“Give a man some power, and he acts as though he owns the world.” Destry rolled her eyes. “The judge was out of line.”
“Linc’s lawyer agreed. He objected, quite eloquently. When the judge insisted the defendant respond for himself, Linc’s words were a bit earthier.”
“Told the tyrant to screw himself?” Dee asked with obvious glee.
“No,” Dee chuckled. “Linc suggested the judge and his mother were involved… intimately.”
“How long did Linc spend in jail?”
“If the judge had his way, Linc would still be pounding out license plates, or whatever inmates do these days. Laundry, maybe?”
“Who cares?” Destry let out an impatient sigh. “Finish the story.”
“Already a famous athlete, the story garnered quite a bit of national attention. Linc spent two nights in the local jail. I doubt the judge dared sentence him to more.”
Since the Florida incident, Linc’s record was clean. His prowess on the tennis court and his equal success with the ladies kept his face front and center on the sports pages and the gossip columns. He wasn’t a criminal by nature, but, if half of what was written about his private life were true, he wasn’t exactly a choir boy.
“Linc likes women, and they like him.” Destry finished her coffee. Setting the cup in the sink, she moved to the bed and unzipped the suitcase. “So, he’s not a monk. With the wide variety of willing women in the world, do you blame him?”
Blame him? Of course not. To be honest, she admired Linc, even envied him. While she viewed sex as an occasional necessary physical outlet, he embraced the activity with obvious enthusiastic abandon. Dee couldn’t remember the last time she let herself go with a man.
Linc was freewheeling, Dee was reserved. He was easygoing, she was about as far from easy as she could get. Not exactly opposites in every way, but close enough. Yet, the attraction was undeniable. When a man could have almost any woman with little effort…?
“What does he want with me?”
“Seriously?” Destry chuckled. When Dee didn’t join in, her smile turned into a frown. “You are serious.”
“I know Linc wants me. In bed,” Dee qualified.
“In the shower. On the floor. Up against the wall. Under the—”
“Okay.” Laughing, Dee shook her head. “I get the idea. I name the place, he’ll be there.”
“Willing and able,” Destry nodded. “And when I say able, I mean, oh, baby, able and then some. I have a friend who dated Linc for a brief but memorable couple of weeks. She shared some juicy details if you’re interested.”
“No.”
Dee didn’t care if Linc screwed his way from one end of the globe to the other. But she preferred not to know whys and wherefores.
“Smart.” Dee flipped open the suitcase. “More fun to find out for yourself.”
“I don’t know if I want to find out. Naturally, I want to,” she qualified. “Who wouldn’t?”
“Me. Be like sleeping with my brother,” Destry shuddered.
“I do not think of Linc as a relative—close, distant, or otherwise.”
“Then I say jump him. Soon, and as often as humanly possible.”
Until Destry met Liam Stanton and became a one-man woman, she was the female equivalent of Lincoln James. Inhibition-free, if she wanted a man, she enjoyed what he had to offer, no hang-ups, no regrets. No past baggage to bog her down.
Dee sighed. Baggage, she could attest, was a bitch.
Destry knew Dee’s history. One slightly drunken night, she shared the story with all four Benedict sisters, something she hadn’t done in a long time, and never outside a psychiatrist’s office.
Talking about the healed but ever-present wounds helped more than Dee could have imagined. Caring by nature, they empathized. However, unless the sisters experienced her pain, they couldn’t understand what she went through. And she would never want them to.
Dee decided she needed another shot of caffeine. And something to eat from Mrs. Finch’s incomparable care package. She peeked inside the first container. Blueberry streusel muffins? Her favorite.
As Dee took a bite, the berries, tiny pockets of juicy goodness, burst in her mouth.
“So good,” Dee sighed.
Feeling generous, she decided she could spare one muffin. After all, Destry was a friend. However, when she turned, all thoughts of food and goodwill flew from her head.
“You have to be kidding.” Open mouthed, Dee watched Destry remove a wisp of scarlet silk from the suitcase. “More clothes? I love your sister, but she must stop. I already have more Andi Benedict originals than I’ll wear in a lifetime.”
On the far side of the room stood two long metal racks. On each hung a mind-boggling array of jackets, skirts, and blouses. Blue jeans, trousers in every material imaginable, dresses—from casual to formal—and a couple of beautiful but, for Dee’s purposes, completely impractical winter coats.
In their own corner, stacked to the ceiling, were a selection of boots, sandals, pumps, and loafers—enough to make a dedicated shoe addict weep with envy.
“Tell me the magic words to make Andi stop.”
“You are part of the family, Dee,” Destry explained. “We love you, cherish you. Andi shares her designs to show how much she cares and cherishes your friendship.”
“Her clothes are beautiful. I just—”
“I’ll tell Andi to stop. Of course, she’ll assume you hate her line of clothing. Eventually, in a year or two, her broken heart will heal—maybe.”
The guilt Destry piled on—just the right emphasis on love and friendship—tugged hard at Dee’s conscience.
Shaking her head, Dee met Destry’s knowing gaze.
“Well played.”
“Thank you.” Destry performed a perfect bow. “For Andi, today’s haul is an example of restraint. She only sent over half of her spring lingerie line.”
“Half?” Dee lost count as Destry unloaded stack after stack of bras, panties, and stockings. “Seriously?”
“One in every color.”
“I don’t have room.”
“Yes, you do.” With flare, Destry unfurled a long satin storage unit equipped with all kinds of nooks and crannies. “Hangs over the back of your closet door.”
“One of Andi’s designs?” Dee asked, knowing she lost the battle and the war.
“Big sister likes to cover all her bases—personally and professionally. Her Closet Caddy won’t hit the stores until summer, but pre-orders are already through the roof.”
Everything Andi Benedict touched turned to gold. The key? Hard work, extensive research, and the kind of innate talent most designers would sell their precious little grandmother to possess.
“Here you go.” Destry handed her two pieces of amber lace. “Wear these, and Linc won’t know what hit him.”
Dee examined the barely a bra and matching hardly-there panties.
“If I wear these, I’ll be charged with indecent exposure.”
“Funny,” Dee smirked. “My suggestion? Wear something over them until you and Linc are appropriately alone.”
“I don’t think—”
“Problem is, you think too much. A handy asset in your line of work.” Destry placed the empty suitcase on the floor before slipping into her coat. “Shut down your brain for a change and let your libido be your guide.”
“My libido is out of practice.” Dee’s lips twisted, her voice heavy with irony.
“Like riding a bike,” Destry assured her. “A big, hairy, muscled, sweaty bike.”
“Big, muscled, and sweaty within reason, I get. Never been a fan of hairy.”
“Not Sasquatch hairy, but enough to know you’re with a man, not an over-waxed Ken doll,” Destry said with a delicate shudder.
“Swimmers are sexy, and they shave their entire bodies.”
“For Pete’s sake. If you find a swimmer you want to have sex with, go. Enjoy.”
Realizing the nonsensical track of their conversation, Dee met Destry’s gaze, and they burst out laughing.
“If you can laugh, you’ll be fine.” Destry wiped the moisture from her eyes and gave Dee a goodbye hug. In the hall, she turned. “Almost forgot. Linc wanted me to ask. Do you mind if I give him your phone number?”
“He was here just yesterday. Why didn’t he ask for himself?”
“Fear of rejection? I know,” Destry said when Dee sent her a look of disbelief. “Linc is an ultra-confident man. But even the mighty fall when the right woman comes along.”
“Fall?” The right woman? Dee’s stomach did a slow, not-so-pleasant flip. “We barely know each other.”
“A situation Linc would like to rectify.” Dee patted her arm. “Linc isn’t in love. And I can almost guarantee he won’t declare his undying devotion over a cup of coffee. Probably wait until dinner.”
“Not funny.”
“Maybe a little?” Destry coaxed. Dee smiled despite herself. “There you go. Breathe, relax, and don’t blow Linc’s request out of proportion. He wants to spend some time with you. No big deal.”
“Five minutes ago, you told me to jump his bones,” Dee reminded her friend. “Now, Linc and I are coffee buddies? Make up your mind.”
“No. You make up your mind, Dee. Always remember, the choice is yours. And Linc’s.”
“If only I knew what I wanted.” Not an easy confession for a woman who prided herself on her decisive nature.
“When the time comes, you will.”
Destry’s unwavering belief in Dee helped. She wasn’t sure, but her uneasy stomach had settled.
“Send Linc my number.”
“There you go,” Destry winked. “Promise you’ll keep me up to date? Can’t wait to hear if Linc’s reputation as a great lover is fact or fiction.”
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
“Party pooper.”
Dee closed the door, shaking her head. She loved Destry. She loved all the Benedict sisters. As women, they understood each other. If only men weren’t so complicated.
Alone, Dee rested her back against the door, trying to gather her thoughts. Her gaze fell on the bed. Slowly, she walked across the room and picked up the silky lingerie. Running her fingers across the impossibly soft fabric, she imagined Linc doing the same. His touch would move from the lace to her skin, she could easily picture the spark of arousal in the expressive deep-blue eyes.
As though her heated thoughts turned the lace molten, Dee tossed the bra onto the bed. Could she ignore her doubts? Could she, for once, forget the past and simply live for now?
CHAPTER EIGHT
~~~~
DEE LOOKED AT her phone and wondered why she bothered.
Wasn’t technology supposed to make life less complicated? With a simple tap of her finger, she could speak with anyone, anytime, anywhere. In theory, smartphones were designed to make modern life more manageable.
And fun. Everyone looked so happy in commercials for the latest eight-hundred-dollar plus version of what was basically the same product with a few more bells and whistles. The phone was smart. The manufacturers and their marketing teams, brilliant. Dee had her doubts about herself and her fellow humans who fell for the hype.
After a day of phone tag, or to be precise, text tag, with Lincoln James, Dee was on her way downtown, with reservations. For all she knew, the person on the other end wasn’t him but a monkey with spectacular motor skills.
Voicemail, apparently, was passé. At least in the good-old pre-cellular days, you were required to call back. Or leave a message which involved the use of vocal cords.
Maybe she was older than she thought. Or, Dee decided with a satisfied smirk, the rest of the world was the problem. Screw cell phones. First thing tomorrow, she planned to spread the news. Landlines are the wave of the future.
Crammed into a speeding underground train, Dee ignored her fellow travelers. Sure, the New York City subway system wasn’t perfect. Neither were taxis, buses, or hired car services. Even on foot, she risked death by runaway car.
By Dee’s way of thinking, subways were the lesser of all evils. And, on occasion, damn entertaining.
Public transportation was convenient, reliable, and after over a decade of almost daily use, Dee was inured to the wafting odors, screaming babies, raised voices, drunken troubadours, and general chaos.
From business suits to ratty-casual, and every fashion choice in between, these were Dee’s people. She belonged.
“Watch the elbow, fella,” Dee complained when a twenty-something hipster carelessly jabbed her in the ribs. Luckily, he missed the multi-colored bruise she sported from yesterday’s adventure or instead of a piece of her mind, she would have given the clueless doofus a kick in his baggy-panted backside.
“Fuck you, bitch,” he growled through his multi-pierced lips.
“Only in your dreams, jerk.”
As the train came to a stop, Dee squeezed her way onto the platform. Glancing back, she saw the flash of the young man’s middle finger a second before the doors closed with a familiar whoosh.
Not the least offended, Dee chuckled. Lord, she loved New York.
Checking the address, she crossed the street, her eyes on the heavy flow of traffic as she replayed in her head the texts from Linc.
The first arrived an hour after Destry’s visit. Dee, in the middle of some dreaded but inevitable bookkeeping, didn’t see the message until she unplugged her phone from the charger twenty minutes later.
How do you feel today? Linc wrote. Did the ice and heat help? Hope you enjoyed your dinner and were able to get a good night’s sleep.
Dee caught herself smiling as she typed an answer.
The food was amazing, more than I could eat in one sitting. My leg is much better, hardly a limp in sight. How did practice go?
Because she didn’t expect Linc to answer right away, Dee reviewed a case file to pass the time. She was on the second page when her phone chimed.
As usual, Pete ran my butt off—a good thing. Need some downtime. Won’t be back on the court until tomorrow. Have any plans this afternoon?
Dee didn’t give herself time to rationalize an excuse to say no.
My day off, too—sort of. Catching up on loose ends. What did you have in mind?
Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. At the half-hour mark, Dee chided herself and stopped clock watching. She set the phone on the desk—out of sight, out of mind, she rationalized—and decided to fix herself something to eat.
Normally, she was out on a job when lunch rolled around. On a rare day off, she picked up a pre-packaged sandwich from the grocery store around the corner. Today, her choices were homemade and mouthwatering.
Mulling the bounty of riches courtesy of Mrs. Finch, Dee realized she could eat like a queen for a month and still have leftovers.
Dee filled her plate with a little of this and a lot of that. Grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator, she made a wide berth of the desk and her phone. Legs crossed, she used the bed as a makeshift chair/dining table and dug in.
Dee sighed with pleasure, savoring each bite. Now and then, usually when her cupboard was completely bare, she contemplated the idea of moving to a place with a real kitchen. The notion went as quickly as it came. Since she had no plans, or desire, to learn how to cook, what would be the point? However, because she liked to eat, she appreciated people with the culinary skills she lacked.
Closing her lips over the last of the best pecan pie ever, Dee made a mental note to send Mrs. Finch a thank you. She knew the cook’s weakness for flowers and a bouquet of roses in winter, delivered in person, would be the perfect way to show her gratitude.
Taking her time, Dee washed each dish with more care than necessary for one plate and a single piece of silverware. She dried her hands. Casually, she strolled to her desk as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
Oh, who was she kidding
? Dee fumbled to find her phone, cursing herself for hiding the thing under a stack of papers at the back of the bottom drawer.
“You’re a fool.”
Glad no one was around to witness her actions, Dee glanced at the screen. Linc’s text waited, delivered ten minutes ago.
Can you come downtown? Linc wrote. Sorry for the short notice.
When? Dee responded, swearing to herself if she had to wait for an answer, she would leave the building—without her phone.
Stop by anytime. Linc texted a few seconds later. Here all afternoon.
Dee recognized the street but couldn’t picture the address. Mostly businesses with plenty of cafés and bistros to appeal to the corporate crowd. Linc hadn’t asked her to lunch—good thing, she was stuffed. She had to assume he was at someone’s office.
Be there around three-thirty. Dee would have plenty of time to change and grab the subway.
Let me send a car.
Linc’s offer was sweet. For a moment, Dee considered saying yes. Then decided, with afternoon traffic, her way was faster.
Thanks for the offer, but I’ll take the subway. See you soon.
Linc’s response was short and to the point.
Take care. And take your gun.
Dee’s thumbs flew over the keys.
Always. Now, leave me alone so I can get dressed.
A second later, her phone dinged.
Are you naked?
She sent a one-word answer.
Goodbye.
The memory of the exchange made Dee smile. Maybe texting wasn’t such a bad way to communicate after all. She hadn’t asked Linc why he wanted to see her. Instead, she did as Destry suggested. She released her doubts, shut off her overactive brain, and did what felt right.
Dee entered the stone and metal-faced building. The sleek black and white lobby reminded her of a piece of modern art. Not to her taste, but she could appreciate what other people saw in the clean, minimal design.
The man behind the reception desk blended right in with his European cut suit, slicked-back gray hair, blank expression, and vaguely robotic tone of voice.
SIX DAYS Page 8
