“Key? I, ah—oh!” Caitlin handed Hassan the key and turned back to Alex. “Where are we going?” she asked and smiled at him.
It was her first real, full-fledged smile. It was a very good thing she hadn’t really smiled before. Alex watched as two perfect dimples formed around her perfect mouth. Lushly pink mouth. Deliciously gorgeous mouth. Eminently kissable mouth. He remembered its taste perfectly.
She shouldn’t smile. It wasn’t fair, her having this perfect mouth that made him think of diving straight in.
Think about something else. Like…like her clothes. That was good.
Not good.
Caitlin’s dress was held up by little straps over the shoulders—her round, smooth, creamy-shade-of-pale shoulders. She couldn’t be wearing a bra. The bra straps would show under the spaghetti straps of the dress. And yet her breasts were full but high. How could that be if she wasn’t wearing a bra? Did she have on one of those strapless thingies? Because who had breasts like that? And how come he hadn’t noticed them before? Alex was a breast man, always had been, always would be. And these were spectacular on any scale.
In Alex’s experience, any woman with breasts like that liked to show them off. Caitlin’s had been lost in layers of clothing, which in his opinion was a real sin. It was like draping the Mona Lisa with sackcloth.
Alex pulled his mind back from contemplation of her breasts and realized she’d spoken. She’d said something about “going”? He seemed to have lost his place in the program.
“Out?” Caitlin looked up at him doubtfully. “Aren’t we going out to dinner?”
Dinner. He’d asked her out to dinner.
Get a grip, Alex told himself. Now.
It had been way too long since he’d taken a woman out to dinner. That was it. His moves, once bright and shiny from frequent and successful use, had turned rusty while he wasn’t looking. Eyeing a woman’s breasts, trying to figure out if she was wearing a bra right at the beginning of the evening was not a smooth move. He knew better than that. He knew what he had to do—make eye contact to reassure her and start acting like an adult, not a horny teenager.
Alex raised his eyes to hers—and was lost. They were so fucking beautiful. Huge behind the adorable, scholarly glasses, with lashes so long he wondered how she could keep her eyes open, and this incredible sky-blue color you could lose yourself in…
Alex gritted his teeth and vowed that he was going to get his rocks off just as soon as he could. Maybe he should beat off every night before going to sleep—because the no-sex zone he’d been living in was messing with his head, big time. Determined to keep his eyes off her breasts—and her legs and her mouth and her eyes—and to be a good dinner companion, Alex cupped her elbow, forgetting completely that this was going to be a no-touching dinner.
He’d cupped her elbow a couple of times, but she’d had a sweater or a jacket on. This time he was touching flesh. Delectable flesh…soft, smooth flesh… Alex shook his head again, trying to concentrate.
He’d planned on taking her to the Garden of Eatin’, or to a family style Tex-Mex cantina he knew. He’d planned on feeding her every night, though he’d had to skip last night because of a meeting. Good Samaritan Alex, that was him.
The thing was, anyone staying at the Carlton was seriously low on funds and the thought of her skimping on meals…well. Alex knew deep down in his bones what it was like to go without, to go hungry. A friend of Ray’s wouldn’t go hungry, not while he could do anything about it.
So there was this virtuous plan all set in his head…
First, take her to a fast-food family style place full of noisy families and no possibility whatsoever of an intimate conversation, where they’d have a quick bite.
Second, drive her back to the Carlton.
Third, make sure the room was secure.
And then fourth—leave, double-quick.
That and letting her interview his men went a long, long way toward paying his debt to Ray. And he’d let Ray know that too.
But then this poised, elegant beauty had stepped out of the elevator and he’d had to go immediately to Plan B.
The Garden and the cantina might be fine for Caitlin Summers, poor grad student, probably used to an evening meal of Ramen noodles or yogurt, but they would not do at all for this luscious, elegant young woman.
“Do you like Italian food?” Alex asked as they neared the car and he opened the passenger door for her, heroically not watching as her skirt rose inches above her knees as she got in.
“Italian, mmmm,” she said softly, looking him full in the face once he was behind the wheel, giving him another one of those double-whammy smiles. Her eyes were luminous in the glow of the dashboard. Some womanly scent chock full of pheromones wafted over from the passenger seat. He clutched the steering wheel hard. “Spaghetti à la marinara, veal piccata, spumoni…I love Italian.”
“I know a nice place downtown,” Alex said as he started the engine. “Let’s see if we can keep the marinara sauce off my trousers.”
“That’s not funny,” she said primly as he drove off.
* * * * *
It’s a nice place, Caitlin thought later, with nouvelle Mediterranean décor and a friendly, casual atmosphere. A collection of olive oil bottles, filled with what looked like top-quality extra virgin olive oil with a faint green tint, was ranged across one wall, a tile mural of a lemon grove on the other. Plants in enormous majolica vases were scattered around, providing privacy for the diners. Neapolitan rock came from discreet speakers hidden in the corners. A tiled counter separated the eating area from the kitchen, the source of mouthwatering smells wafting into the room.
It was warm, welcoming and unobtrusively, discreetly expensive. Not that in-your-face kind of expensive, with sober tuxedoed waiters standing around stiffly just waiting for you to use the wrong fork. Not at all. It was a place to have fun, eat well and spend a relaxing evening.
The waitstaff was young, friendly and numerous. The serving plates and stemware were beautiful. The food was creatively presented. Judging by the satisfied smiles of diners, everyone’s food was as good as it looked.
The whole place was intimate and romantic, pleasing to every sense. Caitlin’s heart thrummed to the luscious beat of the music.
Alex chose a banquette and sat next to her, instead of across from her, though she noticed with amusement that he chose seats facing the entrance, with their backs to the wall—just like a true cop.
Caitlin’s feeling that the restaurant was expensive was proved correct when she opened the oversized menu and saw that most of the entrées cost more than she spent on food in a week.
All her dates had been as broke as she was. Eating out with a date meant choosing the cheapest possible restaurant and scrutinizing the menu for the least expensive items.
She smiled to herself. Well, that part of her life was over. Maybe. With a little bit of luck.
Alex pinned her with his dark gaze. “You haven’t even eaten yet and you’re already smiling.”
Caitlin thought briefly of telling him that she’d been awarded the Frederiksson fellowship. But she hadn’t yet, actually. She only had Sam’s word on it. No, she would tell him if and when the announcement was made. But in the meantime, she could hug the prospect of good news to herself and feel uplifted.
“Everything looks so good,” she said.
“Everything is good.” Alex looked up at the server slipping a tray of warm bruschetta in front of them and nodded his thanks. The server, a pretty, tall, well-built brunette, grinned. She held the grin for just a second longer than was necessary, stood just inside his personal space and took a deep breath, showcasing an amazing set of assets. Her body language was very clear.
Ditch the wishy-washy blonde, buddy, and I’m yours. Let’s go out back and get it on.
Alex was much too astute not to catch that, but he handled it well, breaking off eye contact at exactly the right moment, leaning forward to push Caitlin’s plate closer, eyes con
necting with hers.
The message to the waitress was clear. Sorry, not tonight.
The smoothness with which he did it showed it was an automatic reflex. It was something he’d probably practiced every day of his life. He was a very handsome man, and she could tell he’d been a good-looking boy. He’d probably had to fend off dozens—hundreds!—of advances from women. Some subtle, some not-so-subtle. He’d perfected the art of the brush-off, and it had probably become so innate he hardly noticed it anymore.
Being sexually reticent herself, an observer by nature and training and not a doer, Caitlin had observed some amazing scenes from sexually adventurous women over the years. Just last week, she’d been in a bar with another TA drinking a beer when she’d seen a man walk up to a woman, introduce himself, then offer to buy her a drink. Within five minutes, the woman was fondling his crotch. Within six, they were gone.
Alex probably dealt with those kinds of situations daily, though not at work. She’d observed, and heard, that work for him was a very strict no-sex zone. Not that much was happening right now in his life outside work. Thanks to his colleagues at the station house, she got the impression that he didn’t have a private life, and considering his looks, his charisma, his overpowering maleness, that was entirely voluntary.
If she were a company, she’d send a memo to herself. Note—no way.
She had to remember all of this, even though he seemed to have some kind of magical sex key where she was concerned and had managed to give her an explosive orgasm she could almost still feel on her skin, in her bones. And he’d done it with his mouth and hand. She shuddered to think of other body parts coming into play. She’d fall into a billion pieces.
In every way there was, an affair with Alex Cruz was a no-no.
Wanting Alex Cruz was perfectly pointless. Like wanting a Mercedes Benz or wanting to be taller. Not going to happen.
She had to enjoy the evening for what it was and keep her eye on the main goal, her dissertation.
Alex poured her a glass of wine from the bottle of Merlot the server had uncorked. He hadn’t asked for either the wine or the bruschetta, so Caitlin could only assume that he came here often enough for his tastes to be known to the staff.
“I can recommend the tuna steak on a bed of pappardelle,” he said, confirming her thoughts.
It was the most expensive item on the menu, she was amused to note. Go for it, Caitlin told herself. “Sounds good.”
Alex gave their order and sipped the wine, an expression of pleasure crossing his face. He seemed utterly at ease, which somehow surprised her. She wouldn’t have thought of an elegant, high-end restaurant as Alex’s habitat.
Well, okay. He was at the top of the food chain and he carried that impression wherever he went. He would probably be equally at ease and dominant in a low-life dive or a royal palace. Nature had equipped him with the tools to prevail no matter what. She tried to think of him at a loss—and failed. Alex was the kind of man who knew what to do and how to do it in any kind of situation.
In bed, he probably—
Whoa! Don’t even go there.
Too late. She’d already gone. Whoosh—in an instant, straight into forbidden territory.
Totally unbidden, completely unwelcome images arose in her mind, full-blown, complete, like watching a movie. Alex’s dark face above her, eyes narrowed, intent gaze on hers, broad shoulders blocking out the light. Heavy body on hers, that amazingly large and thick penis she’d felt through his clothes, inside her, thrusting heavily…
Oh God.
She was exciting herself just thinking about it. One part of her was going haywire and the other part—the part that remained a scholar, a student of human nature—observed herself, partly amused, partly appalled.
She remembered every second of his kisses, how his five o’clock shadow had scraped deliciously across her cheeks as he angled his head this way and that to deepen the kisses. Kiss, actually. One. One kiss that never ended, that melted her bones, that lit up every cell in her body with heat and desire.
Amazing. Though her neurons had sputtered, she’d been aware every second that it had been entirely new territory for her, that her body had never had those sensations before and quite possibly never would again.
Immense heat prickling through her system, pooling in her breasts and between her legs. Skin so sensitive she could feel the air like a weight, his hands leaving electric sparks of pleasure wherever he touched. The world simply falling away, completely gone, as she concentrated on his mouth and hands on her.
The world falling away was not good. The world was big and bad and bit women who forgot the rules and lost their heads.
Caitlin squirmed for a second in her seat. The images of Alex’s kiss had come with sensory input and she could actually feel the swelling of the lips of her sex. It was like a small sun blossoming between her legs, so brightly she was surprised it didn’t generate light.
But just as her head could tell her body to forget about tiredness and hunger and lack of sleep, her head now told her body to wipe out those delicious sensations and allowed her to morph back into her serious, professional persona.
It took more effort than she liked.
The food arrived. The waitress had received the message loud and clear that Alex wasn’t on the market, and placed the plates in front of them with an impersonal smile, angling now for a generous tip rather than Alex’s body.
The smells coming off the plates were delicious, perfect. A million miles away from her usual crap fare. Lately, lack of time had been added to her chronic lack of money and she’d subsisted on yogurt and sandwiches these past few weeks.
Ah, her life was changing in so many ways, all of them good. She resolved to enjoy this evening and keep a tight rein on her reactions to the extremely powerful and extremely sexy man sitting next to her.
“Eat,” he said, “and I’ll tell you how the mayor got his nickname, The Lizard.”
She looked at him, amused. How wonderful to get inside gossip. “Not because he has that leathery salon tan?”
“No, it involves a truck, a mistress and a hundred thousand dollars.”
“One of those things you can’t make up?”
“Absolutely.”
It was a shaggy dog story, long, convoluted, funny. It saw her through the tuna and pappardelle, the pear and arugula salad with balsamic vinegar, and several bites of Alex’s twelve-ounce bistecca fiorentina that he insisted she try.
It was delicious. He was delicious, perfect.
Oh God.
Caitlin had simply assumed that Alex Cruz was a job-obsessed monomaniac and that the police station was his natural habitat. He’d looked so at home there, with basically the whole station house at his beck and call. King of all he surveyed.
A one-dimensional man, even one as preternaturally sexy and attractive as Alex, was easy to resist in the long run. Monomaniacs are notoriously humor-challenged, devoid of all irony. Bad conversationalists, self-obsessed.
She’d dated her share of them, though to be honest, her type of monomaniac was usually an academic with an unholy interest in Tibetan literature or Italian opera buffa or Dutch voting patterns.
Though in theory she liked men, she did have to admit that they could be monumentally boring, and she’d expected Alex to be no different from the rest of his gender, only sexier than most. Happy only in one place, doing one thing.
And yet here he was, perfectly at home in this trendy, upscale eatery. Making light, fascinating conversation. Suave and urbane. So attractive it should be illegal.
This was so not good. Caitlin had never felt such a powerful, magnetic attraction to a man before. She hadn’t even known she was capable of it. Last night’s kiss and explosive climax was way off her radar. It was hard enough to keep her cool around him and not melt into a puddle at his feet when she thought he was just a tough, hard-assed cop. Good-looking, okay, that was a given—but horrifically lousy relationship material. A man who, out of bed, wo
uld bore her to death in the long run. That man was no temptation at all, other than sexual, though God knew that was bad enough.
Who knew sex was high on her list of priorities? It was news to her. If Caitlin had to list things that gave her pleasure, sex would probably be embarrassingly low on the list. Well, considering what her sex life had been up until now, finding a new library archive was infinitely more exciting than going to bed with William Trudloe or Marvin the Unreliable. But there it was, a statistical outlier—her treacherous body had lit up like a Christmas tree the instant Alex had touched her.
A worldly, sophisticated, entertaining Alex was truly frightening because he made her yearn. A worldly, sophisticated, entertaining sex god was guaranteed to ruin her for other men forever.
Caitlin made it a point not to yearn after what she couldn’t have. She was really good at it because she’d had a lot of practice. Over the past few years, she’d watched high school and college friends get jobs and start rising through the ranks of life. Most of her nonacademic friends owned their own homes, bought designer clothes, drove fancy cars, ate at restaurants reviewed in newspapers and went on vacations to exotic places. Caitlin had known when she opted for the academic life that these things would be hers only later in life, if ever.
They’d also gotten engaged and then married. Or at least settled into steady relationships. She rarely admitted to herself how much it hurt to watch friends pairing up, while she seemed so relentlessly…alone all the time.
So it was a very good thing she’d decided early on in her career that she wasn’t going to pine after the unobtainable.
Wanting a real relationship with Alex Cruz would break her heart. After last night, she’d factored in that they might have an affair if her willpower suddenly decided to take a hike. It wasn’t very professional, but then she’d only have to deal with him professionally for another week or so. It wasn’t as if he were a colleague or someone she’d have to work with on a steady basis, which would be a real no-no.
So, yes, if she had to be honest with herself, hot sex for the first time in her life sounded really, really good. They’d have fantastic sex and then part ways without any complications. That was the plan that had been brewing deep in her subconscious and was now beginning to percolate upward.
A Fine Specimen Page 8