by Joanne Rock
Amanda stifled a groan as she thought of the fluorescent pattern on Duke Rawlins’s tie. “They are definitely not starry. And thankfully, the plan blew up in my face.”
Briefly, she outlined her horrendous day from the moment she’d walked into Victor’s apartment alongside a cop, to her realization that her secret weapon was missing. She stopped short of mentioning Duke’s kiss, however. The experience was still too new, too fresh in her blood to share just yet.
“So Victor turned out to be a cheating scum and a criminal, and you lost a video fit for blackmail all in the same day?” Lexi frowned. “Then what’s with the dreamy look I’m seeing in your eyes, girlfriend?”
Amanda searched for words, knowing she looked like a fish with her open mouth working soundlessly.
“The cop was a hottie, wasn’t he?” Lexi grinned triumphantly, crossing her arms over her angora sweater. “I bet he drooled himself dry if you were wearing some sexy getup for Victor. Did you flash him your garters?”
“Of course not.” Amanda sighed, realizing she couldn’t hide anything from Lexi. “I wore my coat over my videotape outfit, but I did not flash the detective a thing.”
“Come on, Amanda. A New York cop doesn’t miss a trick. I’ll bet he knew exactly what you were wearing underneath that coat and that’s why he hit on you.”
“He didn’t hit on me!”
Lexi leaned forward on the sofa, propping her elbows on her knees. “Please. Every man hits on you until he finds out whose daughter you are.” She pointed one dragon-lady nail at Amanda. “But that’s what will be great about the cop—no detective worth his badge would shy away from Clyde Matthews’s daughter just because of a few mob connections.”
“Lex—” Amanda warned.
Lexi, of all people, knew how much her father’s friendships with mobsters bothered her. Amanda had vowed to confront her father about it before the busy fashion season got into full swing again in the fall. The thought of a serious talk with her father made her stomach knot as the man had the attention span of a six-year-old and he possessed zero interest in anything that didn’t pertain to style or fashion.
“Okay, rumored mob connections. This guy could be your ticket to adventure. And he sounds way more fun than stick-in-the-mud Victor ever was.”
“Duke doesn’t ‘sound’ like anything, because I haven’t told you one thing about him,” Amanda hissed before crunching into a gingersnap.
“Ah, but you know my imagination beats the truth of the matter any day.” Lexi stole Amanda’s other cookie and munched a bite before Amanda’s words sank in. “Duke? Did I hear you right that this guy’s name is Duke?”
Amanda smiled.
Lexi sighed. “That makes him sound like a German shepherd. Or maybe a prissy English nobleman. I wonder where on earth he got a name like Duke?”
“Trust me, you wouldn’t be thinking prissy or canine if you got a look at this guy.” Just the thought of Duke Rawlins sent a shiver of anticipation through her. Amanda had never been kissed the way Duke had kissed her. The few sensual encounters she’d had in her life hadn’t lit her fire half as much as the simple brush of Duke’s mouth on hers.
“So, aren’t you a little worried he’ll find your video if he’s searching Victor’s place?” Lexi fed the last crumb of her gingersnap to Muffin, who licked her lips long after she devoured the tiny piece.
A nibble of fear prodded Amanda. “Not really. I mean, I remember feeling it in my pocket when I was seated in the apartment, and then I didn’t have it in the cab. So I feel pretty sure I lost it in between the interrogation and the taxi.”
Lexi nodded an I-see sort of nod, but she didn’t look convinced. Amanda’s nibble of fear transformed into an all-out painful bite.
“But if he did happen to find the tape,” Lexi continued, “what would he see? I mean, how hot is this secret weapon of yours?”
“It’s not so much that the tape is hot. Mortifying is more like it. I’m not exactly a trained exotic dancer.” Amanda shivered at the thought of Duke Rawlins seeing her prance around nearly naked, using her limited feminine wiles to entice anyone who happened to view the video. But he had said he didn’t find anything in the apartment after she left, hadn’t he?
“Do tell.” Lexi tucked her hair behind an ear and leaned closer. “I’m dying to hear all about your adventures in stripping.”
Amanda rolled her eyes. “It was totally hokey. I don’t even know if I would have had the nerve to show it to Victor. The tape was more of a Plan B in case the real-life glimpses of lingerie didn’t work.”
A wicked grin slid across Lexi’s lips. “Did you take it all off for the camera?”
Amanda shot her friend a censorious glare and distanced herself from the scandalous conversation by hiding behind her teacup. “I haven’t gone that far astray. I had no intention of ditching the panties, but I think I did end up exposing a bit more umm…cleavage than I had intended. And I was about as graceful as a preschool ballerina.”
Lexi shook her head, wide-eyed. “I give you credit, Amanda. You’re pretty gutsy when it comes to launching your own business or creating knockout clothes. But I never thought you’d really follow through on the striptease plan.”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Shrugging, Amanda slid more deeply into the leather cushions of the couch, comforted by the soft seat and Lexi’s reminder of her recent professional achievements.
Amanda did have a lot going for her, even if she’d screwed up today. “Now I’m more desperate than ever since my one and only boyfriend of this decade has been carted off to jail.”
“Except now there’s a sexy detective in the picture,” Lexi reminded her. “Maybe you ought to turn your seductive pursuits to someone on the right side of the law.”
Amanda glowered. “I’m putting my seductive efforts out of commission, thank you very much. I obviously have hideous judgment when it comes to men. I’m not about to go from the frying pan into the fire.”
Lexi might have muttered something to the effect of some people being lucky to find someone to light their fire at all, but Amanda chose to ignore the remark. She would be hard-pressed to remain aloof at her meeting with Duke tomorrow morning, but she was determined to put her attraction to him behind her.
She’d meant it when she told Lexi she couldn’t trust her judgment in men. Her track record stunk. Tomorrow, she’d find a way to walk away from Duke Rawlins and his sexy-as-sin blue eyes, no matter how much her hormones protested.
She had every intention of slamming the door on an embarrassing chapter of her life, forgetting that god-awful striptease show ever happened and returning her attention to her designs for the fall line.
And if her existence occasionally seemed a bit sheltered, a little dull? She had the memory of this hideous day to ensure she didn’t feel adventurous any time soon.
DUKE ARRIVED AT the precinct late the next morning. He’d spent half the night following a lead on a drug smuggling operation, trailing two suspects through the streets and subway tunnels, only to come up empty-handed. He feared the case was somehow linked to Victor Gallagher’s arrest, maybe some cohorts getting antsy now that the cops were cracking down on the Garment District, but he couldn’t prove anything. Yet.
The fruitless night only made him more determined than ever to get back to the evidence plucked from Gallagher’s apartment. He needed to review everything before Amanda Matthews strolled in with her mile-long legs and her damnably distracting body. The memory of her kiss had kept him awake long after his suspects had fled and he lay in his bed.
He swigged a cup of black coffee from the endless vat of over-brewed station house java. How was it possible that no matter what time he arrived in the morning, the coffee always tasted like liquid soot?
Reaching his desk, he noticed his partner already at his keyboard, a box of tissues at his side. The pink tissues looked at odds with Josh’s tough-guy glare and monochromatic dark clothes.
Josh saluted
Duke with his mug without looking up.
“You lost the trail last night, man.” Josh’s hoarse voice made him sound like the Godfather.
The expletive Duke shot back was familiar language around the precinct. “If I’d had your slow butt with me, I never would have been able to tail them for as long as I did. Can I help it they lucked into the A train just before it pulled out of Twenty-third Street?”
“I can hardly expect you to keep up with the Eighth Avenue Express.” Josh tore a piece of paper out of the printer and waved it in the air, grinning like a kid holding his first autograph. “But I’ll bet you didn’t know Gallagher’s mother lives in Rockaway. I’m guessing those kids you followed last night are Gallagher recruits, homegrown in his stomping ground. They were probably hightailing it back to Rockaway.”
Duke frowned. “Sort of a long shot, huh?”
Josh tugged on his coat and snorted. “I thought your granddaddy taught you to follow your instincts?”
“He also used to say, ‘leave no stone unturned,’” Duke quipped.
“The Adage King strikes again.” Backing toward the door, Josh pointed to a box on Duke’s desk. “I signed out the evidence from Gallagher’s apartment for you. Everything’s in that box.”
Duke flashed him a thumbs-up and headed for the box, his own instincts telling him what to reach for first.
The videotape.
The “Private” label had him curious. Besides, sitting in the media room taking notes would be an easy job while he waited for the caffeine to hit him. He grabbed the video and another cup of the soot elixir, then headed for the viewing room.
He closed the door behind him to shut out the hubbub of the police station. Phones rang off the hook, jailbirds argued with their arresting officers, and panicked citizens reported missing purses, missing bikes and missing people to the desk clerks.
But inside the media room, relative quiet reigned. The room was set up like a small living room complete with two worn couches and a coffee table. Books, maps and other reference materials lined the walls, but the room didn’t get used as much since the explosion of the Internet.
Duke sipped his coffee and plugged in the tape. He noted it was already rewound to the beginning. Following his personal standard procedure, he made a quick, high-speed dub of the tape for backup in case the tape got eaten by the media room’s equipment. He sank into one of the couches and pulled the coffee table close with the heel of one scuffed loafer. Trading his coffee cup for a yellow legal pad, Duke peered at the screen.
The sight that greeted his eyes assured him he hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep.
A guy had to be dreaming to be seeing socialite Amanda Matthews slithering across the television screen in a black strapless gown with a slit up the side that exposed tantalizing glimpses of skin and….
Was that a garter he’d seen peeking through the slit?
Duke dropped his legal pad and scrambled for the remote. Jabbing the Stop button, Duke transformed the screen from last night’s fantasy into static and snow.
This couldn’t be happening. The situation mirrored his dreams too perfectly to be real. Besides, he knew from Amanda’s innocent reactions to his kiss yesterday that she was a little on the sheltered side and not exactly well-versed in the art of seduction.
So he was definitely not seeing her flashing her pink garters on a videotape he’d found at Victor’s home.
Then again, Amanda had been the guy’s girlfriend.
Duke took a last swig of coffee to steel himself, then pressed the Play button.
Right on cue, Amanda sashayed down a miniature runway with that killer walk of hers, her long legs teasing him via the slit in her gown. He might have written off the footage as a simple video memoir, a glimpse of Amanda getting ready to go out for the evening, if it hadn’t been for the tinny music playing in the background. Amanda happened to be strutting her stuff to the beat of “The Stripper,” the classic song by Porter or Gershwin or somebody like that.
Heat surged through him. This was no dream. Amanda Matthews began performing a striptease right before his very eyes. This was more than just his lucky day. This coup made his whole damn year.
His mouth went so dry all the coffee in the station wouldn’t have been able to cure him.
Sneaking a surreptitious look at the door, Duke jumped off the couch to turn the VCR machine sideways to hide the screen and the revealing evidence from anyone who might venture in the media room. He glared at the window blinds and, wanting to cover all the bases, he pulled them closed. Duke might be stealing an unauthorized glimpse of Amanda, but he’d be damned if he would let anyone else snag a look at this.
For a moment, he considered the ethics of the situation as he settled himself back on the couch. He couldn’t deny that watching the Amanda video felt a bit like invading her privacy. But he had obtained the tape as part of his investigation and he needed to know if it contained anything that would incriminate Gallagher.
Maybe if Duke had been a better man, he would have fast-forwarded over Amanda’s seductive show. His finger wavered over the Forward button, urging him to do the honorable thing. But just then Amanda turned her back to the camera and reached for the zipper on the back of her gown.
The blood pounded through his veins with an audible swish. The room temperature jumped at least ten degrees. Duke dropped the remote on the coffee table, gladly trading his eligibility for sainthood to watch that zipper slide south.
Inch by tantalizing inch, her skin revealed itself to his avid stare. His eyes tracked her gloved fingers’ progress as she slowly tugged the zipper. In his mind’s eye, he inserted his hand over hers, his palm against that smooth back. He could practically feel the slide of her satin dress on his knuckles, the warmth of Amanda beneath his fingers. Finally, after he’d held his breath for as long as he possibly could, the expanse of exposed creamy white flesh gave way to the shimmering silk and revealing lace of some hot pink corset kind of thing that sent his jaw to the floor.
Any lethargy he’d felt earlier this morning vanished. Staring at Amanda Matthews made every inch of his body leap to complete, intense alert. Restless tension thrummed through him as she paused her seductive unveiling. The artless way she looked at the camera almost made him think she’d just gotten her zipper stuck. Then out of the blue, her dress gave way beneath her fingers and fell to the runway floor in a pile of rich black satin.
She was beautiful. Not reed thin like some of the fashion-conscious types. No, she had enough curves to make a man want to linger.
He absorbed every inch of Amanda’s voluptuous body, from her lace-clad breasts to her gartered thighs, pausing for heart-stopping moments on the places in between.
Her panties complemented the corset, bright pink silk with matching lace. The garters framed the most intriguing portion of those panties, making him wonder what it would be like to touch those bare thighs, to slide his palms over her hips, to smooth his thumbs down the front of her pink silken panties….
The memory of the kiss they’d shared chose that moment to torment him. The knowledge that he’d been kissing this hot-as-a-pistol woman and not just a fashion maven in a conservative trench coat almost proved his undoing. His damn palms were sweaty enough to warrant a swipe across the front of his khakis.
He took deep breaths. He could handle this, couldn’t he? After all, he was torturing himself for the sake of police business, right? Yeah, right.
With a superhuman effort, Duke forced himself to note other details about the video besides Amanda Matthews’s man-killing sex appeal. First, he noticed the setting—a loft with big windows and hardwood floors. Against his will, his eye strayed back to Amanda’s legs, the sheer pink stockings niggling at his brain and distracting him at the same time. He closed his eyes and opened them again, trying valiantly to see around her gorgeous self.
The only thing relevant that came to mind was that the video’s unfamiliar surroundings meant it hadn’t been filmed at Victor’s place.
Yet Victor had seen it.
The knowledge that the tape had been made for another man and not for him served as a mental cold shower and gave Duke a tiny measure of control back.
Amanda would no doubt be horrified to know Duke had ever seen her “Private” video. Not that her comfort was uppermost in his mind. No matter how horrified she might be, Duke would give her the tape back. Although he’d have to bend procedural rules to deliver the video to her, there wasn’t a chance in hell he would bring the tape back to the evidence room and risk someone else seeing Amanda at her mouthwatering best.
He would give this tantalizing morsel back to Amanda right after he watched the rest. He needed to make sure there was nothing incriminating in it before he broke—er, bended—police regulation.
Duke shifted in his seat, willing away his body’s alert state. This was a hell of a position to be in during working hours. He tried not to think about Amanda’s seductive little shimmy as she clicked her way back up the runway and tossed her gloves in either direction.
He had to smile that Amanda wore gloves and an evening gown for a striptease. She was a throwback to a pinup girl with her teasing strut and her decadent clothes. All she needed was a bubble machine to complete the image. She lacked the in-your-face sexuality of the women in today’s strip joints, but to his way of thinking, she was ten times as tempting.
As if to challenge the truth of his thoughts, Amanda slowly began to unlace the ties of the lingerie. She wound one cord around her finger until the string went taut, and then pulled.
Perhaps she had misjudged how much pressure the flimsy garment had been under, because the moment the restraining knot slipped free, the ribbons slithered all the way out of position and sent her lingerie sliding downward.
Duke forgot all pretense of noting anything else but Amanda. His eyes sought a glimpse of her breasts as diligently as a teenager searching for nipples in a bra commercial. And this time, his keen eyes locked on just what he sought.
