by Joanne Rock
Geez, what was she thinking? Thank God she hadn’t worn a short skirt. She needed a cynical cop in her life like she needed a few more years in the corporate world. No, thank you.
“But now that I think about it, if I want to test the waters to see if there are women using this service to find paying customers, maybe I’d be better off sounding sex-starved. Cheesy may be the way to go.” He continued typing away, finally turning the monitor toward her when he finished so she could see what he had written.
Tempest scanned the parts she’d already read, wondering what he’d thought of her heaps of lingerie scattered around her apartment yesterday. Had he been curious about the fact that there were ten times as many camisoles on the carpet as sweaters?
She happened to really enjoy lingerie.
“Must like dogs?” She couldn’t help but focus on the one other characteristic she shared with Wes’s cheesy dream woman.
“That’s too honest, isn’t it?” He tapped his finger along the delete key to get rid of his last line.
“And you honestly want a woman who likes dogs?”
“I’ve got Kong, remember? She’s a St. Bernard, so she tends to scare off all but the most adamant of dog lovers.”
There was something reassuring about a guy who had a pet. He could care for something. And chances were he had low blood pressure, right? Pet owners couldn’t be too fussy or uptight. “A St. Bernard?”
“I know—you think it’s too big for a city apartment, right?”
“Heck, no. I just say that because everybody automatically tells me I shouldn’t keep Eloise cooped up in here with me and I’m tired of hearing it.”
They compared dog notes, shared frustrations of hair on their favorite clothes and agreed a dog made the Sunday morning trek for the newspaper way more fun.
And somehow, Tempest really wished she’d be on the receiving end of his blind date.
“Are you really going to submit that form?” She wasn’t sure if he’d been serious, or if he just wanted to see what kinds of questions the program generated.
“Of course. I need to talk to the woman in charge of MatingGame, but until then, it might help me figure out whether or not the business is legitimate.” And before she could say another word about it, he clicked the send button to launch his dating criteria into cyberspace.
Surprise made her stare at the computer even after the form disappeared. “But you won’t actually go on the date?”
“Depends.” He shut down the screen and swiveled his chair toward her. “Right now I’m only interested in one woman.”
Tempest held her breath while she waited to find out who that might be. Like a Friday afternoon cliff-hanger, he left her tense. Anxious. And so much more intrigued than she should be.
But no matter what he said, Tempest knew she couldn’t let him stay.
WES TRACED HIS THUMB down her soft cheek, knowing he couldn’t let her push him aside like she seemed to shove away everything else in her life. She wasn’t close to her family and didn’t enjoy being part of her father’s business so she lived a secret life in Chelsea when she wasn’t a corporate executive.
He liked Tempest. She didn’t put on airs. Didn’t pre tend to be something she wasn’t. And after women he’d dated in the past, he found that kind of honesty intriguing.
Hell—to be honest with himself—he hadn’t found anything about women intriguing during the rough months since they found his first partner’s body. So the fact that Tempest Boucher made him sit up and take notice was a major event.
He just didn’t want to let her know it or he had the feeling she’d run far and fast.
“I think I’ve made it obvious I’d like to get to know you better.” He’d let his kiss say as much, hadn’t he? “But when it comes to my job, I can’t afford to over look any avenue that will achieve my ends. I need to know what’s going on at MatingGame and Blind Date seems like the only place on the site that might allow a hooker to ply her trade.”
“You think your killer could be working alone? Maybe this woman doesn’t go through any kind of service.” Tempest remained very still as he touched her cheek.
Wes couldn’t afford to encourage the hope in her eyes. “I doubt it. Most women in the business know that’s not a safe way to work.”
“So you’ll test the Blind Date service personally.” She raised an eyebrow, clearly disapproving of his methods. Still, she didn’t take him to task for it, instead turning her attention to his hand. “Neat tattoo.”
He stared down at the green ivy snaking around his wrist. “It was a good save.”
“A save?” She wrinkled her nose. “What do you mean?”
“I tattooed an old girlfriend’s name on my wrist and came to regret it when she cheated on me with another guy. But I went back to the shop and the artist managed to transform ‘Belinda’ into a chain of ivy.” He’d actually asked for poison ivy at the time, using a twenty-two-year-old’s logic that tying yourself to a woman was the equivalent of a bad rash. Luckily, the tattoo lady had ignored him and produced something a little tamer.
Being a horticultural nimrod, Wes didn’t even know he’d gotten English ivy instead of the poison variety until a year later.
“Can you imagine?” Tempest shook her head, her brown curls hopping around her shoulders. “How could anyone be so greedy to need two men at once? I never understood the rationale behind cheating. If you want out of a relationship, just tell the other person. Is that so hard?”
“Careful, lady, or I’ll start thinking you’re harboring a big store of loyalty and faithfulness and all those things you assured me I could only find in a canine.”
“I mold penises for a living, remember?” Her teasing tone made it clear she didn’t want any part of a serious conversation. “You can’t trust a woman who hunts down naked men to model for her.”
He knew damn well she was yanking his chain. What could it hurt to yank back?
“Really?” Rising, he reached for the hem of his T-shirt. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to get naked with you. Why don’t you give me your professional opinion?”
He waited for her to say no. Stop. Keep your clothes on. Anything. But as his T-shirt hit the floor and his hands reached for the button on his jeans, he wondered if maybe Tempest Boucher hadn’t been bluffing at all.
She watched him in fascinated silence—hell, he hoped it was fascinated and not horrified—her eyes lingering on every inch of exposed skin. And suddenly, blood whooshed through him so fast he was halfway to having a heart attack and an erection that would be evident from two miles away.
Damnation. What kind of stupid-ass idiot started peeling off his clothes around a woman he hardly knew? A woman he really wanted?
Her avid gaze fell to the hard-on that could have been a circus attraction. Eyes going wide, she yanked her attention up to his face, cheeks flushed.
“I don’t really hire naked models,” she informed him, breathless. Coming to her feet, she tucked strand after strand of brown hair behind her ear.
“It’s okay, I don’t charge.” He found himself stepping closer, incapable of exerting the effort required to keep his distance any longer. The circus erection had only gotten larger when those honey-brown eyes of hers caressed him.
Perhaps the size of his member should have alerted him to the fact that blood was no longer flowing to his brain. But then, his thinking was seriously impaired.
“Speaking strictly from a creative standpoint, I’m impressed.” The single pearl she wore around her neck rose and fell with every rapid breath.
“What about from a personal standpoint?” He stopped an inch away from her, breathing in her scent, which he’d begun to recognize as almond.
He wouldn’t step any closer without some sort of invitation. A sign.
“Personally speaking?” Now that her hair had been firmly tucked behind her ear, she pulled a strand forward and twisted it around her finger. “I might need more information before I can form an opinio
n.”
“Ask away.” He didn’t mean to lean forward, but he must have—or she must have—because the soft fabric of her long, cotton dress brushed his chest.
His eyes crossed at the contact, her lush breasts tempting him beyond reason.
Still, she held back. She bit her lip as she seemed to struggle with her thoughts, her face a picture of sensual distress.
When she finally opened her mouth to speak, she murmured a quiet, “What the hell?” before she moved closer. Her hands landed on his waist to skim around his back. “Maybe I just need to feel for myself.”
Heat flashed through him like a thunderbolt. His arms banded around her, dragging her into him. Her mouth opened beneath his, soft and warm and so damn inviting. He cupped her head to find the perfect angle, fingers stroking through her thick curls until he found the vulnerable stretch of her neck.
She arched into him, generous curves pressing against him. He wanted his hands everywhere at once, hungry to know the feel of her. Her dress swirled around his calves, clinging to the fabric of his jeans. A blend of soft textures assailed his senses—her hair, her skin, that dress of hers all begged to be touched. Everything about Tempest drew him closer, invited him to linger.
“Wes.”
The sound of his name reached his ears, the only discernible word amid breathy sighs and the gentle smack of their lips.
Easing back, he peered down at her in the halo of light emitted by the computer screen, her apartment grown dark in late afternoon thanks to the short winter day.
“Too fast?” He hadn’t meant to spin the kiss out, make it so important. But his good intentions had fled when she stared at him with those dark, hungry eyes of hers, and then once he’d kissed her—his body seemed to remember exactly how long it had been since he’d kissed anyone like he meant it.
“No.” Shaking her head, her curls bounced restlessly. “Yes. Maybe. I just—”
Prying himself further away, he skimmed his hands up to the safer terrain of her shoulders. “You tasted so good, and it’s been a long time for me. Sorry if I rushed you.”
“It’s not that.” Her fingers alighted on his chest briefly, then skittered away again. “I welcomed the kiss and the ah—view.”
He resisted a juvenile urge to flex for her. “My pleasure.”
“But I don’t think you realize what you’d be getting yourself into if we…continue in that vein.”
“On the contrary, I think I know exactly what I’d be getting myself into, and after the fireworks of one kiss, I can say with some assurance that anything more than that would rock my whole damn universe.” No sense denying the obvious—he wanted her.
“I don’t mean that.” She reached to flick on a desk lamp, bathing them in dim light. “I know that part would be great, but getting involved with me could be messy.”
“I’ve already learned not to tattoo names on my wrist. What more do I need to know?”
“Every relationship I’ve ever had has been splashed all over the newspapers. Even taking in a movie with the coffee shop guy turned into a major ordeal, and you found out from him firsthand that it meant less than nothing.” Huffing out a sigh, she blew a curl away from her eyes. “I just needed to warn you that hanging out with me will probably only lead to a big headache.”
“We could keep things quiet.” He traced the golden chain around her neck with his finger. “Private.”
“Trust me, I’ve tried it. I couldn’t even keep the results of my college final exams secret. My scores are still available on the Internet if you’re interested, by the way.”
Finally, Wes’s brain began thinking again. Reason returned as he thought about his privacy vanishing the moment he started something with Tempest.
Could he afford to have his life served up for public consumption? Especially when he had a killer to catch?
“So you’re willing to back away just because of the potential for a media splash?” Maybe she’d been thinking of him and trying to protect his private life. But what if she didn’t want her well-known name linked with average Joe police detective?
He’d be willing to bet he wasn’t the kind of man the Boucher family had envisioned for their daughter, even for something short-term. They were megamillionaires with a bona fide fortune to oversee and connections around the globe.
And he was…trying to make the city safer, one crook at a time. Or at least he had been until he’d been forced to face facts that Steve was dead three months ago. He’d been in denial for a long time that his partner had really died, and once his body was found, Wes had been re thinking his job. But whether he decided to remain with the NYPD or move into something with a little less potential for shifting loyalties and career burnout, Wes knew he would never be the kind of man a socialite-turned-corporate-executive needed.
He wasn’t sure if he was backing away now for himself or because he sensed she had her own agenda for putting up barriers between them. Either way, he needed to regroup before they made a move that could hurt them both.
“I think it’s only fair to forewarn you of the consequences. Think what you want about me or Mating Game, but I’d never purposely mislead anyone.”
“Understood. And I appreciate the heads-up.” He gathered a few papers he’d printed from the computer, hoping if he got some distance from her, he could make a decision without her almond scent fogging his brain.
Besides, he’d been serious about loyalty and honesty. They were a hell of a lot more important to him than creativity or access to millions of dollars. “I’ll keep it in mind next time I get the urge to rip off my clothes around you.”
Retrieving his shirt and the coat that he’d tossed over the chair, Wes jammed his arms through the holes and backed toward the door. They were from different worlds, damn it. Walking away from her shouldn’t be so tough.
After exchanging quick goodbyes, he was out of her apartment and back on the street.
CHAPTER SIX
COULD THE MAN have sprinted off any faster?
Tempest decided even a hopeless optimist would have to agree that Wes couldn’t wait to make tracks out of her apartment. He’d vanished as soon as she mentioned the possibility of media involvement, a surefire libido killer to most men.
Had she chased him away on purpose? Or had he been grateful for the excuse to reclaim a few more boundaries? She didn’t know anymore, couldn’t tell what had happened with her heart thumping like a pottery wheel overloaded with an uneven lump of clay. Why hadn’t she paid better attention to what happened between them?
Whistling to Eloise, she gave the dog free run of the apartment again as she mindlessly clicked through some of the screens on the MatingGame site. If today had been a scene on her soap opera, she would have been damn certain Wes would return the following week to confuse her with more moral-melting kisses.
But this was real life, and she wasn’t so sure he’d be back at all.
As regret stole over her, she found herself staring at a new, blank application form for MatingGame’s Blind Date service. Who had opened that file? Tapping her finger idly on the mouse, she stared at the questions and found herself mentally penning her answers.
What are your turn-ons? Ignoring the Playboy centerfold feel of the short interview section, Tempest started typing the first response that popped into her head. “Men who don’t care what I do for a living. Men who are comfortable in their own skin. Men who know what they want and aren’t afraid to go after it.”
In your face, Wes Shaw.
If he couldn’t be the kind of man she needed—and really, what business did she have dating the cop investigating MatingGame?—maybe she should go out and find someone else. Spending time in Wes’s arms had made her realize how long it had been since she’d indulged in slow, deep, hot kisses.
So what if she couldn’t imagine anyone else’s kisses tasting so good, or firing her up half as much as the ones she’d experienced this afternoon? Maybe just this once she’d take her dating fate into her
own hands by meeting someone outside her small circle of friends and business associates. Someone completely different from the handful of guys she’d dated in the past.
Through Blind Date, she could remain anonymous, which suited her needs perfectly. Now, any guy who chose her profile wouldn’t be dating her for her family connections. Too often in her sparse dating history, men had only been interested in her for one thing and—disappointingly enough—it wasn’t even sex.
This way she could find out for herself if the Inter net dating business worked legitimately. In her gut, she knew it did, damn it. Still, wouldn’t it be nice to have proof firsthand to wave in front of Wes Shaw’s hand some face?
Filling out the rest of the form, Tempest submitted her application for her first ever Blind Date before she gave herself time to change her mind. Didn’t the old saying preach that what was good for the goose was good for the gander?
With a little luck, maybe she’d find someone else to quench the slow burn Wes had started deep inside her.
DAYDREAMING HER WAY through a board meeting Monday morning, however, Tempest had to admit some things were easier said than done.
Put Wes out of her mind? She must have been engaged in some serious wishful thinking over the week end if she thought she’d forget about the hottest kisses on the planet. After a day and a half of catching herself remembering Wes’s touch, she had to admit that no stray guy she found through a dating service would match up to the red-hot detective investigating her intruder. Entering her profile in the Blind Date system had been a rash act she had no intention of actually following through on.
At this moment, fantasizing about Wes held far more appeal than listening to her board bicker about who to appoint as the next CEO of Boucher Enterprises, so she allowed her imagination to run free. She’d learned that being a good manager involved a fair amount of listening to other people’s concerns. Or at least, allowing other people to vent their frustrations even if she wasn’t listening quite as closely as she should.
