by Ann Bruce
Dean shortened his strides to match hers and they covered the two blocks in silence. The bistro was small, friendly and filled with the homey aroma of freshly baked bread. When a passing waitress, one of two bustling about, gestured for them to seat themselves, they grabbed a small, round table alongside the window. While Dean perused the laminated menu, Parker fought to keep her attention on the pedestrians on the other side of the glass—and failed miserably.
How could she look anywhere else besides the man across from her? She’d dreamt feverish dreams where he’d played the starring role, but they’d been hazy. More sensations than concrete, visual, tactile details. She studied him. The long-fingered hands with broad palms. The big wrists she knew she would need both hands to encircle. The—
“What’s good here?”
You.
He lowered the menu and looked at her, an eyebrow raised. For a panicked heartbeat, she feared the word had popped unbidden out of her mouth. However, he only repeated his question.
“Uh, try the turkey, apple, swiss cheese and cranberry sauce panini.”
The waitress, young, brunette and efficient, stopped by the table, notebook and stubby pencil in hand. Both she and Dean looked at Parker inquiringly.
“Pineapple juice, please,” she murmured to the waitress.
Dean ordered two of the paninis, a side of oven-baked shoestring fries and a bottle of water.
“And another panini for her,” he added.
Parker aimed a frown at him, but the waitress took off before she could nix the order.
“I ate earlier,” she reminded him.
“Humor me,” he said. “I don’t like eating alone.”
He leaned forward, reached across the table and covered her hand with his. She flinched, but he simply linked his fingers around her wrist. She didn’t bother to struggle. The man would release her when he wanted to and not a moment sooner.
“Now, tell me what happened back at your place.”
Startled, she glanced at him. She’d been expecting more questions about her sudden rejection of him the night before.
“What are you talking about?”
“You were white as a sheet when you came out of your bedroom and you couldn’t leave your place fast enough.”
“Nothing.”
“What were you afraid of?”
“Noth-ing,” she repeated, deliberately drawing out the two syllables.
Not buying her answer, he scrutinized her until she was sure he could sketch her face from memory.
“You didn’t leave your door unlocked,” he said finally.
His fingers tightened on her wrist until her eyes met his.
She exhaled softly. “I’m not that careless, no.”
“Your lock wasn’t busted. Who has an extra set of keys?”
“My mom.”
Dean lifted a brow. “What about the ex?”
“No. Definitely not.”
A small smile lifted his mouth, but he refrained from commenting.
“Anyone else? A neighbor for emergency purposes?”
Twin lines appeared between her brows as she shook her head. “No one. I’m not the most trusting soul.” She blew out a breath. “Maybe I did leave the front door unlocked. I’ve been so distracted and tired lately I very well could have.”
She didn’t believe her own words and, from Dean’s expression, neither did he. However, she was granted a reprieve when the waitress chose that moment to swing by with their order. Dean released her hand so he could help the waitress rearrange the condiment containers on the table to make room for the new additions. To give herself something to do, Parker pulled the tall glass of pulpy pineapple juice closer and took a sip through the straw. The naturally tart but sweetened beverage went down easy.
When they were alone once more, Dean gave her a measuring look, then pulled out a slim cell phone from his front pocket and flipped it open.
“Who are you calling?” she asked, studying him suspiciously.
“Gordon, my driver, to ask him to track down a locksmith for you.”
“Oh.” The jolt of surprise was followed by a shaft of warmth that was, quite frankly, not unpleasant. “There’s no need to bother him. I plan on doing it when I get home.”
“Gordon’ll have the locksmith waiting for us when we get back.”
She started to protest, but he raised a hand to stall her words.
“Humor me. I’ll sleep better if I see for myself your locks are changed.”
Her delicate brows drew together, but she couldn’t say anything because Gordon came on the line and Dean outlined his request. It was disconcerting—and disarming—to have someone else look after such details for her, even if he did delegate them to someone else. With her mother and sister, it was Parker who made sure things around their house were repaired or replaced when required. She dealt with the bank when it came time to renew the mortgage on the Jersey property. She booked the oil changes and tune-ups for their car. She made sure their income taxes were filed properly and on time.
These things were the least she could do for refusing to give up her life in Manhattan when Brenda became pregnant.
The snap of Dean’s cell phone as he closed it jerked her out of her thoughts. Blue eyes captured hers.
“Gordon says he knows someone who can be there within the hour.”
“Thank you,” said Parker softly, unable to look away.
He reached over and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “You have this confused expression on your face.”
“You’re not what I expected,” she admitted baldly.
“You listen to rumors and hearsay?”
She was silent for a moment, then asked quietly, “Are they rumors and hearsay if they’re true?”
His face tightened, as did his voice. “Why don’t you tell me what you heard and I’ll save you the trouble of sorting fact from fiction.”
Savannah’s cherubic face flashed before her mind’s eye, and she looked away from Dean.
“Parker?”
She sat back in her chair and lifted a hand to brush her hair back from her face even though she didn’t need to do so. “It…it seems foolish now,” she said awkwardly. A shoulder lifted in a half shrug. “Let’s forget about it.”
Disappointment darkened his eyes. “You’re a terrible liar,” he accused softly.
She stiffened and, even though he was right, annoyance and resentment flickered through her. Just as quickly, they were gone. Her shoulders fell and, without looking at him, she shook her head. “I can’t do this,” she whispered hoarsely, and twisted around to grab the hobo bag she’d hooked on the back of the chair.
Male fingers manacled the wrist of the hand she hadn’t even realized she’d laid on the table.
“Parker, don’t run off.”
Her fingers clenched around the shoulder strap of her bag. He made her sound so cowardly when it was only smarter to keep away from him.
“I’m sorry. I want to talk to you.” He hesitated. “But I’ll drop that subject.”
For now.
She heard the silent words clear as a bell in her head.
“We’ll eat, talk about innocuous things, then I’ll walk you home,” he said coaxingly as he turned her hand over and stroked his thumb over the pulse throbbing a little too quickly in her wrist. She inhaled deeply and her fingers flexed, curling inward before she realized what was happening.
She tugged on her wrist and, to her surprise, Dean freed her. He was going to let her choose, which seemed much more diabolical than forcing her to stay. She stared at him. His expression was blank, very non-threatening, except for the eyes gleaming with something that made a shiver snake down her spine. Her gaze fell to the table and the food they—actually, he—had ordered.
She told herself it wouldn’t be right to walk out on him and go home, where, she recalled, a locksmith he’d arranged for might already be waiting for her.
She let go of her bag and turned back in her se
at. Once he was certain she wasn’t going to take off, Dean picked up one of his paninis and took a large bite of the crispy sandwich.
“A little on the small side but good,” he said after he swallowed. “See? I can do innocuous.” He tried an ultra-skinny stick of deep-fried potato. “Parker’s an unusual name.”
“It’s my mother’s maiden name,” she told him as she forced herself to pick up half of the panini on the plate in front of her. She took a much smaller bite than his. She chewed carefully, as if uncertain of the taste. Then the apple and cranberry sauce hit her taste buds and she sighed contentedly.
“See? Had I not ordered you one, you’d have gone after mine.”
Her lips softened as they relaxed. “I wouldn’t have done that.” Her gaze lowered to the fries. “I might’ve stolen a fry or two. Or three.”
He pushed the plate she was eyeing toward her. “Go for it.”
She took him up on his invitation, snatching a fry from the pile.
“Ketchup?” He nudged the glass bottle toward her. She shook her head and popped the fry into her mouth.
“Women rarely order what they really want in restaurants, then they end up picking off someone else’s plate.”
“Happens to you a lot, does it?” Then she slanted a skeptical look in his direction. “But you don’t exactly look malnourished.”
“I have two older sisters. I learned how to survive around women at an early age.”
The corners of her mouth twitched. “Don’t tell me you’re the baby of the family.”
He nodded. “But I had my growth spurt early. I’ve been the tallest in the family since I hit the big one-three.”
Her lips stretched in a full-blown smile. “But I bet that didn’t stop your sisters from bossing you around.”
A pained expression crossed his features. “No, it didn’t and they’re still at it. They’re unmerciful. They like to remind me that no matter how old I get, they’ll always be older, with the unspoken advantage of being wiser.” He snorted.
She chuckled. “Oh, I think I’d like them.”
“You would,” he said dryly. “And they’d like you.”
As they worked their way through the remainder of the food, Dean was true to his word and kept the conversation topics harmless. He entertained her with tales of growing up with two older sisters. She shared with him the unglamorous yet humorous anecdotes of the fashion industry. The conversation continued to flow easily over spiced pumpkin pie and even after they finished eating and started the trek back to Parker’s converted brownstone apartment.
The sky was darkening as evening approached and the air was touched with a biting autumn chill that had been absent earlier in the day.
“You should’ve worn your jacket,” he admonished when he saw her shiver.
“I’m fine.” She sucked in a lungful of air. “The cold air’s clearing my head.”
“And it’s making your teeth chatter,” he said, and he curved an arm around her shoulders and hauled her into his side. Off balance, her hands came up and she grabbed fistfuls of his sweater to remain upright. Parker’s entire body went still while her senses reeled, every pulse point racing even as her core went molten. Her eyes closed and she inhaled deeply, letting the masculine scent of warm skin and a hint of spicy aftershave fill her nostrils.
He pulled her closer, one of his legs sliding between both of hers. And she had to bite back a moan, wishing her hands were on his skin and not lost in the soft material of his sweater. She knew one little sign from her and he would drag her to the nearest dark corner. The urge to lift her head and offer up her mouth to his made her fingers clench. It would be so easy to throw caution to the wind and worry about the consequences later.
But she’d never taken the easy way out before and she couldn’t start now.
Parker uncurled her fingers and inched away from him, putting distance between their bodies. He tensed momentarily and she hugged herself tightly, refusing to meet his gaze. After a moment, they started walking again, silence and distance stretching between them.
Gordon and another man, presumably the locksmith, were sitting in the Maybach parked two doors down from Parker’s converted brownstone. As they neared her home, Parker glanced up at Dean, saw the line of his tight jaw and decided her parting words could wait until later.
The twenty-something locksmith emerged from the sedan, dressed like he’d been attending a backyard barbeque in a yellow T-shirt, khaki knee-length shorts and black flip flops. With metal tool case in hand, he introduced himself, grinned more widely at Parker than at Dean and followed them to Parker’s door.
Dean stood by, looking a little menacing, as the younger man replaced the entry lock and deadbolt. Parker patted Dean’s chest and none-too-discreetly pushed him aside to give the younger man sufficient working room. Dean captured her hand and didn’t let it go. He drew her against him and, telling herself she didn’t want to create a scene, she went. Pressed up against him, she felt some of the tension leave his body.
A short time later, job complete, the locksmith pocketed the cash Dean handed over despite Parker’s protests.
“Thank you, but you shouldn’t have done that,” Parker said after the locksmith took off.
Dean stood in the doorway, hands braced on either side of the jamb. “It was more for my peace of mind.” He leaned in closer. “If you want, I’ll add it to your tab.”
“You’re expecting way too much out of one date.”
“A guy can hope.”
“You don’t rely on hope. You plan and manipulate until you get your way.”
Instead of being offended, a half-smile lifted his lips. His head lowered, coming closer to hers, and Parker stopped breathing, her lips seeming to throb with anticipation. God, she was weak. She slid her hands into her back pockets to keep from reaching for him. However, like he did the previous night, Dean only pressed his lips into her hair.
“I’ll be seeing you.”
As he turned and went down the steps, Parker shivered, not sure if his words had been a promise or a threat.
She closed the door firmly and used her shiny, new locks. Leaning against the door, she scanned her tiny apartment. The darkness was relieved by the glass lamp on the side table. Her eyes moved inevitably to the bedroom door, then skittered away.
Get a grip, Quinn.
Parker pushed herself away from the door and headed for the bathroom, shedding her clothes along the way. Naked, she whipped back the filmy shower curtain and stepped into the claw-footed, porcelain tub. She took her time in the shower, going so far as to buff herself from neck to toe, and wrapped herself in a worn terrycloth robe when she finished. Barefoot, she walked to her bedroom, wrapped her fingers around the doorknob, took a breath, turned her wrist and shoved the door wide open. Nothing jumped out at her.
A laugh escaped her, the quick sound a little relieved, a little hysterical.
She was losing it. The exhaustion from work had driven her batty.
The door hit the doorstop and bounced back. She put up a hand to stop it before it smacked her in the face.
Parker went to the highboy standing in the corner and pulled out her underwear drawer. She dug through a mixed pile of underwear, searching for the cotton bikinis with the polar bear print. She had a matching nightie. Not that she would wear it to sleep. She preferred to sleep in the nude, but she enjoyed lounging around in sleepwear for a couple of hours before stripping and crawling into bed.
After the third time through the underwear drawer and she still hadn’t located the panties, Parker decided she didn’t have to match, grabbed another pair, and pulled them on. She pulled open the drawer directly below, but she didn’t spot the pale purple nightie. She knew the items weren’t in the laundry hamper because she’d put everything in the washing machine yesterday and the hamper was empty.
Parker raked her damp hair back from her face, rolled up the sleeves of her bathrobe and set to work. Half an hour later, she knew she was missing on
e bra, three thongs, two bikini panties and two nightgowns. Since she rarely wore them, she didn’t care about the bra, but what kind of thief would steal only undergarments and sleepwear?
A shudder ran through her as her stomach roiled, making her feel queasy. Parker hurried into bathroom, came back with the hamper and emptied the drawer into it. She was probably overreacting, but her skin crawled at the thought of letting those clothes touch it after a stranger had pawed through them.
After she got the washing machine going, Parker rechecked the new locks on her door. They were shiny and heavy and clicked into place with a solid sound. They should’ve been reassuring, but that unsteady feeling remained. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes—and Dean Maxwell’s face formed in her mind’s eye.
Parker cursed softly.
Chapter Three
“Your admin assistant said I could wait in your office.”
Parker froze at the sound of the deep voice that had haunted her dreams for the better part of last night. And tried to convince herself alarm made her heartbeat pick up.
She stared at the man lounging comfortably in the ergonomic swivel chair behind her desk. Very carefully, she closed her office door, but she didn’t move away from it. She hadn’t expected to see him again so soon. She needed a few more days to dull the memory of him. The sound of mocking laughter rang in a distant corner of her brain.
Parker gathered the files in her hand against her chest like a shield. As if that would protect her from Dean Maxwell. Or, if she was brutally honest, from herself and those tingling sensations spreading underneath her skin at the mere sight of him.
“I need a new assistant,” she said, proud her voice didn’t waver.
“You need a break.” He rose from her chair like some sleek, predatory animal. His Italian-cut charcoal suit emphasized the long lines of his body, the broad shoulders that shouldn’t belong to a man who owned his own stock brokerage firm. Suddenly, her generous corner office seemed too small, too enclosed. Perhaps open office floor plans weren’t such a bad idea, after all. Other people in sight would probably stop her from visualizing what Dean Maxwell would look like without his clothes.
