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Duke’s laid-up partner, Josh Winger, had obviously heard the scoop on the day’s arrest already. “Hey, Winger. If you weren’t such a wuss you could have seen her for yourself.”
“A few more hours and the doc swears I’m non-contagious. Want me to come in and go over the evidence with you?”
Josh had three more years on the force than Duke, but the two of them had been teamed up more often than not since Duke joined the NYPD. They did a solid rendition of good cop/bad cop, and their investigative styles complemented each other.
But Duke hadn’t minded going solo today. Josh would have given him hell if he had seen how Amanda had rattled him.
“I’ve got it covered.” Duke glanced through Gallagher’s CD collection, looking for any stone left unturned in the earlier search. Maybe he’d find that final piece of damning evidence—some irrefutable link between Victor and his drug buddies. “Why don’t you watch a few more Starsky and Hutch reruns and see if you can pick up a couple of pointers.”
“The only thing I’m learning from Starsky and Hutch is that we’re getting rooked on our standard-issue vehicle. I’m thinking we need to talk to the deputy inspector about issuing us something cooler, something packing a little more horsepower.”
Finding nothing in the CDs, Duke moved to the bookshelf, another area that sometimes went overlooked in a search. He found it odd that the small collection lacked a single title on fashion or fabric. “You get the shakes driving over fifty-five anyway. My granddaddy always used to say ‘don’t bite off more than you can chew.’”
“To hear you tell it, Duke, your granddaddy spoke in pithy wisdom from the moment you were born. Did you just make up this ancestor so you could spout clichés and old wives’ tales?”
“My granddad would kick your city slicker ass if he knew you implied he was an old wife.” Duke smiled to think about it. Granddad had a deep suspicion of New York City, but he’d applauded Duke’s decision to police the Big Apple, assuring him there wasn’t a city in the world that needed a Rawlins so badly. “Besides, aren’t you grateful he made sure I always have something to say?”
Josh groaned. “Now I know who to blame. Call me if you find anything more over there, you hear me? I don’t want you blowing your promotion because you didn’t have me to help you out.”
“Go pop your pills, old man. I’ve got it covered.” Duke flipped the receiver closed before Josh could quibble.
He would make Detective, First Grade, without any help from his partner. Josh had made the upward move last year, and Duke’s review approached at the end of May. Once Duke cleaned up the Garment District with a round of solid felony arrests this spring, his record would be prime for an upgrade.
So shall you scale the stars…another bit of Granddad’s wisdom. Maybe a promotion in the police department wasn’t quite so poetic, but Duke worked with what he had. He loved this job.
He headed to the couch cushions, often a goldmine for scraps of notepaper or maybe an incriminating bill of some sort. Gallagher’s couch looked like it benefited from frequent maid service, however.
He moved to the wingback next. The chair still held a trace of Amanda Matthews’s scent—something clean and rain-washed and simple. Like one flower instead of ten.
She was a mix of contradictions. The conservative trench coat and straightforward fragrance seemed at odds with her starlet hairstyle and pink stockings. Any way Duke added it up, Amanda still emerged from the equation appealing as hell.
Too bad she was a society fixture and mixed up with a criminal to boot. No matter how good she smelled, Amanda Matthews earned a place on Duke’s personal “off-limits” list.
Heaven knew, he could spend hours debating Ms. Matthews’s charms, but he had a job to finish. Duke ordered his nose to ignore the flowery temptations as he lifted the gray leather cushion.
A black rectangular case slid to the floor.
“What the…” How had the search team missed this earlier today? Duke rolled on a pair of latex gloves and bent to retrieve the item.
He opened the case, confirming his suspicion that a videotape rested inside. A white sticker labeled it “Private” in pencil.
Storing the evidence in a plastic bag, Duke pondered the handwriting on the sticker. He might not have a graphology degree, but he sensed a deliberateness in the dark stroke of the lines as if the writer had really meant the “Private” warning.
The thrill of crime busting snaked through him—the same thirst for justice that had pushed him through four years of college and almost a decade on the force. He couldn’t wait to go review the tape tonight at the precinct.
It took him less than an hour to make a final sweep of the place and talk to the building superintendent about Gallagher’s comings and goings. Duke made a few last notes and then headed for the lobby, hoping to get back to the station before commuter traffic kicked in.
He was ducking under the potted palms near the elevators when a snappy click of high heels grabbed his attention.
Amanda Matthews had returned.
So did Duke’s response to her. He’d been hoping his earlier lust had been a fluke, but his current physical affliction assured him he wanted her.
Duke took advantage of her distracted state to study her. She’d obviously gone home and changed. Her trench coat flung wide open now, revealing a black turtleneck sweater he’d be willing to bet was cashmere. Gray wool trousers covered every inch of her luscious legs and black leather boots encased her feet, their heels as high as the Barbie doll shoes had been. Her light brown hair remained in the high-class twist at the back of her head, although more strands fell forward now to frame her face. A small leather satchel swung on her arm in time with her fast steps.
She looked like a confident fashion executive now, whereas earlier, she’d seemed nervous and shy. All of which had Duke wondering what the hell she was up to.
Struggling to put his duty as a law enforcement official ahead of his hunger for a small taste of Amanda’s smooth skin, Duke strode closer. “Amanda?”
The word halted her, dragging her attention from the elevator doors toward him. The satchel she carried swayed like a pendulum for a moment, then slowed to a stop along with her.
Now that he had a better view of her face, he could tell she wasn’t as confident as her posture suggested. Little lines of worry creased her brow and set her full lips in a straight slash.
She seemed to take a minute to compose herself. Clearly, she hadn’t thought she would be seeing him here. “Detective.”
With a great deal of effort, he managed to flash his charming grin, his good cop facade. “Call me Duke.”
Her answering smile seemed forced, a difficult unveiling of her teeth rather than an act to light up her delicate face.
Damn. He really did not want to discover Amanda was party to her boyfriend’s criminal activities. Why did she have to look so guilty?
“Right. Duke.”
When she didn’t offer any explanation for her presence, Duke prodded her. “Returning to the scene of the crime?”
Amanda struggled to formulate an answer. She hadn’t expected him to be here an hour after he’d finished questioning her. She had hoped to talk the superintendent or maybe a maid into letting her inside Victor’s apartment.
“Believe me, I didn’t want to return to this building.” That much was true. Memories of discovering Victor’s infidelity only reminded her of her inability to interest a man in a real relationship. She’d lost fifteen pounds and spent two years figuring out how to make herself look as attractive as one of her showroom windows, and still no luck. She’d nursed the hope that the secret weapon would somehow help her get her personal life on track before the whirlwind of the fall fashion shows, before her chaotic professional life took over again. But now she’d lost the tape before she’d ever had the chance to try it out.
Not that she would have wanted to after what happened with her ex-boyfriend this morning.
When Duke only waited, smiling politely and blocking her path with his broad shoulders and six-foot frame, Amanda explained, “I thought I lost something at Victor’s this morning.” No harm in revealing that, right?
Duke frowned. “I went over it again after you left and didn’t find a wallet or keys or anything. The place is clean.”
Should she tell him it wasn’t a wallet? Maybe he had found her tape and mistaken it for Victor’s.
No. She wouldn’t risk having to explain herself to him, because she sure as heck couldn’t lie to a cop—not after all those years in Catholic school. Maybe she’d dropped the tape on the street. She prayed a yellow cab had already run over it.
And if a stranger on the street picked up the tape, at least they wouldn’t know who she was. She supposed there was a certain comfort in anonymity.
“Oh. Maybe I’ll just look around the elevators and the hallways.” She waited for him to move out of her way, but his fluorescent stars and spiky hair remained firmly in her line of vision.
“I’ll give you a hand. What did you say you lost?” He finally stepped back to clear her path, but his body shadowed hers on one side.
His proximity sang along her nerves and caused her skin to tingle. Apparently her earlier attraction to Duke hadn’t been related to her slinky lingerie or her bubble gum shoes. She’d swathed herself in cashmere and leather after spending six hours in nothing but lace, yet she could still feel the heat of his body right through her heavy clothes.
“Umm…my date book.” She found herself lying in spite of herself. She had all she could do to string words together around this man, let alone keep her secret weapon a secret. “It wasn’t really important anyway.”
He gave her a reproving stare, the kind that would have had her biting her nails this morning. But now that she had her clothes on she didn’t feel quite so intimidated by this man. Mostly she just felt…turned on.
“It must have been important to drag you all the way back here.”
She shook her head, relaxing a bit now that it seemed Duke hadn’t discovered her videotape. She had probably dropped it on the street as she was getting into the cab anyway. “Not as important as I thought. Maybe I did just need to revisit the scene of the crime to sort of process the day.”
Duke studied her, scrubbing his hand over a five o’clock shadow. “What a jerk, huh?” he finally said, as if he’d decided it was okay to talk to her man-to-woman instead of maintaining his detective role. He jammed his fists in the pockets of his pants.
Amanda smiled to think the man might have won out. She’d been curious about—okay, majorly attracted to—Duke from the moment she’d first seen him. “No kidding. Thank God I found out before things got any more serious.” Her cheeks grew hot as she heard herself speak the words. “That is, before we talked anymore about marriage.”
“You were really thinking of marrying that guy?” Duke lowered his voice on the last few words as an older couple strode by them with three yapping lapdogs on their way to the elevator.
Amanda could hardly believe it herself, given what she’d learned about him today. How could she have been so blind about Victor? She’d been so focused on launching her first year of designs, so fixated on succeeding professionally, that she hadn’t paid much attention to her personal relationships.
She shrugged. “We seemed to have a lot in common—our business, our social circles—”
Duke laughed. His eyes darkened and his gaze narrowed. “You only need one thing in common for a marriage, Amanda, and those aren’t it.”
Intrigued, she leaned a bit closer. Was it really the words or the man that drew her? “And what’s that?”
Before he could respond, a group of schoolkids drifted in the front doors.
Duke grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the flow of elevator traffic. He seemed to scout the back of the lobby and, finding it acceptable, he tugged her into a quiet corner by an antiquated snack machine. “All you need is chemistry. I thought everybody knew that.”
Amanda wondered if he realized he still held her hand. The warmth of his palm engulfed her fingers. An innocent touch?
Not on the receiving end. Amanda was rapidly overheating at that small intimacy combined with the nearness of his broad chest, a unique effect of this man.
“I don’t know….” If Duke’s preposterous statement about chemistry was true, Amanda had more reason to marry a stranger like Duke Rawlins than Victor. “I think you need to base a relationship on more than that.”
Duke shook his head, his blue eyes never leaving hers. “Not me. When I find the right chemistry, I’m not going to waste time comparing interests, political parties or astrological signs, I’m just going to jump in with both feet.”
Was it her imagination, or did he look as bemused by this attraction as she felt?
“Really?” Amanda wished she could be that daring. She’d been overprotected most of her life. Only in the last few years had she risked her father’s disapproval by undertaking her own design projects and seeking out an intimate relationship. Although the former had been wonderfully successful, the latter had left her feeling a little wary. Still, she couldn’t squelch the hunger for adventure that had gnawed at her from the moment she’d slipped into her merry widow this morning.
A hunger which Duke’s presence currently fed and stirred at the same time.
“What if you pick the wrong person?” She knew she couldn’t bounce back from something like that.
Duke rubbed his thumb across the center of her palm and pressed the hollow in her hand, a gesture which provoked unnerving repercussions throughout the rest of her body.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” The stern expression that crossed his face told her he didn’t relish the thought of making a big mistake.
Yet he didn’t move away, didn’t pull back.
In fact, he loomed within tantalizing reach. Did she drift closer or did he? Caught up in his “live for the moment” attitude, Amanda allowed herself to be mesmerized by his eyes.
“I don’t know if I could ever take risks like that.” She whispered the words more to herself than to him.
Her blood pounded out the beat of her heart in the palm of her hand where he touched her. The rhythm joined them somehow, connected them in an elemental way.
“I think we should find out,” he whispered back, so close she couldn’t think of anything else.
Her attention shifted to his mouth, which seemed to be on a collision course with her own. A moment before contact, her eyes drifted shut in anticipation.
She did not bother to deny him. Her lips seemed to part on their own, welcoming the hot stroke of his tongue, the pressure of his mouth on hers.
The electronic hum of the snack machine faded along with the shuffle of people on the other side of the elevators. Their quiet corner closed in around them, the space igniting with the heat they generated.
Duke wrapped his hands around her waist, then slid them up her spine, urging her closer into the hard wall of his chest.
The silk lining of her trench coat might have teased her earlier today, when Duke had been within a few feet of her nearly naked body. But the sensation paled in comparison to the caress of cashmere now that his heated body pressed insistently against the other side.
Duke breathed in the clean scent of her, so hot for her soft curves and welcoming mouth that he couldn’t think straight. Blood roared in his ears, deafening him to everything but Amanda’s shallow breaths, her tiny sighs as he moved his hands over her hips.
He’d been looking for an excuse to kiss her, thinking if he could only have one taste, he’d satisfy his curiosity and get her out of his head. Now he knew that one taste would tease him forever until he had more.
Much more.
The leather satchel she’d been carrying slid to the floor with a thunk—snapping his attention away from Amanda for a split second just as he’d started to pull her hips to his. In broad daylight. In the lobby of an apartment building. What the hell was the matter with him?
“Amanda.” He held himself still, unable to remove his hands from her just yet. He knew better than this. She was a princess in New York’s fashion society. He was a damn frog in a small pond and he had no desire to enter her glitzy world. Especially not when she could be a suspect in his current case.
Still, it soothed his ego to see her slow return to reality. Her lips remained parted for a long moment, her cheeks flushed and her hair slipping from its twist. Duke mentally placed her in his bed, imagining just how she would look if he’d been making love to her with more than his mouth.
“Amanda.” The word sounded harsh, his voice rough with sexual frustration.
Her eyes flew open, her flush growing deeper.
“Sorry,” she murmured, as if that particular remark fell frequently from her lips. She focused on retrieving her satchel from the floor, her hands a sudden flurry of awkward movement.
Damn.
He stepped back, prying his fingers from her body, afraid he would kiss her all over again in some misguided attempt to apologize. “Don’t be.” He pulled her to her feet again, unwilling to let her walk away looking so bereft. “You kiss like an angel.”
Or like a temptress from a teenage fantasy.
But Amanda Matthews seemed like the kind of woman who would appreciate the first analogy more.
She adjusted the leather strap on her shoulder and rewarded him with a tentative smile. “Really?”
Duke stifled a groan. Just how innocent was she? Maybe Victor Gallagher had taken a lover because his girlfriend, the mobster’s daughter, was off-limits until her wedding night. The idea made sense, considering Amanda had been going into Victor’s apartment building this morning rather than leaving it.
No matter that she’d probably been wearing a killer skirt and real, honest-to-goodness stockings underneath her conservative trench coat. She had an inherent modesty about her, an old-fashioned sense of grace and propriety she broadcasted in everything from her fifties starlet hairdo to her perfect posture.
He squeezed her hand and nodded, knowing he was already in way over his head. “Really. I didn’t mean to get so…carried away.”
She flashed him a high-wattage smile—definitely the fantasy temptress variety—and made him rethink his ideas about her all over again. “You won’t hear me complaining.”
It would have been so easy to kiss her again. Amanda obviously wouldn’t mind. He wanted to touch her so badly his muscles twitched with the effort to restrain himself. But Duke forced himself to think about the consequences.
Despite what he’d spouted about chemistry and jumping in with both feet, Duke knew he’d have to give some thought to involving himself with Amanda Matthews. How wise would it be for a New York detective to lose his head with a sheltered daughter of a possible mobster? A sheltered daughter who’d been lying through her teeth when she’d said she returned to Victor’s building for her date book.
Maybe she was just having a hard rebound after her bout with her indiscreet boyfriend this morning. Surely that accounted for the impassioned kiss more than anything.
Duke nodded toward the lobby. “I’ve got to get back to the precinct and go over today’s evidence. You need a ride downtown?” He asked even though he knew better than to spend too much time in her tempting presence. His granddad would kick his butt if he left a woman stranded.
She shook her head, effectively freeing a few more strands of hair from the slipping knot at the back of her head. Duke’s fingers itched to pull the pins from the caramel-colored mass and see it fall down around her shoulders.
“I’ve got to get back to the showroom to work on a window for my father. You still want me to stop by the station tomorrow?”
“I’d appreciate it.” They reached the lobby doors and he pushed one side open for her, remembering how they’d met just that morning.
The sexy look she sent sizzling his way told him she was remembering, too. “See you at eleven.”
She clicked her way down the street, her trench coat waving a sassy goodbye as it moved in time with her confident step. She had a walk to turn heads, stop traffic and make Duke forget what the hell he was doing.
He’d held the door of Gallagher’s apartment building for at least five people by the time she turned the corner at Twenty-eighth Street, out of his sight.
He knew she’d be very much on his mind, however, when he went to the station to review the day’s evidence for his case against Gallagher.
Her kisses had been hot as a siren’s, but her reaction afterward smacked of an innocence that warned him to exercise caution. Amanda Matthews’s mobster father didn’t intimidate him one bit, but her old-fashioned values and conservative approach gave him pause.
He would proceed very slowly with her, starting tomorrow when she stopped by the precinct at eleven.
Until then, he needed to get his head back into his case and review all the findings of his investigative team today.
And he planned to start by finding out what was on that videotape.
4
AMANDA FUMBLED WITH her keys outside her apartment door. Her overprotective father had insisted she install three different locks to secure the loft that served as her workroom and her home. Normally, she didn’t mind the extra time required to unlock each one, but now that Duke Rawlins’s kiss hummed in her veins, her key ring jumped out of her hands twice before her door was tugged open from the inside.
Her best friend, Lexi Mansfield, stood inside the loft, her black toy poodle at her feet. Lexi had her own apartment on Columbus Circle, but she stopped by Amanda’s often enough to have a closet full of clothes stashed in the hallway. No doubt Lexi had sought out Amanda to hear how the secret weapon had gone over with Victor. Garbed in thigh-high leather boots, a skirt printed with a snakeskin design and a big black angora sweater, the petite brunette possessed an outrageous style that often masked her status as one of New York’s most celebrated fashion reviewers.
Ignoring the jumping and yapping of her little dog, Lexi clucked her tongue and frowned. “You’re giving Muffin a nervous breakdown with all that rattling around out there, girlfriend.” She clutched Amanda’s arm with perfectly manicured red talons and pulled her friend inside. “Come on in here. You look like you need a drink.”
Amanda nodded numbly, not sure whether she was relieved to see Lexi or not. On her short walk home, Amanda had convinced herself the wisest course of action would be to fall into bed and forget the day—the kiss—ever happened. “I’ll have water,” she murmured as she listened to Lexi click her way across the hardwood floors to the small kitchen, the sound echoed by Muffin’s nails tapping along behind her.
Lexi had been Amanda’s best friend since they’d roomed together at boarding school. They shared an interest in clothes that went all the way back to the time Amanda had created a spandex micro-mini dress complete with matching headband for Lexi’s Malibu Barbie doll in second grade.
While Amanda sank into her leather couch, Lexi returned with a cup of hot tea and two gingersnaps perched on the saucer. Even as a part-time resident of Amanda’s apartment, Lexi knew her way around the kitchen far better than Amanda ever had. “Have a cookie, you’ll feel better. I didn’t know what else to do while I was waiting for you, so I baked cookies.”
Great. Just the sort of temptation that would put ten pounds back on her hips in a blink. Still, Amanda smiled at the way her friend blatantly ignored her request for water. The tea tasted better anyway, and it quieted her nerves just a little. At least she felt soothed until she closed her eyes and saw Duke’s startling blue gaze emblazoned inside her eyelids.
Her cup and saucer clattered in her hands. Swiping aside a stack of fabric swatches she’d been working with the day before, Amanda set the teacup on an oversize trunk that served as her coffee table. “Thank you.”