Silk, Lace & Videotape

by Joanne Rock

  Perhaps her mental picture of that scenario was as enticing as his, because she swayed on her feet for one heated moment. Then she backed away, shaking her head and an accusing finger at him.

  “That was a mistake, remember? I might have had faulty judgment on the video debacle, but I’m in my element now. How about I meet you down by the pretzel stand after I get warmed up here?”

  Duke nodded, very much in favor of seeing Amanda in warmed-up mode. He bought an iced espresso and hung out near a guitar player on the street corner, soaking in the music and sunshine while he watched Amanda move from table to table. Duke smiled to see her in action.

  Within twenty minutes she had vendors practically begging her to buy something. Her method was unique but very effective—she knew the power of walking away. He, too, mourned the sight of Amanda walking away, even though the view from behind her was spectacular.

  She hadn’t been kidding, she was no novice to this game. But he’d be willing to bet she’d never bartered for items quite like Canal Street offered. She moved in circles of the fashion elite and he doubted she bought knockoff sunglasses and rhinestone toe rings when she conducted her father’s fabric buying sprees.

  He tossed a couple of dollars in the guitar player’s hat and moved farther down the street, making sure Amanda didn’t get too far away from him. Her latest coup seemed to be a pile of frothy-looking scarves in enough colors to rival a crayon box. He watched her smile and thank the young man who’d sold them to her for a song. The poor sap behind the counter looked as smitten as Duke felt.

  Damn.

  He chugged the rest of the espresso and wondered why it seemed so right in his gut to be with Amanda, yet so wrong to his head. Even Josh thought he was making a colossal mistake—the same one he’d made before when he got involved with a socialite looking for adventure—yet he stood here with his eyes glued to Amanda Matthews, hungry for an excuse to touch her again, desperate to betray his own ethics and sneak a peek at the video striptease calling to him from his desk drawer at the precinct.

  He didn’t know how this day would end, but one thing was clear to him as Amanda’s laughter floated to him on the warm breeze.

  He couldn’t let her walk away just yet.

  AMANDA SENSED DUKE’S presence behind her long before he touched her. She could tell by the way the woman at the vintage clothing counter fluffed her hair, by the way the air took on a heated quality, the way a ghost of anticipation drifted over Amanda’s skin.

  Her desire for Duke confused her. She knew better than to get caught up in a relationship that couldn’t lead anywhere. The complications of her father’s lifestyle, his rumored connections to the mob, would make a relationship with a New York police detective very awkward. She knew her father didn’t participate in anything illegal, but he’d cast a pall over their whole family name with his public fraternizing with crime figures.

  She needed to tackle that situation before the fall fashion shows started. But not quite yet, not when their talk would inevitably lead to her quitting the window designing work all together. Her father had recently broken up with a long-term girlfriend and his business had been losing money lately. What if her dad perceived Amanda’s perspective as hostile, somehow? She couldn’t bear a rift with her only living relative.

  It was much more pleasant to think about Duke Rawlins’s proximity behind her. From the gooseflesh that broke out over her skin at his mere presence, Amanda knew they were already treading on dangerous water.

  Today, she didn’t care.

  His hands settled over the bared part of her shoulders, his thumbs slipping beneath the fabric of her silk tank top. The gesture felt incredibly intimate, the gentle scrape of Duke’s hands kneading her sun-warmed skin, but the woman behind the counter merely smiled at them as if nothing were amiss.

  Amanda thought about stepping back a few more inches and what it would feel like to be folded against Duke’s chest. She had no doubt those five stars on his T-shirt were accurate. From the kiss they’d already shared, Amanda knew sex with Duke would be off the charts.

  He brushed his fingers idly over her upper arms. “You were right.”

  She found it difficult to concentrate on whether she wanted the antique beaded purse or the studded pink evening gloves. “I was?”

  “You did put on quite a show today, even without,” he leaned fractionally closer and whispered, “getting naked.”

  Oh my, the man was too much. Too bold. Too brash. Too sexy for her own good.

  Amanda forgot all about haggling. The wheeling and dealing game she normally enjoyed paled in comparison to the thrill Duke Rawlins could give her with one seductive whisper.

  She handed over a few bills to the woman behind the counter for the purse and the evening gloves.

  Duke plucked up one pink glove. “This has burlesque written all over it. I hope you got them with me in mind.”

  Amanda took it away from him, stuffing it in a sack along with her other purchases. “I got them to show on the runway with next spring’s collection. I have a few pieces in mind that are vaguely retro and I think these will help capitalize on the look.”

  Automatically, Duke took her shopping bag from her. Amanda smiled at his manners, so different from her father’s or even Victor’s. They could probably order wine in a dozen languages and know how to get a table at any restaurant in New York, but they didn’t take care of details like lugging her bags around for her. At best, Victor might have snapped his fingers at his driver to come take her purchases from her.

  Obviously, Duke’s granddad knew how to raise a gentleman.

  He steered her down the street now, where they passed a mime and a juggler. The spring weather seemed to have called out every form of street performer and shopper in the city and Canal Street swelled to overflowing with the growing crush.

  “Have you shopped enough yet?” Duke asked, pausing by a stand full of neckties before urging her forward again.

  Amanda nodded even though she hated the thought of ending the day. She’d had a great time, but she hadn’t really seen much of Duke. Maybe somewhere in her fantasies she’d nursed a hope this day would at least provide her with a few more steal-your-breath kisses for her memory bank. “I guess I’d better get going.”

  “And miss the zoo?” Duke looked appalled.

  “What zoo?” Amanda definitely didn’t remember any trips to the zoo in their plans.

  Duke guided her toward the street and flagged a taxi. The cab screeched to a halt beside them.

  “The Central Park Zoo.” He held the door for her and waved her into the waiting car. “I promised you an ice-cream cone, remember? Didn’t I mention we were going to eat it at the zoo?”

  Relieved she didn’t have to leave just yet, and impressed he hadn’t pressed for an invitation to her loft, Amanda slid across the black vinyl seat.

  “You definitely didn’t mention a zoo, but never let it be said I don’t have a sense of adventure.”

  SEATED ON A bench by the lion exhibit, Duke deeply regretted his sense of adventure as he watched Amanda’s tongue navigate the top of her Death by Chocolate ice-cream cone.

  How would he ever survive all three scoops?

  He struggled to come up with a new conversation starter. When Amanda released a supremely contented sigh over her ice cream, Duke launched into the first thing that came to his mind. “So have you lived in the loft over your father’s showroom for long?”

  “Five years this summer.” She stole another lick, her small pink tongue darting around the curve of the cone to catch any stray drips. “The first two years my dad gave me a break on the rent, but since then I’ve been able to afford the going rate. It’s a good tax write-off because I use most of it for business.”

  Taxes? Business? He tried to focus on her words, but couldn’t think about anything except the taxing business of resisting the urge to jump her right here, right now, on a wooden bench with a gallery of monkeys and lions voyeuristically looking on.
>
  When he didn’t respond, Amanda tugged at the front of her yellow silk blouse. “And it’s nice to have my business under my home roof. I made this tank last night for myself, and ended up creating a great pattern for my spring collection.”

  Could he help it that his gaze naturally drifted to her blouse? To the tiny hint of cleavage it revealed? He scanned the landscape for a distracting exhibit. Where the hell were the warthogs when a man needed them?

  “I think it’s pretty impressive that you could just whip up an outfit for yourself at a moment’s notice.”

  “I like to play with the material,” she admitted, waving at a gregarious tot who passed them in a stroller. “Sometimes I forget where my hobby ends and my work begins. But I guess that’s a good thing.”

  “Want to know what my granddaddy used to say about all work and no play?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I bet I can guess.”

  “He said I’d never have that problem.”

  Her throaty laughter gave him as much fulfillment as putting crooks behind bars. A man could feel like he’d accomplished something in a day if he made Amanda Matthews laugh.

  “You work very hard,” she assured him, her gaze flicking over a strolling cotton candy vendor before returning to her cone. “I’m sure your grandfather is very proud of you.”

  Her words provided a better distraction than those warthogs. “I hope he is. He died before I finished my training, but I’d like to think he would find a way to make his displeasure known if he wasn’t proud of me. Some days when nothing goes my way I sort of get the feeling the old man is shooting thunderbolts at my butt to get me to straighten up.”

  Her smile was sheepish. “I think my mother stomps on my creativity.”

  Duke thought back over the day, remembered Amanda telling him her mother had died when she was a little girl. “Your mother meddles with you, too?”

  “She’s half guardian angel, half vengeful voice of my self-conscience.”

  Duke reached across the bench to stroke aside a strand of her hair. The silken tress teased his skin. “I can’t imagine your mother would have too much to complain about. You’re developing an ambitious career and looking out for your dad—”

  The words, meant to reassure Amanda, suddenly unsettled him. He’d been able to forget about her father for most of the today. But now, thoughts of her criminally-connected family came back to remind him why he ought to be retreating instead of wondering how to get closer to her.

  Ignoring all sense of caution, Duke slid a hand over hers.

  Amanda stared down at their clasped hands for a long moment. “I’d like to think so. She was a very independent woman though. Sometimes I wonder if she would think I’ve allowed myself to stand too much in my father’s shadow.”

  “Not from where I’m sitting. It takes an independent woman to develop her own design business.” He loosened his grip just enough to give his fingers latitude over her warm skin. With slow deliberation, he traced a path up and down her fingers, dipping lightly in between.

  Was it overactive hopefulness on his part, or had she shivered?

  “Work is a different story,” she responded, her voice taking on a throatier note than it had a few moments ago. “Finding beauty in the ordinary is what I do best. But when it comes to my father… He’s just not an easy man to confront.”

  Probably because he was a gangster, Duke thought, determined to keep his opinions for himself for a change. He was enjoying the day, enjoying her, far too much.

  “What parents don’t push their kids’ buttons?”

  “It’s more than that.” She paused as they allowed a noisy sideshow of musicians to pass. “He’s got such a big personality that he sort of eclipses everyone else around him.”

  Duke nodded, trying to imagine anyone eclipsing the knockout beside him.

  “And I’m finding it hard to make a final break from his business. Now that I’m starting to do some of my own designs, I can’t really spare the time to do my father’s windows, but I can’t disappoint him, either. I have all the backbone of a jellyfish when it comes to my dad.”

  Duke slid closer, tugging her hand into his lap and running his fingers up her inner arm. He moved slowly, not wanting to scare her off.

  “You’ve got tons of backbone, Amanda,” he argued, refusing to believe she couldn’t stand up for herself whenever she wanted to.

  Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the cone in her other hand just barely started to drip, but he didn’t say anything. Yet. The small drop of chocolate ice cream slid down the cone, on a collision course with Amanda’s fingers.

  “I couldn’t even manage to tie my own shoe after your interrogation the other day, Duke. I’m not exactly the poster child for the hip and together Millennium Woman.”

  He watched the ice cream hit the fingers of her other hand and wondered what she’d do if he licked it.

  Surely cleaning her off counted as being gentlemanly, didn’t it?

  “That didn’t have anything to do with you lacking backbone,” he assured her. Then, unable to resist, he lifted her hand, cone and all, and swirled his tongue around her fingers with the same deft thoroughness she’d used to eat her ice cream. She tasted sweet and sticky, and oh-so-right for more licking. When he finally forced himself to rein in his hunger for her, he leaned closer to whisper, “I thought that incident with the shoe was more related to you having no clothes on.”

  She pulled her hand out of his grasp, but her cheeks flushed with high color. “How did you know?”

  Hell, he’d dreamed about nothing else, night and day, since then. “I didn’t…until I saw the tape. But once I noticed the pink shoes I got the impression you were wearing the same thing in the video that you wore to Gallagher’s house.”

  She nodded.

  He nearly groaned.

  Amanda’s simple acknowledgement left him harder than the damned bench. Her confirmation provided him with his best fantasy image to date—a gorgeous interrogation subject dropping her coat to reveal bare flesh and racy lingerie. Amanda might not be the poster child for the together Millennium Super-woman, but she would no doubt be the pinup queen of his sexiest dreams for the rest of his life.

  “I had to have been out of my mind to make that stupid tape,” Amanda confided.

  “I thought it was a great idea,” Duke assured her. “Especially the last part where your outfit sort of—”

  She clamped a hand over his mouth to staunch his memory of her garment sliding to the floor. “That part was an accident.”

  The palm of her hand curved around his lips while her fingers grazed his cheek. He nipped one finger with his teeth, freeing his mouth but making him hunger for another taste of her silky skin.

  He wished they were at his place instead of a public park. More than anything, he wanted to explore this attraction between them, see for himself if she looked half as amazing beneath her clothes as his memory told him she did.

  He shook his head. “Honey, you’ve got your perspective all turned around. What you’re perceiving as an accident, I’m viewing as incredible good luck.”

  Amanda’s hand tingled where Duke’s teeth had scraped over her flesh. She hadn’t counted on his bold move to displace her grip, but she should have. Duke didn’t possess a reserved or cautious bone in his body.

  And no matter how much Amanda told herself she shouldn’t like it, she did.

  Being around Duke was exciting. Emotionally, mentally, and—there could be no denying it—sexually.

  Would she qualify as the world’s most immoral woman for wanting to seduce Duke two days after she’d planned to seduce another man?

  Right now, with the most charismatic man she’d ever met seated beside her, she wasn’t so sure she cared.

  This was different, after all. She’d never actually followed through on her plan to entice Victor, thanks to Duke. Duke had prevented her from making a mistake of monumental proportions by opening her eyes to Victor’s other life. Plus, D
uke had shown himself to be a gentleman by returning her secret weapon, even if he had watched it first.

  She trusted him.

  She wanted him.

  Now all she had to do was take him home and…inspire him.

  7

  TWO CARAMEL APPLES, a tiger and ten llamas later, Duke and Amanda took the subway back toward the Garment District—back toward Amanda’s place. Amanda had claimed she was broke except for two subway tokens and insisted on springing for transportation since Duke bought the ice cream and all the treats for her to feed the animals.

  Stubborn woman.

  Duke tried not to stare at her charming rear view as she made her way up the steps out of the subway.

  But he wasn’t that much of a gentleman.

  The woman tempted him sorely even though they had next to nothing to base a relationship on. Spending the day with her hadn’t done a damn thing to quench his thirst for her. If anything, he liked her even more now that he knew her better.

  She wasn’t just a stripteasing socialite who didn’t mind breaking the rules to get what she wanted. She could haggle her way into the bargain hunter’s hall of fame if she cared to. She knew the Mets’ starting lineup. And she didn’t just spend her time doing power lunches with her uptown friends—she had a career she cared about passionately, one that she enjoyed discussing with him. He now knew the virtues of cutting fabric on the bias, thank-you very much, and he admitted he had enjoyed studying Amanda’s figure very carefully as she’d explained it to him.

  Too bad none of that mattered because she was about to give him the boot and he probably wouldn’t see her again until Victor’s hearing.

  The thought rankled all the more because he hadn’t even managed to work in a kiss today. Feeding the llamas had been cool, but all he could think about now was feasting on her. How could he walk away from a woman like Amanda without at least a parting taste?