by Jo Leigh
His laughter suited her down to her toes. It was genuine, easy, relaxed. His smile was even more delicious than his picture had implied. So far, so good. But now, it was his turn.
“I’m Jake Donnelly, I’m currently living in Windsor Terrace in Brooklyn, in the house where I was born. I’m staying with my dad doing some remodeling work. I come from a long line of cops, all the way back to when the Donnellys crossed over from Ireland. I’ve been with the police department since I graduated college. Well, until earlier this year. I have no idea what I’m going to do after I finish the renovations.”
He leaned back as their drinks were placed on the table, then sought her eyes again. “And it appears we’re both looking for a night to remember. How’d I do?”
“Great,” she said, then she lifted her glass and clicked it against his. Jake was totally unlike anyone she’d ever dated. He was from Brooklyn, but he’d given up the accent for something far easier on her admittedly snobbish ears. She knew absolutely nothing about being a cop, about Windsor Terrace, about renovations. She was incredibly curious to know if his limp and no longer being a policeman were connected. And she couldn’t imagine, not for the life of her, staying with her own family for more than about three hours. She and Jake were worlds apart, completely unsuited in every way but one.
He was perfect.
JAKE DRANK A LITTLE AS HE tried not to look as if he was scoping her out from head to toe. But screw it, he was. At least, as much as he could, given she was sitting.
Rebecca Thorpe was, to put it bluntly, off the charts hot. Her hair was golden and shiny in the glitter of the bar, her eyes smoky and intense. She was tall and slender, but the way her dress hugged her breasts made him say a prayer this night would end with him learning a lot more.
No mention of the Winslow name or the foundation she headed. Why not? Being careful? Probably, although why she would assume he didn’t recognize her was a little baffling. Everyone who lived in New York knew of her family. They were like the Kennedys. Politicians, judges, private jets, private clubs, more money than sense if you asked him, but nobody did, and that seemed fair. He wouldn’t know what the hell to do in a room full of Winslows, but being right here, right now with this one? It was his lucky day.
“I don’t know where to start with questions,” Rebecca said. “Do you miss being a cop?”
He’d left himself open for whatever with that intro, but he still wished she’d begun somewhere else. He shouldn’t complain. At least she hadn’t opened with the limp.
He was still self-conscious about the scars. Odd how the shoulder looked so much worse. The leg was no picnic, either. But it hadn’t made anyone run screaming. Yet. What the hell, if it freaked her out, there was nothing he could do about that. He’d just get on home and read up on shower installations. “Yeah, I miss it,” he said. “Hard not to, when it’s the only thing I’ve ever done. I could have taken a desk assignment, but that wasn’t me.”
“Ah, so you were hurt on the job?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Shot in the thigh and the shoulder. They’re not pretty, but I was lucky. Either one could have killed me, so…”
“I can’t imagine. God, shot twice?” She shuddered, winced. “That’s horrible. I’m always astonished at how vulnerable the human body can be, while at the same time astoundingly strong. I had a friend once who slipped on a leaf. Fell. Hit her head. She was twenty-four, and she died that night. You were shot twice, and you not only survived, but it looks from here as if you’re thriving.”
“It is a mystery. I tell people it must not have been my time, but that’s just something easy to say. I’m not a religious man, or one who believes in fate. Nothing mystical or predestined. I guess I’m a pragmatist. I was in a dangerous profession, in a risky situation. It’s no big surprise I was wounded. I lived because they got to me in time, got me to the right doctors. Thriving? Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but I’m learning to accept my limitations. Oddly, there are fewer than I expected, with the notable exception of losing my career.”
She didn’t respond immediately, but she did lean in. She didn’t even try to pretend she wasn’t staring, wasn’t taking his measure. “A pragmatist,” she said eventually. “That’s helpful, living in this city. This world.”
“It is. What about you?” he asked. “What do you believe in?”
She smiled, leaned back in her chair. Her bangs were a bit in her eyes and he wanted to push them back to see her better. Not complaining, just sorta wishing.
“Boy, you don’t fool around, do you?”
“Guess not. We can always talk about this damn cold front, if you’d prefer.”
“I’m good,” she said. “I like the tough questions.”
“I didn’t even ask, would you like something to eat? I haven’t looked at the menu, but I know they serve food here. Or we could go somewhere else for dinner.”
“Oh, food. I’m not starving, but I could eat something. How about you?”
“I could do with more than the bologna sandwich I had around four. Busy day.”
“I happen to know the menu here is excellent. Why don’t you see if anything suits your fancy. Meanwhile I’ll consider my answer to your very provocative question and finish my drink.”
He nodded, grabbed the menu from the center of the table. Not much he didn’t like. When he looked up again, she was still staring at him. He should have been unsettled. He wasn’t used to undisguised interest. In fact, his life had depended on his blending in, fading into the background. Even the dark wasn’t enough to hide behind, but instead of getting that crawling itch to run, he wanted her to look her fill. And he wanted her to like what she saw.
He passed her the menu, then finished his bourbon, signaling the waitress when he caught her eye. “There’s nothing on there I wouldn’t eat,” he said to Rebecca. “Could live without the foie gras, but I like the meat and the fish selections. I think you should pick us out a few, and we’ll have ourselves a small buffet while we go at least one step beyond the surface. How does that sound?”
“Fantastic.”
Their order was taken, fresh drinks requested, and they were alone once more. It was all he could do not to call back the lovely girl and ask her to add a room with a king-size bed to the tab.
“I’m a mutt,” Rebecca said, folding her hands on the shiny table. “Philosophically. I lean toward Buddhism, but I’ve got some roots in the church from when I was a kid. I mostly try to make a difference. Walk the walk, not just talk about it. I tend to connect to people who do the same.”
That could have been a crock of bull, but his instincts said no. She was telling him the truth. It fit with her job, but that wasn’t what he thought she was talking about. Another skill from his vice days was how to listen for the truth. Of course, in this instance, he had to factor in how badly he wanted to take Rebecca Thorpe to bed.
Which was really damn bad.
3
REBECCA LICKED THE TIP OF her thumb as she finished the last of her salt cod fritter. She’d decided to play hardball with the ordering—all of it finger food. Zucchini fritters, lollipop lamb chops, decadent French fries, even the crisp baby artichokes. She’d picked up a lollipop first thing, watching him watch her bring the food to her mouth, take a bite. Gauntlet thrown, she sipped her second drink and waited to see what he’d do.
He started with a couple of fries. Slow moving, deliberate, and his gaze on hers never wavered. As he chewed, his jaw muscle flexed in a way that made her blush. He couldn’t tell, not in this light, yet his thick right eyebrow rose along with the corners of his mouth.
She grinned back, pleased he’d decided to play. Somehow the music had become smoky jazz, and the heat from the temperature-controlled floor slipped up her dress all the way to her very pretty, very naughty La Perla panties.
Through it all, the ordering, the waiting, the cute young waitress flirting with Jake as she set down their plates, Jake hadn’t once lost the thread of their conversation. Rebecca was
n’t sure if they were at the third or fourth level now that they’d reached ex-lovers territory.
“She was great,” he said, using his napkin. “And I like to think I’m a reasonably adventurous guy, but when she started talking plushies…” He shook his head, grabbed a tiny artichoke.
“Plushies. You mean dressing up like stuffed animals plushies?”
“I do. I hope that’s not your thing, but I’d have to say right up front that nope, not gonna go there. I like my partners to be human. It’s a radical stance, but one I’m not going to budge on.”
“Where do you stand on aliens who look humanoid?”
He thought a minute. “Depends. Do they really look like humans, or are they lizard people in disguise?”
“I see your point. I always draw the line at shape-shifters. I include vampires in that, by the way.”
“Damn. There goes my plans for the rest of the night.”
She laughed again, charmed. Not so much at the obvious quip but at his delivery. Very dry. Very…sexy. “Nothing wrong with a little nip here and there,” she said.
He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. “I agree,” he said, putting his napkin on the table. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
As he walked away, Rebecca let herself linger on the breadth of his shoulders, the length of his legs. He might have a limp, but there was still a swagger to him that had her crossing her legs.
When he got back, she would bring up the room. They hadn’t eaten too much and had only two drinks each. If they wanted dessert later they could order from room service. Everything about the evening led her to believe he was amenable, even though they hadn’t yet touched.
While she could, she retrieved her mirror from her purse. After a fresh coat of lipstick, she stuck a breath strip in her mouth, realizing too late that it didn’t go with vodka gimlets. At all. A quick shudder, then she closed her purse, aware of the room itself for the first time since she’d stepped off the elevator.
There was a sizable crowd for a Tuesday night. Most everyone was in business attire, upscale. While she saw people on the prowl, the atmosphere was not that of a pickup bar. Here, the desperation wouldn’t start until around 3:00 a.m.
She wondered what Charlie and Bree were doing and almost got out her cell to text, but no, Bree could wait on Rebecca’s report. Tonight felt private, different. In other circumstances, she’d have felt this evening was a beginning. She liked him a lot. More than anyone she’d been out with in years.
On the other hand, maybe knowing this was a singular event had made this ease possible. They weren’t at a relationship audition. Sex, yes, but she figured they’d nailed that about five minutes in.
The conversation had gone from philosophy to her explaining the intricacies of preparing lunches and trading them at a church basement, and then somehow they’d landed at exes. Hers, she realized, had all fizzled due to boredom. No, that wasn’t fair. There had been reasons she’d gone out with those few men for longer than a handful of months, but there had been no grand passions. Weirdly, she’d felt perfectly comfortable telling Jake just that.
There he was. Smiling from across the room. She watched as he maneuvered through people and tables. When he sat down, he covered her hand with his. “I took the liberty of booking a room here tonight. I won’t lie and say I wouldn’t be disappointed if you don’t want to join me, but I’ll also take it like a man.”
She turned her hand over and squeezed his fingers. “The only problem with that is I already have a room here. And since I’m the one who instigated this evening, I win the coin toss.”
He studied her for a long minute. “Wow. That’s… Full disclosure, though. I lied about taking it like a man.”
She grinned. God, he was adorable. “If you’re finished, why don’t I put this on the tab, and we go down to cancel your reservation?”
He fetched his wallet from his pocket. “I’ll be taking care of this. But thanks for the offer.”
They wrapped it up, he put on a dark knee-length coat she hadn’t even noticed, then held the back of her chair while she stood. An old-fashioned move, but one she didn’t mind. Especially because she was a little wobbly. Not from the booze; she hadn’t had enough to faze her. From the touching. The “any second now, don’t know where things are going to go” touching.
After she picked up her purse, he slipped his hand around hers. It wasn’t like the handshake, not at all. It was just…wonderful.
WALKING WITH REBECCA TO the front desk reminded him of his prom. Not the dance, but afterward, going into the hotel in Brooklyn with Antoinette Fallucci on his arm. He’d been in a terrible borrowed tux that was too tight in the crotch even discounting the fact that he’d been seventeen, but Antoinette had looked like a princess in her strapless dress, and she’d been the homecoming queen, a cheerleader and without doubt the most beautiful and popular girl in his senior class. He’d strutted into that hotel. This time, he played it a little cooler, but he did feel that thrill, knowing he was with the best one, that every man in the place was jealous.
It had nothing to do with her being a Winslow. The subject hadn’t come up and he didn’t expect it to. Not when there were so many other interesting things to talk about.
He smiled as they waited for a desk clerk. She smiled in return and he wanted to kiss her. He’d stood close to her in the elevator, gotten a whiff of her perfume, and the effect still sizzled through his veins. He had no idea what the scent was, only that it made him want to spend a hell of a long time exploring that long, graceful neck of hers.
That they’d barely touched was both horrible and hot. He knew she’d be soft, but that was far too vague. How different soft was between the shell of an ear, the skin just under a belly button. His gaze drifted down as he realized there was no word for how it would feel to run his fingers across her inner thigh.
Shit, if he was going to be thinking like that, he should button his coat. Hide the evidence. Thankfully, the woman who’d made his reservation earlier called them to the desk.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“We double-booked. Miscommunication. I hope it’s not too late to cancel.”
“Mr. Donnelly, right?”
Surprised that she remembered his name, he nodded.
“I’ll cancel that right now, sir. It’ll be a moment.”
Jake glanced at Rebecca. He liked that she was tall, five-eight, he’d guess? A six-inch difference was very doable. Not that anything couldn’t be worked around. He signed his name on the line, gave back the key card, and finally, they were free to leave.
“Thank you, Mr. Donnelly,”
“Yeah, thanks,” he said, tearing his gaze from Rebecca, but he barely gave the other woman a second because his date, this amazing woman in the sleek black dress, tossed her hair behind her shoulder and tugged him along and it was as if the flag had been lowered in a race he hadn’t known he was running. It took him two steps to catch up, and when they looked at each other, side by side, gripping each other’s hands, they grinned like idiots. Who were going to have sex. Really, really soon.
“Should we order drinks?” she asked as they walked, their speed increasing with each step. “Champagne? Wine? Soda?”
“Wine? Do you like red? Although white would probably be better after vodka. Maybe we should just get some vodka.”
“I like red.” She pushed the elevator button three times, leaning into her thumb every time. “Besides, you’re a bourbon man. Bourbon men don’t drink vodka.”
“Who told you such obvious lies? Whoever it was should be banished from ever tasting another shot of Stoli. And he shouldn’t be able to look at a bottle of Elit.”
The elevator dinged and opened. Finally. A couple walked out, ignoring them completely. It was Jake’s turn to pull Rebecca inside.
“Then why did you order bourbon?” she asked.
He shrugged, astonished they were speaking in sentences when his brain and his body were one hundred percent f
ocused on getting inside the goddamn room. “I like it.”
“Okay.” She pushed the button for the fifteenth floor. “What booze don’t you like?”
He couldn’t stand it, he pulled her until she was flush against him and he was staring down into her dark, wide eyes. “Boone’s Farm.”
She laughed as she pressed her breasts to his chest. He inhaled sharply at the feel of her, the reality of her. Then her hand, her right hand, slipped under his arm, around his waist and up his back. Without his permission, his hips jerked forward, his quickly hardening cock meeting the perfect resistance of her hip. Each floor they ascended felt like foreplay.
“What about you?” he asked, straining to pick up the thread of their conversation, although he was pretty sure if he started talking about pork belly futures neither of them would care. “Is there anything respectable you don’t like?”
“Tons of things. But I suppose you’re talking about liquor.” Her breath whispered against his jaw, and that hand on his back was moving in small circles, the hint of friction electric. “Oddly,” she said, her voice maybe half an octave lower than it had been a minute ago, “single malt Scotch whiskey. I know, it’s very girlie of me, but I hate it. What’s worse, I get very cranky when people get in my face about how superior it is. The age and what kind of barrel it was kept in. Which is ridiculous because I do the exact same thing with wine and champagne, so who the hell do I think I am? But there you have it. Completely irrational.”
“Good to know,” he said, now a few millimeters away from brushing his lips against hers. “I was going to seduce you with my knowledge of Glenlivet, but I won’t now. Pity. I know a lot about Glenlivet, and I’m incredibly charming when I add the personal anecdotes.”
“That’s okay,” she said, as they came to a smooth halt. “I already find you incredibly charming.”
