by Joanne Rock
“Of course I did. I’m just sorry you had to deal with it.” She cast a dire look across the front seat. “They’ve obviously discovered my connection to the studio in Chelsea now. You realize they’ll know who you are by tomorrow morning’s early edition, right?”
“I don’t care.” At least, not as much as he’d expected he would. Besides, he’d seen firsthand that she could use his help dodging reporters, and somehow that put him more at ease.
“You don’t?”
“I’ve been giving it some consideration, and I realized it doesn’t really matter to me since it’s not like I go undercover anymore. Having my name linked to one of the most gorgeous women in the city isn’t exactly going to hurt my reputation.” Although the guys at the precinct would have a field day with Wes’s face in the social pages. No doubt there would be a hundred copies of it pasted around his desk by morning—with appropriate comic book detailing and thought-bubble commentary, of course. “You just caught me off guard the other night when you brought up the media spotlight. Sort of blew my mind, I guess. Now, where on Park Avenue?”
She gave him an address that put her overlooking Central Park—a ritzy privilege possessed by very few. Maybe some of his thoughts showed on his face because she hurried to explain.
“It’s a little ostentatious, but it was my parents’ choice, not mine. My folks stayed there until Mom decided she needed a whole new continent to escape my dad and bought a flat in London. I lived away at school most of the time anyway, and then when my dad died, it was just me knocking around the whole huge place until I found the studio downtown.” She stopped abruptly. “Sorry I’m rambling. The house has always intimidated me and no matter how long I wear the family name I think the Boucher brand of extravagance will al ways embarrass me.”
Wes pulled up to the curb in front of a brick facade that screamed “Old New York” and stopped. The understated, elegant building didn’t look ostentatious to him, but considering property values in this part of town, Wes knew it had to cost a small fortune. Especially since the family probably owned all ten floors. He knew downtown apartment buildings complete with doormen that were smaller than the Boucher place.
“What matters is that you’re safe and this looks like it’s got some serious security.” He watched her insert access codes into a computer panel next to the front door, then unlock two dead bolts. Much barking ensued on the other side of the door. “You brought Eloise?”
“I dropped her off this morning along with some of my stuff. I usually stay here during the week to take care of family business and then head over to my apartment on the weekends to put it all behind me.” She tugged open the heavy door and stepped inside, holding it wide for him. “Do you want to come in?”
Wes could practically smell the money drifting out of the place. From his glimpse of bronze antiques, leather bound books lining the hallway and a grand, sweeping staircase in the foyer behind her, he saw a much different side of Tempest. She could surround herself with soap operas and her statue-making hobby all she wanted, but she’d never be the anonymous down town artist she tried to project in her Chelsea apartment.
Tempest Boucher had always been the favorite daughter of the social pages, a pampered heiress whose exclusive lifestyle he could view from afar but never truly join.
“No thanks.” He’d only be more off his game if he stepped foot inside. “I just wanted to make sure you got home safe. I’ve got some work to do on the case.”
“The murder?” She paused in the door, as if she dreaded entering the huge home as much as he did. Eloise stepped out over the threshold for a greeting, stationing her brown head under his hand just in case he wanted to pet her.
“I’m trying to line up some appointments for tomorrow to check out Blind Date.” He scratched Eloise absently while he wondered if he’d be tangling the sheets with Tempest right now if they’d been able to go back to her apartment instead of here.
As she stood framed in the doorway, her luscious curves neatly outlined in her tailored suit, he remembered all the ways he still wanted her, all the things he hadn’t tried with that scarf of hers yet. Their time together in her conference room hadn’t been nearly enough to sate his appetite for this woman who con fused him as much as she tempted him.
He was so caught up in thinking about what might have been, he somehow missed her scowling features. Her tense posture.
Her flat-out glare.
“You’re still going on a date through MatingGame?” Her tone could freeze a man at twenty paces. “It’s a job, remember?” Damn it, they’d been over this. “I still have to see if the Blind Date service is legit.”
“Then by all means, Detective, go make your dates.” She reached to pull the door shut between them, giving him a very literal cold shoulder. She would have slammed it in his face if he hadn’t planted his foot in her way.
“Wait.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
EVEN KNOWING she was being unreasonable, Tempest had no interest in whatever else Wes might have to say. Then again, she didn’t want to break his foot. Easing off the door, she glared at him through the narrow opening.
“What?” She bit out the word with every ounce of hauteur she could scavenge because no way would she let him see that his decision to forge ahead with the dates actually stung where she was most vulnerable. Some wishful part of her brain had actually convinced her maybe he’d changed his mind about serial dating after the way they’d connected earlier.
She’d tried to give him his space after the conference table, but apparently he needed way more space than her sensibilities would allow. And so what if she was being unfair? She’d grown up chubby and graceless, the bane of her chic mother’s existence. Although she’d conquered enough of her insecurities to be effective at her temporary CEO job and a damn good artist, she didn’t have the kind of self-confidence required to be with a man whose job demanded he date women with sexually kinky tastes.
Especially not now, when her private haven and her lone claim to independence had been sniffed out by the media. Her apartment would be staked out by snap-happy photographers.
“I can’t leave when you’re mad at me.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his trench coat. “You know the only reason I’m setting up appointments with these women is to test out MatingGame. I would think you’d be glad to clear your company’s name.”
“Maybe I’m not upset on my business’s behalf.” She knew she was being irrational but couldn’t seem to shake her frustration—which only made her angrier. She crossed her arms and continued to send out frosty vibes, a feat made difficult by Eloise’s damned annoying tail-wagging attempts to shove her aside so she could get at Wes.
Traitorous animal.
“You’re offended because…” He genuinely seemed clueless as he searched for the answer, his gray eyes narrowing. Behind him the rain kicked up again, sending pedestrian traffic scurrying for cabs and a nearby sub way station. “You’re jealous?”
“I am not jealous of a bunch of sex-starved strangers who will try to tear your clothes off the moment they see you.” Damn the man. Did she have to spell it out for him? “I’m just not the kind of self-assured woman who can handle being with a guy who undertakes risque assignments after jumping my bones in my conference room a few hours ago. Does that make sense to you?”
He stared at her in calm silence, a frustrating response to angry feelings she didn’t know quite where to put.
“You’re the detective, Wes. I would think you’d be well-versed in drawing conclusions about people’s motivations.” She huffed out a sigh as she leaned into the doorjamb and tried to let it go. “I know I’m being way too uptight about the dating thing, I just—”
Don’t want any one else to touch you.
Not sure how to complete the thought, she waited. Debated. And spied a photographer adjusting his cam era lens no more than twenty yards away.
Crap.
“You’d better come inside.” Reaching for Wes’s
sleeve, she tugged him closer. “There’s a snoopy cam era guy two doors down.”
She had to admire that he didn’t immediately swivel his head over to check it out for himself. That was most people’s gut reaction and it made for the best full-face shots for press hounds.
“That’s just as well.” He plowed his way into the house, bolting the door behind him before he peered discreetly through the blinds on a nearby window. Turning to face her, jaw set, his eyes flashed with cool fire. “Because we need to talk, anyway.”
“Oh.” Thoughts of the invasive photographer fell by the wayside. She felt a bit like she’d baited a beast, egging on Wes until she’d fired him up, and now that she had him, she wasn’t quite certain what to do with him. “I thought you had work to do?”
Too bad she couldn’t work up the appropriate level of sarcasm since she was beginning to realize that any sensitivity she displayed on the subject only led Wes to believe she cared.
“Lucky for me, I can sign online to set up my work appointments anytime. But I’m not going to be able to get a damn thing done until we get a few things squared away.”
His voice reverberated in the cavernous hall foyer, his words softly repeating themselves.
Nodding, she decided sparring with Wes got her nowhere. Better to hear him out and then figure out how to handle the tricky new twists to their relationship once his big, tempting body was out of sight.
And more importantly, out of reach.
“Can we go someplace a little less…echoing?” Gesturing to the twelve-foot ceilings and miles of mahogany wainscoting, he kept his eyes on her. “Your bedroom, maybe?”
“Don’t you think that’s a little presumptuous?”
“You said this house isn’t you. I just want to go to whatever corner of the monolith you have carved out for yourself. If it’s not a bedroom, maybe a sitting room?” He shook his head as his gaze scanned the rows of doors visible down the front corridor. “A library? Or do you have your own frigging parlor around here somewhere, Ms. Boucher?”
Sighing, she nodded toward the stairs. “I have the third floor actually. Come on.”
She whistled to Eloise, who scampered in the back of the first floor where she liked to reign supreme over an outdoor courtyard. After settling the dog with a few Milk-Bones she’d stashed on the dining room table that morning, Tempest returned to face Wes, along with her fears of what she was getting herself into with him.
He followed her up the steps, a silent shadow near enough to send prickles of awareness through her. Hastening her pace as they reached her floor, she tried not to think about the way she’d given herself so completely into this man’s hands today. She’d done such a good job maintaining boundaries with men, up until Wes, and now they were crumbling fast in spite of her good intentions.
She had made a deal with herself long ago that she’d rather be lonely now and hold out for a Grand Passion down the road. No sense having her somewhat tender heart trampled mercilessly until then. And since most men seemed more interested in her connections or her money, keeping her distance hadn’t been all that difficult.
But this man had gotten under her skin from the moment he’d walked into her trashed apartment, asking questions, taking names and generally getting in her face. Now that she’d shared a piece of herself with him today, she found herself more attracted than ever, and disappointed with herself that she didn’t possess the kind of confidence necessary to be okay with him dating other women all day.
Whatever happened to good, old-fashioned police interviews like they showed on Law & Order? Then again, Wes couldn’t go that route since the dating service didn’t give out any personal information about its clients.
“Here we are,” she said finally, leading him into the living area outside her bedroom. Furnished with comfortable wingbacks and inviting ottomans, the room still contained a few of her mother’s favorite paintings valued well over the cost of a new car, but at least there was nothing priceless and nothing too precious. Tempest had broken enough irreplaceable objects in her life for her parents to take her at her word when she said she didn’t want anything too fussy up here.
“It’s better.” Wes made the pronouncement without even looking around. Tossing his trench coat aside, he took her hand. “Sit with me.”
He tugged her down to a low ottoman covered in faux fur. Tempest had it made for her mother to rest her feet on since she had the beginnings of arthritis in both ankles, but Mom had thought it a little too plebian and chose to be sore rather than risk setting her toes on something unfashionable.
“Just for a minute.” She didn’t want Wes to think they were going to replay the scene in her conference room today. Not when he had a file folder full of other women he needed to date.
Argh. Did she have to keep thinking about that?
He laced his fingers together, hands clasped between sprawled knees as he faced her. “I didn’t want to undergo the whole post-sex conversational dance at your office, but I think we made a mistake not talking about what happened today.”
“I’m well aware what happened today.” She tugged her skirt lower on her thighs, her body already tingling responsively at the man’s proximity.
Obviously her body wasn’t nearly as offended as her brain.
“I don’t want it to be a one-time deal.”
That caught her off guard. “But what about the media circus? You’ve already had a small taste, and it’ll be worse tomorrow morning when you see the papers. Especially since they’re already staking out my home. I can call some security to keep the worst of the press out of this neighborhood, but it won’t be so easy to avoid them at my studio.”
She hated the idea of her private sanctuary invaded by camera crews. Reporters seeking sensationalism over the facts.
“I’ll tell the world I’m your bodyguard. Cops moon light with stuff like that all the time.” He shrugged it off like it was no big deal when she knew it would be. No man’s ego would enjoy the inevitable innuendos that would wind up in the tabloids.
“So you’re saying you want something more from this?” She swirled the air between them with her finger, referencing the connection she felt every time Wes got within arm’s length.
“I don’t know what I want exactly. But I know I’m not ready to let you go.” He slid a hand beneath her hair, cupping her neck. His thumb stroked a path down the base of her skull while he ventured closer, devouring her with his gray gaze.
She found it difficult to unglue her tongue from the roof of her mouth, but she forced herself to speak be fore she lost herself in his hungry stare. If he could be honest with her, he deserved that much in return. “I know it’s not fair to you, but I don’t like to think about you dating women who will want you as badly as I do.”
She was entitled to a few insecurities as long as she was up front about them, right?
“You just need to remember, I’m searching for a killer, not a sex partner.” His voice whispered over her with a bracing reminder, igniting fresh fears in her al ready pounding heart. She didn’t like to think about the risks inherent to his profession. In her world, the big danger was getting flayed by the press. In Wes’s world, he put his life in peril on a regular basis.
Admiration stole through her along with the certainty she was being insecure. Overcautious.
Yet she had to admit it soothed her wounded ego that he wanted to see her again. How could she ever over come her self-doubts if she didn’t take a few risks?
Willing away her fears, she reached out to touch him.
“How about right now?” Laying her palm over his chest, she found his pulse beat out the same cagey rhythm as hers. The pounding calmed her at the same time it sent warm ripples of answering heat through her. “What are you searching for now that I’ve brought you deep into my lair, Detective?”
“I’m looking for the real Tempest Boucher.” He smoothed a finger down the delicate column of her neck. “And I’m not leaving until I uncover every clue and
explore every last inch.”
His touch undid her. Made her forget any reason she might have had for caution.
Her eyes slid closed as she gave herself over to the pure pleasure of his hands on her skin. After a long draught of no sex in her life, her body ached for more of Wes. Their encounter on the conference table had merely whet her appetite.
He popped the buttons on her jacket, sending them bouncing to the hardwood floor like the first gentle drops of rain before the rush of a full-fledged storm.
Already the warning thunder rumbled through her nerves, rattling her thoughts and vibrating her most sensitive places. She threw her head back, giving him better access to her neck, her breasts…anywhere he wanted.
With Wes, she could almost allow herself to feel beautiful. Confident. Utterly alluring.
“Then I’m turning myself in for a thorough inspection.”
HE COULD DO THOROUGH.
For this woman full of surprising contrasts, he thought he could damn near do anything. And this? She wanted all the same things he did.
Wes flicked her jacket off her arms, careful to leave the scarf dangling around her neck, skimming her breasts to taste more thoroughly now that they had time. Unhooking the clasp on her bra, he watched her curves spring free from their restraint, the taut peaks evident beneath the sheer barrier of her long scarf.
Sliding the silk fabric down her chest, he twined the material under her breasts until he cradled their weight in the soft fabric. Lifting them as he lowered his mouth to taste her, he rolled each nipple between his lips, sucking hard until she clawed at his shirt. His pants.
Her sensual hunger left him awed. When he first met her, there had seemed something sort of shy and re served about Tempest, almost as if she wasn’t completely comfortable in her pinup girl body. But once her clothes started coming off, she was a different woman, an uninhibited sex goddess ready to feed all her desires with him.
