A Glimpse Of Fire
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Maybe she was crazy. This certainly wasn’t her style. Her gaze drew to Eric again. He’d been watching her. Her pulse skidded. She nearly dropped her fork. This was going to be one hell of a night.
HE HAD TO TALK TO HER AGAIN. Alone. Away from the party. The Baked Alaska dishes had been cleared from the table. Cognac had been served. People had begun milling around. In about a half an hour they would start leaving. He had to make his move.
If he could find her. She’d left the table five minutes ago. He’d tried to follow but gotten waylaid by Brian Sutter’s wife. Brian motioned for her a moment later, but Eric couldn’t get away before Eve Dinton ambushed him.
Tonight of all nights it seemed as if everyone had to talk to him. Normally he didn’t mind making polite conversation with his coworkers’ wives, but if he heard about another unfair Little League game or about the rising cost of produce, he’d jump off the…
“Hello again.”
Her feminine scent tickled his senses even before he turned to find her directly behind him. His attention immediately went to her glistening peach-tinted lips. They parted slightly and she drew back a step.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said almost in a whisper, and he realized he was just standing there. Staring. Speechless. Like an idiot.
“You didn’t.” He touched her arm when it looked as if she might take off. “Not at all.”
She smiled tentatively. “You seemed so deep in thought.”
“The truth is—” he lowered his voice “—I was thinking about the Webbers’ rooftop garden.”
“Oh.” Her eyebrows drew together, and she hesitated, looking confused. “You like to garden?”
He laughed. “I was thinking about jumping off.”
Her eyes widened.
“This isn’t exactly my first choice for spending an evening.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Nice people.” He shrugged. “But I see most of them every day at the office.”
“Coworkers are kind of like family. You don’t choose them,” she said thoughtfully. “But you do have to make nice whether you like them or not.”
He snorted. “That’s debatable.”
She smiled. “You get a point for honesty.”
“Does that mean you’ll go someplace for a drink with me?”
“Leave here?”
“I know this bar right around the corner. It’s a nice place with piano music and—”
She’d started shaking her head. “I can’t.”
“Okay,” he said slowly, “no problem.”
“I’d like to, really…”
“But?”
She glanced over at Tom and Serena still sitting at the table. “I just don’t think I should leave.”
“Tell you what, how about we take a couple of cognacs up to the garden?”
“On the roof?”
“Sure. It’s quiet. Great view of Central Park and Columbus Circle.”
She seemed reluctant though definitely interested. “Won’t the Webbers mind?”
“Not a bit.”
“Sounds like you’ve done this before.”
He smiled. “Actually I’ve only been up there once, when Mrs. Webber gave the grand tour a couple of years ago.”
She glanced at her watch. “I suppose it would be all right for a few minutes.”
“Then you turn into a pumpkin?”
Her lips curved in a mysterious smile. “Something like that.”
THE GARDEN AREA WASN’T LARGE. Dimly lit, about the size of a guest room, flowers grew everywhere. Red geraniums, white daisies and sprays of pink blossoms spilled from several barrel-size stone urns. A trellis leaning against the reddish brick was covered with tiny climbing white roses that perfumed the air with their seductive scent.
Beyond the decorative black wrought iron that surrounded the rooftop garden were the lights of Manhattan and the shadows of Central Park.
“What a fantastic view.” Hands gripping the rail, she leaned out, a gentle breeze blowing back her honey-blond hair, giving him an unobstructed view of her profile. The small, slightly upturned nose and skin that was remarkably flawless except for the scar.
Eric’s curiosity got the better of him and he asked, “How did you get that?”
She turned to look at him and he pointed to his own chin. Her hand shot up to touch the marked area, her mouth twisting wryly.
She rolled her eyes. “Totally my fault. I got it at work when I wasn’t paying attention.”
“At work? How?”
She looked away. “This is a beautiful view. I wonder how much one of these co-ops cost.” She smiled. “Not that I’d ever be able to afford one.”
“I will someday.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Ambitious or optimistic?”
He laughed. “Both.”
“I wish you luck.” She gave him a peculiar smile and then turned away to look out over Central Park.
“You must make good money modeling.”
A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “What makes you think I’m a model?”
He stared, waiting for a telltale flicker to cross her face. She didn’t even blink. “Aren’t you?”
“No. But I’m flattered.” She seemed so damned sincere. Maybe he was going crazy.
“Then what do you do?”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Just making conversation.”
“Then you won’t mind talking about something else.” Her lips curved in a smile that made him her slave.
A totally new experience for him. He liked women, of course, but he hadn’t found one yet that had him thinking with the wrong head. Not since high school, anyway. “You like being the mystery woman, huh?”
The smile lingering on her lips, she lifted her chin and shook back her hair, lifting her face to the balmy breeze.
“So, if I can’t get more than your name, how am I going to ask you out to dinner?”
After a moment’s hesitation she looked directly at him and asked, “When?”
“Tomorrow night.” God, he hoped he could get a reservation this late. “Amuse Bouche. It’s that new restaurant at the—”
“I know it.” Amusement lit her eyes. “Trying to impress me?”
“Damn right.”
She laughed. “Another point for honesty. But unless you had another date cancel on you, we will not be getting into Amuse Bouche tomorrow night.”
“I confess. No reservations, but I know the maître d’.”
“Ever been to Hakata on West Forty-eighth?”
He frowned. “Sushi place, isn’t it?”
“Among other things.”
Just his luck, the woman was one of those adventurous-eater types. That was the trouble with New Yorkers. They weren’t happy with a simple steak. “You wanna go there?”
She grinned. “Ever tried sushi?”
He sighed. All the guys in the office kidded him. When they went for sushi, he went to McDonald’s. “I have a feeling I’m about to.”
“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.”
“The stuff is raw. Can’t be good for you.”
She laughed. “Common misconception. Sushi can include raw fish but not necessarily. Don’t worry. I’m a pro at ordering for neophytes. I’ll be gentle with you.”
He cleared his throat and tried not to make anything of the way she moistened her lips. Tried not to stare at her glistening lower lip. “Not too gentle. That would take out all the excitement.”
Her eyebrows rose.
Eric smiled. “Bring it on.”
She laughed, deep and throaty, and the sound skated down his spine. “You’re giving me carte blanche?”
“I’m all yours.” He hoped they weren’t talking about sushi. Or he was screwed.
“Hmm…”
He moved closer. She didn’t retreat. Excellent sign. “So, what would you like to do with me?”
“Oh, I never tip my hand too soon.”
“Oh, right. A woman of mystery and surprise.”
“You have no idea.”
“I’m willing to stick around until I get an idea.”
She smiled. “You get another point for being adventurous.”
“Yeah? And what exactly are these points worth?”
She tilted her head to the side and pursed those sexy lips of hers. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“I don’t.” He took her hand, and when she didn’t resist, he pulled her against him and slid his arms around her narrow waist.
She tilted her head back, her eyes glittering with unmistakable challenge. He lowered his head and she lifted her chin to meet his lips. They touched, gently at first, tentative, searching, exploring, and then she opened her mouth to him.
He slid his tongue between her lips and tasted her eagerness. That’s all the permission he needed to plunge deeper. When she put her hands on his chest and slid her palms up to his shoulders, the tips of her fingers doing this little stroking thing that drove him crazy, he stifled a moan, willed his sudden hard-on to calm down before he scared the hell out of her.
But he couldn’t calm down and she didn’t scare. Instead she moved her hips, taunting him, driving him beyond insane. He cupped her backside, not sure if he wanted to stop her or make her grind harder.
Taking the decision out of his hands, abruptly she moved back, stared at him for a moment and then let her hands slide down his chest. “I have to go.”
“Now?”
She smiled. “Tomorrow?”
“Yeah, sure— Wait!”
She’d already headed for the door that led to the stairs but stopped hesitantly and then turned to him.
“Dallas?”
“I’ll be there at seven,” she said and then took off.
4
DALLAS HAD BARELY FINISHED her first cup of coffee when Wendy plodded into the kitchen, still wearing red boxers and a white tank top—her preferred pajamas.
“What are you doing up so early?” Dallas asked, wondering the same thing about herself. She’d only had four hours’ sleep, tops. After she’d gotten home, she’d been so wired, she’d stayed up and watched Pretty Woman for the twentieth time.
Well, she hadn’t actually watched it. Stared, really. While she’d replayed the kiss over and over again in her head. While she’d imagined his hands curving over her butt, drawing her against his erection.
“I’m dying to hear about last night.” Wendy got her usual morning cola out of the fridge. “Did he totally freak when he saw you?”
Dallas smiled, thinking about the stunned look on his face as he’d approached her. “He pretty much kept his act together when we were introduced. Although I’m not sure when he first spotted me.”
“Who did he think you were?” She popped the tab of the can, sat cross-legged on the love seat and then yawned before taking her first sip.
“A friend of his boss’s daughter. But we kept it vague.”
“How late were you out?”
“I got in around midnight. You need a haircut.”
Wendy’s hand went to her spiky hair, and she hopelessly tried to pat it down. “I know. As soon as I get a few bucks together, I will. Maybe next Friday.”
Dallas forced herself to keep her mouth shut. She was always ready to bail someone out. It wasn’t that she was a pushover. She preferred to think of herself as a nurturer. Anyway, even if she offered Wendy a loan, she wouldn’t take it. To her credit, Wendy watched her finances. “Any news on the audition?”
“I didn’t make the final cut.”
“I’m sorry.”
“C’est la vie.” Wendy shrugged. “Maybe I should start sleeping with directors.”
“Right.” Dallas rolled her eyes. “That would be a good move.”
“Hey, I didn’t get up early to talk about how I screwed up yet another audition. Tell me about last night.”
Dallas briefly turned away to pour another cup of strong black coffee. “Speaking of getting up early, I had to walk Bruiser again.”
“Oh, no. Sorry. You should have knocked on my door.”
“He yelped and howled for five minutes. If he couldn’t get you up, I doubt I could have.”
Wendy sighed, and then her lips started to curve as the curly black mutt, having heard his name, lumbered out of his cushioned basket and then stretched before leaping up onto the love seat with Wendy. “He’s so cute, isn’t he?”
“Adorable. Especially at six in the morning.”
Wendy gave her a sheepish look but then narrowed her eyes. “You’re trying to avoid talking about last night.”
Dallas rubbed the back of her neck. “Not really,” she said, even as she privately acknowledged there was some truth there. “Last night was great. More fun than I’d expected.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Dallas leaned with her elbows on the kitchen counter that served as their table and a room divider. She cradled her mug in her hands and stared at the black liquid. “Eric is really a nice guy.”
“And?”
“And I’m seeing him again tonight.”
Wendy’s hand froze in Bruiser’s curly black fur. “You’re kidding.”
“Why not?”
“Alone?”
“At a restaurant. I’m not totally insane.”
“This is so totally not you.”
“That’s the fun part.” Dallas grinned. “It’s not me.”
Wendy put down her cola, linked her fingers together as she often did when she angsted over something, which wasn’t often enough. She generally acted first, thought later. “Okay, what’s really going on here?”
“Nothing.” Dallas straightened, her defenses rising. “What’s with you?”
“You’re worrying me.”
“This coming from someone who’d sleep with a director for a role?” Dallas snorted. “Besides, you’re the one who encouraged me to go last night.”
“Hey, I was kidding about the director.” Wendy rubbed her eyes and sighed heavily. “How much did you tell this guy about yourself?”
“I haven’t told him anything.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
Wendy studied her with an annoying mixture of curiosity and concern. “You don’t trust him enough to tell him anything about yourself but you’re willing to date him.”
“It’s not about trust. And I’m not dating him. It’s one time. Jeez.” Dallas sipped her coffee and took a mental time-out.
“I don’t like the idea of you seeing him alone.”
“We won’t be alone, Mom. That’s why I chose a restaurant.”
“Which one?”
“Like I’m going to tell you.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want you spying on me.”
“Would I do something like that?”
In a New York minute. Dallas didn’t bother to answer. Only gave her a look.
“Okay, what if I promise not to?”
“What does it matter which restaurant?”
“If he turns out to be a serial killer and no one ever sees you again, I need something to tell the police.”
Dallas groaned. “He’s not a serial killer. He works for Webber and Thornton Advertising, for goodness’ sakes. If anything, he’s too conservative for me.”
“Really?” Wendy smiled. “So, why are you going tonight?”
Dallas stared blankly at her friend. The truth was she had no idea.
SHE’D LIED. TO WENDY AND to herself. As soon as she saw him, Dallas knew why she’d agreed to come. She wanted him. Even for just one night. The situation presented the perfect opportunity. Anonymous sex. Behavior she normally wasn’t into. But something about him really drew her. Sparked a need she’d suppressed for a long time.
He stood near the register, stoically watching the guys making sushi behind the bar. He’d beaten her to the restaurant. And she was five minutes early.
After spending more time deciding what to wear than she’d care to admit, she’d chosen her newest pair of low-riding jeans and a light blue stretchy top that exposed about an inch and a half of her midriff and showed off her new tan, courtesy of Trudie. Casual but not sloppy.
Eric had dressed up a little more, in khakis and a hunter-green designer polo shirt, his tasseled loafers perfectly polished. She glanced down at her sequined flip-flops. At least her toes were polished; an electric pink, again courtesy of Trudie.
His fascinated interest in the sushi-making process came to an abrupt halt and he took a step back. The chef presented a plate of intimidating hamachi-and-eel sushi he’d been working on to a couple at the bar. Dallas smiled, and taking pity on Eric, she moved toward him.
“Hi.”
He turned to her with relief in his eyes. “You showed up.”
“Of course. I suggested the place, remember?”
He half smiled, and she realized he wasn’t talking about the sushi.
The petite Japanese hostess returned from seating another couple and grabbed two menus off the counter. “How many?” she asked without a trace of an accent.
“Two,” Dallas said, “and we’d prefer a table in the back if you have one.”
“Let’s see…”
While the woman searched the crowded restaurant, Eric whispered, “We can still make a break. There’s a steak house right around the corner.”
Dallas laughed. “Behave yourself and I won’t make you eat anything raw.”
“Follow me, please.” The woman led them toward the back, her waist-long black hair swaying and shimmering like expensive silk as she wove in between tables. “Is this all right?” she asked, waving a perfectly manicured hand with long red fingernails at a table for two in the far corner.
“Perfect.” Eric flashed her a grin that put a sparkle in her dark eyes.
“Enjoy your meal.” She left the menus on the table and moved back toward the front as if she were gliding on air.
Dallas sighed as she took her seat. She really didn’t mind being so tall, liked it usually, but sometimes she envied the seemingly effortless femininity of petite women.
Eric sat, too, his back toward the other diners. He didn’t pick up his menu, only stared at her. Not in a rude way but enough to make her uneasy.
She cleared her throat. “Do you trust me to order for you?”
“Is this where the ‘I’ll be gentle’ part comes in?”
“I thought you didn’t like gentle.”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
His lips curved as he thoughtfully studied her for a moment. “So, that’s how you wanna play.”
She smiled back. “I’m not playing.”
Challenge flickered in his eyes, but before he could deliver a comeback, the waitress appeared for their drink orders. He asked for a scotch, and Dallas ordered white wine. But that would be it for her. Work started at seven tomorrow.
“You come here often?” he asked, glancing around at the other diners, mostly tourists, mostly couples but a few families.
“This is only the third time, but the food is good and reasonable considering they advertise in one of those tourist magazines.” She stopped herself from volunteering that it was also close to her apartment.
“Yeah, I was surprised you chose a tourists’ hangout. I figured you must live nearby.”
She smiled and picked up the menu even though she knew exactly what she’d order. “You’d better have a look at the menu.”
“I already know what I want.”
The huskiness in his tone made her look up. She met his eyes and there was little doubt as to what he meant. She held his gaze but only for a moment before she had to look away. He didn’t scare her. She frightened herself. Never before had the reckless urge to shun common sense been so strong. To jump in headfirst and consider the consequences later.
What the hell was it about him that made her want to be foolish? She pretended to study the menu, hoping her ridiculous desire to skip dinner and go straight to a hotel room would pass.
“What are you going to have?” she asked, keeping her eyes lowered to the menu.
“The teriyaki rib eye steak.”
“You big chicken,” she said, shaking her head at him.
“Hey, it’s not like I’d ask them to leave off the teriyaki sauce.”
They both laughed.
She laid down the menu. “How adventurous of you.”
“You have no idea.”
“Where are you from?”
“The Pittsburgh area. And you?”
She’d expected the return question and saw no harm in answering. “Right here. I was born at New York General, although I grew up mostly in Tarrytown. It’s about forty minutes away.”
“I know the area. Nice.”
She nodded. “So green and pretty. I miss it but I like living in the city.”
“Which part is that?”
She smiled. “How long have you lived here?”
“In Manhattan, about five years.” His gaze roamed her face, lingered on her mouth. “I think our drinks are coming. Ready to order dinner?”
“Are you in a hurry?”
He gave her that sexy look again. “As a matter of fact, I am.”
THEY LEFT THE RESTAURANT AN hour later. The sun had set, but there was still another half hour of light left. No way would Eric let this evening end. He still didn’t know her last name or anything else about her. Other than she was from Tarrytown but now lived in the city.
Of course, knowing she’d grown up in Tarrytown provided more insight. He could safely bet his Rolex that her family had some money. The upper-middle-class community was a far cry from the steel-mill neighborhood where he’d grown up. Hell, even the Rockefellers had an estate there.
Although he didn’t need particulars to know she came from a genteel background. Breeding showed in every step she took. The softness in her voice. The graceful way she moved. Modeling, of course, gave her polish, but she had her own natural panache that couldn’t be learned or faked.
“How about a walk?” he asked before she could flag a cab and disappear.
“Sure. It’s nice out. Not as sticky as last week.”
“I say we head for Central Park.”
Her eyebrows rose. “It’ll start getting dark by the time we get there.”
“Afraid of the big bad wolf?”
“Should I be?”
He smiled. “I think Tom probably assured you that I’m an okay guy.”
“Tom?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets as they turned down Sixth Avenue. He badly wanted to touch her, but he’d wait for a signal. Let her call the shots. That’s what she wanted. That’s why she insisted on the secrecy.
“Was Tom at the party?” She seemed genuinely confused, which gave him pause.
“I figured it out, Dallas. We both saw you in the display window. Tom had to have put you up to this.”
“What are you talking about?” She slid him a sidelong glance, her eyebrows drawn together in a skeptical frown.
“There’s no other explanation.”
She shook her head with a wry smile. “Maybe we ought to skip the walk. You need some serious rest.”
“Yeah, I hardly slept last night.” He kept watching her, noticed her near misstep, the way her cheeks colored a little. “What about you?”
“Fine. I slept just fine.”
“Good. Then you shouldn’t be in any hurry to get home.”
She laughed. “Very sly.”
“Look out.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her close when she nearly collided with a shabbily dressed man staggering wildly, obviously drunk.
“Thanks.” She leaned against Eric as she glanced over her shoulder at the man, who’d already passed by—but not so his rank odor. “Sad, isn’t it?”
The compassion in her eyes touched him, as misplaced as it was. He took another look at the guy, evidently homeless and drunk. “He needs a good meal instead of spending his money on booze.”
“You don’t know his circumstances.” She pulled away. “He may have just lost his job or received some horrible news.”
“You’re right.” He drew her back against him and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “I shouldn’t have said that. But there were a lot of steel mills where I grew up. I saw what happened to men who lost their jobs.”
Looking away, she murmured, “Yeah, I’ve seen it, too.”
That surprised him. What did she understand about that world? About the blue-collar laborer who was so readily sacrificed to improve the bottom line of a corporation’s financial statement? He understood. Too well. His brothers were fools for languishing in the mills, and settling for the same scraps their father had.
He caught a glimpse of Central Park a couple of blocks away, along with the lineup of carriages and horses with their colorful hats. “I have an idea. How about a carriage ride?”
“Are you serious?” She laughed softly. “Only tourists do that.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t we just eat in a touristy restaurant?”
“Touché.”
“Come on. Let’s pick out a horse.”
She made a face. “We don’t have much time before it gets dark.”