wrong?” he asked, his fingers idly stroking her skin.
“Other than the fact that we’re in the middle of Central Park acting like two hormonal teenagers, no.” She snarled. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“It’s too dusky. No one saw anything other than us kissing.”
She shifted so that his hand fell away from her belly.
“Tell you what, let’s use the blanket.” He reached behind him and brought out the small stadium-style blanket that had been left on the seat.
“It’s too warm for a blanket.”
“Exactly.” He shook it out. “So why else do you think the driver left it.”
She laughed. “He did not.”
“Ask him.”
“Right.”
He laid the blanket across their laps. “Trust me. We aren’t the first couple to neck in Central Park.”
“I’ve always had a problem with the term ‘trust me.’”
The carriage ran over a small bump and she fell against him.
“Sorry, folks,” the driver muttered half over his shoulder without turning around.
Eric slid both his arms around her and brought her back against his chest. “Isn’t that more comfortable?”
“It would be if I could—” She gasped as his hands moved up to cup her breasts. She leaned her head back and he kissed the side of her neck.
He inhaled deeply and whispered, “You smell good.” He kissed her neck again, trailing his tongue to the area just below her ear. “You taste good.”
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