Hot in the City

by Samantha Hunter

  She paused again, clamping her lips shut as if she was about to let yet another slip escape.

  Gabe’s senses sharpened, and he leaned in, a classic maneuver to invite someone to confide. To trust. He couldn’t turn off who he was, what he did, even now. Not really.

  “Tell me what’s going on, Della. I could see when you came in that something was bothering you—does it have to do with this other guy?”

  His muscles tensed, and he realized he would not react well to someone threatening Della.

  He could stay objective, right.

  Her shoulders fell in defeat, but her voice was steady. “No, it’s two different things. I had a dance lesson today, and one of the dance instructors came on to me, asked me out. It was a huge surprise. Then, I was at work, and I thought someone was following me.”

  “Following you?”

  “Yes. I was in the ladies’ room, and I thought someone was following me back to my office, but they weren’t. I was just being jumpy. It was later in the day, and I was there alone. Really, there’s nothing to be worried about.” She smiled weakly. “I think this whiskey is some kind of truth serum.”

  “Why do you think it was a mistake?”

  “They kept walking and left the building, never even stopping at my door. I did get a campus security guy to walk me down to the quad, even though I felt like a moron afterward.”

  “No, you definitely shouldn’t feel that way. Following your instincts, listening to your fear, is how people stay alive.”

  “It’s not that I don’t agree with that, in principle, but it was very likely this was just my imagination working overtime.”

  Gabe let it rest since their dinners had arrived, but as he cut into his steak, he decided to prod a bit more.

  “So this dance instructor, you’ve known him for a while?”

  “Well, I only started lessons three months ago, so only since then, and usually he works with other, better dancers, but for whatever reason, Ruth stuck him with me, today.”

  “Ruth?”

  “Ruth Avakian, the owner of the school. She was a famous ballerina once, and now she teaches ballet, but also regular dancing to people like me,” Della said with a smile. “I needed all the help I could get, so I was lucky to get into her class on such short notice. Steven is her assistant.”

  Gabe’s mind was ticking through the possibilities, and the time line of events. That there had been a move on the vaccine formula, and now two men—unless Della’s follower was the dance instructor—suddenly had approached her in two days. He didn’t know exactly what to make of it, but by Della’s own admission, this wasn’t commonplace in her life. And he knew Ruth Avakian—who didn’t? She was famous for her years of dance, and she was also Armenian by birth, though she had danced in the New York City ballet and lived here through adulthood.

  A contact for Armenian spies? Could she have infiltrated through the ballet? Could she be helping Cedric Derian, or at least know of his whereabouts? Was this dance instructor, Steven, really Cedric?

  If so, then Steven’s sudden interest in Della wasn’t good.

  “Oh, this steak is delectable,” she purred as she took a bite, and all of Gabe’s rational thought went out the window, watching the juicy bit of meat disappear between lush lips, her eyes closing as she enjoyed it.

  He shifted in his seat, looking away again, to his own meal, trying to refocus. He was in too deep, wanting to make sure that Della was safe, and to do whatever it took to keep her that way, but he was losing his objectivity. He should call Bart back, but that wasn’t going to happen. His friend would take him off the case immediately.

  “It is good,” he agreed lamely, eating his perfectly cooked steak, which he barely tasted as he fought the war of concern, suspicion and desire waging inside of him.

  There was more than a decent chance that Della wasn’t being paranoid about someone following her.

  “Anyway, it was a sort of crazy day, that’s for sure,” she said with a satisfied sigh as she took a sip of her drink.

  “As a man who thinks you are very attractive, I find it hard to believe other men don’t walk over each other trying to get to you,” he said. “You, sweetheart, are naturally sexy. Take my word for it. Every man at the bar noticed you when you walked in. So are you going to see this guy...what’s his name?”

  Her blush deepened, and he was very happy when she shook her head.

  “No, well, not while you and I are, um, seeing each other, but maybe for the wedding, I don’t know...” she said, clearly uncomfortable.

  “I’m sorry for prying. I know it’s none of my business,” he said, and thought he saw some disappointment dull the warmth in her eyes.

  “It’s okay. I don’t mind at all,” she said, swallowing hard and dropping her gaze as she fiddled with her food, awkwardness settling between them.

  She didn’t mind because she hoped he would be jealous, he realized. Was that the point? Was there even a mysterious dance instructor, or was this Della’s attempt to see if he had feelings for her?

  And did he?

  Yes. That meant it would be much easier for him to get closer, deeper, into her life. Because she wanted him there.

  “I stuck my foot in it, didn’t I? And after you went through all this trouble for such a nice date.”

  “Not at all,” he quickly reassured her. “Truthfully, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed, but I guess even though we only agreed on a temporary relationship, I still don’t like the idea of you with another man.”

  That was the absolute truth, and he saw her eyes widen, her color deepen. Her eyes warmed again—she was pleased.

  “Oh, well, then,” she said a little breathlessly, and turned her attention to the sound of the band starting up at the back of the room.

  As they started playing a slow jazz number, Gabe stood.

  “Let’s dance, Della.”

  She looked apprehensive, but he held out his hand, and she took it. A few other couples also filled the dance floor.

  “I’m not exactly Baryshnikov, either. Let’s just dance. You don’t have to worry.”

  She laughed softly. “You do—about your toes,” she joked nervously.

  But Gabe didn’t want her to be nervous with him. About anything. He wanted her to let go and be herself, and that was more important than he would have imagined. That she trusted him enough for that in spite of their situation. That she would trust him enough to tell him anything, or to let him into her life as deeply as he needed to be to keep her safe.

  He brought her up against him, and put his lips by her ear, inhaling the scent of her hair.

  “Just move with me, Della. Like when we’re making love,” he said as she shivered against him.

  Gabe hadn’t danced in a long time. Years. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed it, actually, as they found their rhythm together. Or maybe it was because he was dancing with Della. She was stiff at first, and she did almost step on his toe in those heels.

  “Oh, sorry, I—” She started to pull away, and he pulled her right back in.

  “The song’s not over, Della,” he said.

  She had such a look of concentration on her face, like she was solving some terribly difficult problem. He understood, in a way, how she might approach unfamiliar things with her brain instead of her instincts, since that was what she was used to.

  So he brought her attention back to her body by running his hands over her backside, squeezing lightly as he pressed her close, and heard her catch her breath.

  Then he dropped light, teasing kisses along the line of her neck to her jaw, and over to her lips, until that furrow between her eyes was smooth, and her face had relaxed.

  “That’s it,” he said softly, turning her around slowly in spite of the lively beat, bringing her back against his front, their arms wrapped around each other. Then he unwrapped her just as slowly, turning her under the bridge of his arm and bringing her back to face him.

  “Hey, that’s the wra
p-in, wrap—”

  “Don’t name it, sweetheart. Feel it. Have fun with it.”

  She smiled when he turned her again, and then she did a quick kick step, picking up the rhythm, and by the end of the song, they were both dancing an easy swing and laughing.

  Gabe hadn’t felt this good in a long time. They danced through two more songs, one more slow and sexy, and then a faster dance that made their pulses race. But as they moved, and all of her curves fit so nicely against him, Gabe’s mind wasn’t so much on dancing.

  “Did you want dessert?” he asked.

  “Oh, no, I’m stuffed. But maybe we could take a walk? It’s a gorgeous night. Are you familiar with the city?”

  “Somewhat, but I’m usually working, not here for enjoyment.”

  “Then let me show you some of the sights.”

  He couldn’t think of anything nicer than walking under the brilliant city lights with this woman, and took her hand.

  “Sounds perfect,” he said, lifting her fingers to his mouth for a moment and anticipating what the night ahead held in store.

  * * *

  DELLA WAS HAVING what she was certain would be one of the most romantic evenings of her life, certainly of her life so far. She’d worried that she had almost ruined everything when she made the slip about Steven—stupid whiskey lowering her inhibitions—but then when Gabe had admitted he was a bit jealous, her heart had nearly swelled out of her chest.

  That she knew of, it was the first time any man had ever been jealous with regard to her. It was...an odd feeling, both powerful and a bit frightening, to see that possession cross his face, the dangerous glint in his eyes.

  And arousing. Definitely that.

  Walking along with a handsome man, holding hands as they strolled the smaller streets of downtown and the Lower West Side, was like something from one of the New York City movies she watched over and over again.

  The evening was still warm and humid, but there was a breeze that filtered through, making their stroll a pleasant one. They stopped by a small park and sat on a bench, enjoying the cooler evening with others who were doing the same outside their small apartments. As they sat, Gabe rubbed his thumb on the nape of her neck, which made her feel much warmer.

  A short time later, they walked closer to the center of the city and ducked into the Empire State Building, which Gabe said he’d never visited. Della was thrilled to be able to be the tour guide, showing him some of her favorite neighborhoods and sights. As they rode the elevator up to the observation deck, a ripple of excitement ran through her.

  “I never get tired of the view here. I love this city, and the deck shouldn’t be too crowded this time of night.”

  “I can’t wait,” he said, pulling her up close against him and nuzzling her ear.

  She turned into him, ignoring the few other people in the car who were not paying attention anyway, and pressed her lips to his throat at the opening of his shirt.

  Della watched the pulse there pick up, and smiled. She was feeling bold, encouraged by his openness, and he didn’t seem to mind one bit. Then the doors behind her opened up, and she stepped back, her smile widening.

  “Here we go!” she said, taking his hand and pulling him out through the small shop and onto the deck.

  The city sprawled out before them. Together, they went to the least crowded spot on the deck, which wasn’t very busy anyway. It was like they had the entire place and the entire city, to themselves.

  They stood side by side as she pointed out various features of the city, and one of her favorites, the water towers that supplied water to so many of the buildings.

  She felt closer to Gabe after his revelation—being jealous meant he had to have some feelings for her, right?—and that changed everything, as did his willingness to walk along with her through the city. He wasn’t only going along with her for sex. He seemed to really enjoy spending time with her. Della supposed it was true, that women really did need an emotional connection to a man they were sleeping with, even when it was only a fling.

  “It’s really beautiful. I’ve always known it was, but I never really took the time to look,” he said, staring out over the lights and the city landscape. Then he looked down at her. “Thank you,” he said.

  Something about the expression on his face, and his tone, touched her. As if he hadn’t experienced enough of what was beautiful in life, and had perhaps forgotten that it was there.

  “My place is about five miles in that direction,” she said, pointing.

  He walked her back into the corner of the metal fencing, and lowered for a kiss that quickly became hot and left her wanting more when he pulled away.

  “Time to go, then?” he asked, sounding somewhat raspy himself.

  “Absolutely.”

  The tone of his voice and heat in his gaze made every nerve ending in her body tingle. And Della knew that was only the beginning.

  They made their way back down to the ground floor, and as they walked out onto the sidewalk, nearly collided with a couple heading inside.

  “Della! What are you doing down here?”

  Della refocused, and then smiled, accepting the hugs from Chloe and Justin as they stood on the walk.

  “We were just out for a stroll.”

  “And this is?” Chloe said, sliding her gaze and a beaming smile at Gabe.

  “Chloe Brown, this is Gabe Ross. Gabe, this is my friend Chloe, and her fiancé, Justin Nelson.”

  Gabe stepped in, offering a smile in return and shaking hands with her friends. Della watched his expression change, becoming less open, though still pleasant. Generic. The heat, passion and light that had been there only seconds before completely disappeared, as if he had donned a mask.

  It was fascinating and disconcerting all at once, to see him draw back in so effectively. It also made her realize how open he had been with her.

  “You should come out for coffee with us. The night is young,” Chloe exclaimed with her classic exuberance. “We won’t take no for an answer.”

  “But weren’t you going up?”

  Chloe waved her off. “We were getting some air and thought we’d go up, but you know we’ve seen it a million times. I’d rather visit with you.”

  Della shared a helpless look with Gabe and sighed. Chloe was a force of nature.

  “I suppose an iced coffee would be nice,” she said, caving to her friend’s demands.

  Gabe only smiled briefly, and walked a short distance to a small Italian coffee shop where they all squeezed into a small booth, ordering their drinks.

  “So, Gabe, Della mentioned you were with Homeland Security. That has to be an exciting job,” Chloe said.

  Della could detect the slight stiffening in Gabe’s posture since they were sitting so close together in the booth. In fact, their hips and thighs were pressed tight against each other and Della found it distracting in the most lovely way.

  Impulsively, she slipped her foot out of her sandal and touched it to his ankle, nudging her foot up under the cuff of his slacks. That would help him relax a bit, she thought mischievously. He jumped slightly at the contact, and then cleared his throat before responding to Chloe.

  “That’s right, but it’s not very exciting, really. I’m involved mostly with logistics. It’s a lot of computer time, sitting at a desk. Lots of reports and meetings. None of the exciting stuff,” he lied as naturally as he smiled.

  Della knew why he had to do that, but she also found it disconcerting. She was regretting very much telling Chloe anything about Gabe.

  She cast him a concerned glance, but the smile he offered her was sincere. He draped his arm over the back of the narrow booth, sliding his fingers under her hair to rest on the nape of her neck. The weight of his hand there made her shiver with anticipation. It felt possessive and protective all at the same time.

  “Isn’t that always the way?” Chloe said, not seeming to notice the subtle seduction going on right across the table. “I worked as a model for a while in c
ollege, and everyone thought that was all glamour, but it wasn’t. Wearing layers of cosmetics, your hair so full of product that your head itches, but you can’t touch it, all while standing around for hours in front of hot cameras in uncomfortable shoes. I didn’t last a year,” she said with a shake of her head.

  “What did you end up doing?” Gabe asked as he lowered his arm again, setting it in his lap. Della missed the contact, and took a sip of her coffee, sliding him a look and licking her lips.

  His eyes flashed with something hot, and she looked down, smiling to herself.

  This was fun.

  “I work in the math and science department at Columbia, which is where Della and I met. I’m a full-time research assistant. I help professors like Della with their scholarly work, do some of the grunt work while they teach and write, that kind of thing.”

  “She makes it sound like nothing, but we’d be lost without her,” Della said warmly, offering her friend a smile. “And she has her doctorate in research methodology, so she does a lot more than the grunt work.”

  Justin had been quiet to this point, but that wasn’t unusual. Della liked him, but he was very reserved, typically observing more than he participated. Maybe that was why he and Chloe matched so well; they were completely opposite. “I’m a self-employed IT analyst,” he offered, breaking into the conversation. “I’m also a gun collector. What kind of weapon do you normally use on the job? I read that the P226 is standard, but do you get a choice of weapon?” Justin asked.

  Gabe shrugged. “I don’t carry for my job, but most guys I know are issued SIGs. They like them. A lot have their own personal weapon, of course. How many guns do you own?”

  Justin smiled. “Eighty-five, most of them antiques. All legal, don’t worry.”

  Gabe laughed. “Don’t worry, that’s not my wheelhouse, and I’m off-duty.”

  Della caught a breath as his hand slipped from the table to her thigh and slid upward, no doubt a signal for them to say their goodbyes. The feel of his touch, moving ever closer to the crease of her hip, was all the inducement she needed.