by Joanne Rock
She edged toward the door. “I’d better get back out there.
Josh realized he’d blown his professional objective of finding out more about the Bertrands when he’d opted to kiss Lexi instead of talk to her. Before he could ask her to stay a little longer, however, the thin shade over the front counter opened.
“Anyone in here?” An impatient feminine voice pierced the air.
Josh turned to see Ms. WonderLift herself at the cloakroom desk, a gray fur draped over one arm. Dressed head to toe in white satin and diamonds, she didn’t look much like an arsonist, but Josh wasn’t taking any chances.
“Hello, Simone.” Lexi held out her sparkly nails to take the coat. “Please say this is fake. This is a cloakroom, not a kennel, you know.”
“Would I dare risk your delicate sensibilities by showing up here with a dead animal on my shoulder?” She lit a cigarette while waiting for Lexi to bring her a numbered tag for the wrap. “You’ve shot me down in your column enough times this month, I think.”
Lexi stuffed the fur on a back table and handed Simone a tag. Josh doubted Lexi had any clue how the cloakroom system actually worked, but then again, she probably didn’t give a rip whether or not Simone ever retrieved her coat.
“Yet you didn’t bother to put in an appearance at the homeless benefit last week to revel in the glory of your letter to my editor.” Lexi picked up a guest book on the cloakroom counter and fanned away the smoke from Simone’s cigarette. “So unlike you not to gloat.”
Simone shrugged, allowing one thin strap of her dress to slip off her shoulder. “That was James’s fault. He knew I wanted to go, so he gave the chauffeur the night off, then he pretended not to know the phone numbers for any driver services. I could have killed him.”
“Get out.” Lexi slammed the guest book on the counter. “He didn’t tell me that.”
Josh couldn’t help but think their conversation sounded reasonably friendly, as archrivals went. He hadn’t expected Simone to be so up-front with Lexi. In fact, something about Simone’s slouchy body language, her hangdog expression, made him think the woman admired and envied Lexi more than she hated her.
“Of course he wouldn’t. James is much too refined to brag when he gets the best of me.” Simone smoothed her hair back from her face and fluffed the curls around her neck. “Next time I take a potshot, you can bet I’ll remember to plan the follow-up in advance.”
Lexi rolled her eyes. “Does your life have to be a continual plot against me? You are like Cruella DeVil. Or maybe one of the villains from Scooby Doo, Simone. If you spent more time on your designs and less on how to piss me off, you’d probably come up with something marginally successful.”
Simone raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “You think so, do you?”
“Your taste isn’t that bad.” Lexi pointed in the direction of Simone’s dress. “I mean, this is cute, and it’s obviously original.”
Josh would bet the bank that the pleasure in Simone’s eyes was genuine. He’d made a career in the shadows, reading people as Duke talked to them, interpreting gestures and tone of voice. He knew how to discern people’s secrets and emotions.
The fledgling designer practically hung over the cloakroom counter to confide in Lexi. “Some of the best things seem to come to me in a flash. I had a vision for this dress and then kaboom—I practically just cut it out of the satin like this.” Simone paused a moment, as if remembering herself and the hauteur she normally exuded. “I mean, when you are ready to retract all those mean things you’ve said about my previous designs, I’d be happy to show you a few of my new things.”
With one final puff of cigarette, Simone turned and sauntered off into the crowd.
“You see what I put up with?” Lexi demanded, fanning the stale air in the cloakroom with her hand. “She’s always been that way.”
“She wants your approval.” Josh mentally moved Simone lower on his list of suspects. He didn’t care what Lexi said about the cashmere sweater fibers; Simone’s attitude didn’t strike him as that of a woman out to kill—or even necessarily scare—Lexi.
“She wants my head on a platter, you mean. Didn’t we agree she might be the one responsible for nearly barbecuing Muffin last week?”
“I’m changing my mind.” Josh didn’t have time to sort through the whole knot right now, because the complexion of his case was changing. He needed to find out what Anton Bertrand was doing tonight, and then he needed to scout informants for the scoop on a potential shipment to the city this weekend. “I’ve got some work to do tonight, but I might need your help tomorrow.”
“I don’t know, Josh. I thought I was helping you when you called me in here to ask me questions, but I ended up nearly hiking up a two-thousand-dollar dress in a coatroom of all places.”
Josh barely leashed his hands to his side at her mention of hiking up that damn dress. He wanted a second chance with her so badly it hurt.
And it would keep on hurting if he kept recalling how nothing separated her naked body from him but a frail web of sequins.
Focus. On. Work.
“Tomorrow is for real, Lex. If Anton is really our man, I have an idea how we might ferret him out. But I can’t do it without your help.”
She walked her fingers up his tie and tapped his chin with one painted talon. “You’re beginning to see you can’t operate without me, aren’t you.”
No kidding. The woman was like a time bomb dropped into his world, and he was fool enough to keep coming back for more.
Her touch robbed him of thought. “You are pretty damn addictive, Lex.”
She hovered beside him for one more moment, her gaze locked on his. Then, perhaps satisfied with his answer, she slipped away again. Turning to open the door to the club, Lexi practically ran into her missing-in-action bodyguard, Otis.
Josh made a note to read the guy the riot act before he left Lexi in his care again.
Lexi smiled at Otis and then tossed a simmering look over her shoulder at Josh. “You think I’m addictive now, wait ’til you hit next week and you start going through the withdrawal symptoms on your own.” She smiled that sinful, knowing smile that drove him wild. “You’re going to be toast, hot stuff.”
Josh watched her walk away, a seductive shimmy in her hips she’d no doubt put there for his benefit. He was about ready to rip an overcoat off the wall to hide the evidence of his addiction, but instead, he settled for remaining behind a table full of coats for a minute.
He’d be toast next week?
Hell, he was already sizzling his way into a slow burn right now.
14
TWELVE HOURS after she’d sashayed away from Josh Winger, Lexi stood in the middle of assorted rolling racks at Amanda’s loft, agonizing over what to wear the next time she saw him. Why couldn’t she content herself with the great exit line she’d come up with yesterday? Did she have to throw herself back in his path again now?
Of course she did. He had finally admitted he wanted her to help him out on his big drug smuggling case, and she wouldn’t let him down. By dismissing their personal relationship in favor of his professional life, Josh had about torn her heart out, but she refused to allow her hurt to show. No one but Muffin ever saw her cry.
Right now, she simply needed to focus on wardrobe and get her mind off the twinge she felt at the thought of seeing him one last time. Resolutely, she stared at the tartan plaid miniskirt and the red cat suit, trying to decide which to wear for her first foray into police work. Deciding she’d rather go with a nod to Sherlock Holmes than an ode to the Mod Squad, Lexi pulled out the tiny plaid miniskirt and an oversize cream-colored blazer.
Josh might not need her for anything but investigative help, but by God, she was going to deliver the most inspired crime-busting effort she possibly could. And she might as well make a lasting impression, because after today, she couldn’t imagine she’d ever see him again.
“His loss, right, Muffin?” Damn the tear itching behind her eyes.
&nbs
p; The poodle barked her approval, but Snowball remained silent in her place on a nearby throw rug, her pink bow drooping into one eye. Lexi knew exactly how she felt.
Sighing, she wriggled her way into her skirt. She needed to have caught a cab out to Long Island five minutes ago, but she hated to leave with Snowball so pitiful.
“Girls, we don’t need any man in our lives who can’t give all of himself.” Lexi brushed out her curls and clipped a rhinestone barrette into her shorter hair. Losing two feet of black curls paled in comparison to losing the most intriguing—warmest—man she’d ever met. “If Josh Winger would rather be Joe Super Stealth Detective than our man, then we don’t want him, anyway, okay?”
Snowball made a little whine, then settled her doggy chin on her front paws with a sigh.
“I’ll have none of that.” Lexi shook her hairbrush for emphasis, questioning who she was really trying to convince. “We didn’t work our way into New York’s limelight by skulking around with a guy who doesn’t want to claim us in public.”
Although Lexi had to admit, she found herself wondering if she might be ready to take an occasional reprieve from the intense glare of the media spotlight. Her time with Josh had made her realize she wanted more time for herself now and then. Between her job and her causes, her life held little else.
Someday, it might be nice to have time to hang out at home with a decent guy. Bake some cookies. Watch a few more episodes of The View. Josh helped her appreciate how far she’d come from the woman with such low self-esteem that she took self-defense classes to lift herself up.
Now Lexi was at the top of her game, succeeding on every professional level of her life—but did it matter when she didn’t have anyone to share it with? She was definitely ready for more than an occasional one-night stand. She was ready for a real relationship.
She just couldn’t imagine wanting that relationship with anyone other than Josh.
Grabbing Amanda’s favorite trench coat from the hall closet, Lexi blew kisses to her dogs and tried to convince herself she wasn’t giving up the man of her dreams. She was just growing up, growing into who she really wanted to be.
The fact that it hurt like hell, that she’d rather be home sighing listlessly with Snowball than facing the man responsible for breaking her heart, was just an unhappy coincidence.
But she was Lexi Mansfield, internationally known fashion critic, for crying out loud. She wouldn’t go down with a whimper and a sigh. And if Josh Winger thought she would just fade quietly into the background, he had another thing coming.
Today she intended to show him exactly what he was giving up by letting her go. And—petty or not—she couldn’t wait to watch him eat his heart out.
JOSH STARED OUT the front windshield of the surveillance van he and Duke had signed out for their sting operation today. A light rain blurred his view, dulling everything in the fast-food restaurant parking lot to cloudy gray.
“I still don’t understand why we didn’t just pick her up in the city,” Duke grumbled from the back of the van, where he helped a technician check the sound equipment.
“Otis is going to intercept her before she takes a cab. They should be here any minute.” Josh glanced at his watch for the tenth time in the past three minutes.
Duke yanked aside the curtain separating the front and back of the van to glare at Josh. “What I’m asking is why the hell don’t you care enough about her to be on her doorstep this morning, Columbo. For a guy that had his hand up her skirt last weekend, you’re really pissing me off with how you’re treating Amanda’s best friend.”
“She cut me loose, man.” She might as well have cut off his whole damn arm for how off balance she’d thrown him. But Josh couldn’t afford to think about that today—not when his case was riding on Lexi’s cooperation. “There’s not much I can do about that.”
“You can fight for her, moron.” Duke thumped Josh’s head with two fingers. “I’ve seen you take down escaped convicts and crack-head psychos with nothing but your bare hands, yet you can’t tell a five-foot china doll you care about her?”
“China? Try Teflon. She’s as tough as they come.” Tough enough to take on enemies bigger than a crack-head psycho. Lexi Mansfield would probably end drug abuse in New York by sheer force of will.
Josh checked his watch again, wondering if he should have escorted Lexi to the meeting site himself. He’d been avoiding unnecessary exposure to temptation when he asked Otis to drive her to Long Island, but Josh would never forgive himself if his lack of willpower where she was concerned ended up getting her hurt.
Just as Josh picked up his cell phone to call Otis for a status report, Stanton’s unmarked police car pulled into the drive-thru lane. Taking calming breaths, Josh tried to wipe away the condensation on the van windshield to get a better picture of the woman seated next to the rookie cop, but she remained a gray blur.
She was clear enough in his mind, however. Lexi had branded herself onto Josh’s consciousness with one click of her handcuffs.
Josh eased out of his seat and reached for the door. “She deserves a hell of a lot better than me, anyway.”
“She deserves a guy who will fight for her, that’s for damn sure.” Duke stared at his friend critically. “But you’re not that bad. A little rough around the edges, maybe, but probably workable from a female perspective.”
“Thanks for that glowing assessment.” Josh pushed open the van door, ready to do whatever he could to close his eyes to the lure of Lexi.
Duke joined him in the sliding doorway of the van, and the two of them stared out into the misty rain toward Otis’s car. A long, lean leg appeared out of the passenger side door before being joined by a second gorgeous gam.
Lexi Mansfield eased out of the car, clad in a trench coat that flapped open in the breeze—and underneath it was the tiniest miniskirt Josh had ever seen. She turned heads all over the parking lot with her I-mean-business strut and her I-mean-pleasure legs.
Josh groaned. How the hell had he ever convinced himself he could ignore this woman’s appeal?
Duke whistled under his breath for about half a second before Josh nailed him in the gut with his elbow.
He waved Lexi over to the van and said to Duke between clenched teeth, “Be-freaking-have.”
Duke rubbed an absent hand over his wounded solar plexus. “She’s a pistol, Columbo.”
Josh glared his partner into silence, as Lexi neared the van and held her hand out to be helped inside.
Shiny red nails, no flashing fish today.
Duke reached for her first, totally irritating Josh. Josh nudged him out of the way with one shoulder and took Lexi’s hand.
“Hello, Winger.” Her voice slid over him like she slid her fingers inside his palm. Was it his imagination, or did she stroke the center of his hand with one finger? She let go as soon as she got both feet inside the vehicle, her dark gaze roving over the high-tech surveillance equipment instead of him.
Josh nodded toward a vacant seat amid the gadgetry. “Have a seat.”
Straightening his tie, he tried to rein in his runaway thoughts and keep his eyes off her legs as she eased around him. Exotic perfume teased his nose, enticing him to sniff out its source and take a taste.
She slipped into the swiveling captain’s chair in the back, while Duke—thankfully—made himself scarce in the driver’s seat up front on the other side of the curtain.
Without looking out the window, Josh knew Duke was pulling out of the fast-food parking lot and following Stanton’s car toward the Bertrands’ neighborhood.
Lexi crossed her legs with boarding school grace, a feat he wouldn’t have thought possible in that short skirt. Her dangling foot twitched and flexed a mere two inches away from him.
“So what gives, tiger?” She stared him down with unblinking brown eyes. “Are you roping me into your cloak-and-dagger world today?”
“Only for an hour or so.” He left it unsaid that they’d have no reason to run into one anothe
r again. No excuses for one-or two-night stands. With Lexi’s help, Josh could secure a warrant for Anton’s house and either cross him off his list or nail him for taking part in the smuggling operation that had gone down last night, according to the precinct’s informants. “And only if you feel comfortable doing what I’m going to ask of you.”
“Shoot.” She fidgeted in her seat and re-crossed her legs.
Her nylon-clad calf brushed his leg, causing immediate shockwaves through his veins and sending a message of animal hunger to his brain. Didn’t she have any idea what her restless energy did to him?
She smiled innocently and waited.
He shifted in his seat. Cleared his throat. Focused on the fact that Anton Bertrand could be connected to the biggest smuggling system in the city. Bertrand could also be connected to the rampant recruitment of minors for the dirty work.
A fact that nudged some semblance of coherent thought into his sex-fogged brain. “I need you to talk to Simone and her brother today. One of them, both of them, whoever will say more to you.”
“Lucky you, talking is one of my strong suits.” Her voice was throaty and deep, as if she hadn’t had reason to use it much since she’d crawled out of bed this morning.
Thinking about Lexi and bed at the same time could only lead to trouble. He fished around some scattered notes on the floor beside him and seized a map of the Bertrands’ house. Anything to keep his hands busy and off the temptation sitting two inches in front of him.
“We’ll be out here in the van.” He pointed to a spot across the street. “And we’ll be listening to your conversation, assuming you don’t mind going in there with a tiny microphone taped inside your…um…” His gaze roved over her outfit—the tiny skirt, the scant silk blouse, the blazer that was nearly as long as the skirt. “…jacket.”
Not waiting for any further instruction, she wriggled her way out of the only substantial piece of clothing she wore. Bare arms emerged from the long blazer. Her shoulders were covered with nothing but the tiny straps of her blouse. A blouse that dipped low enough to hint at the gentle swell of her breasts.
