by Nancy Warren
Leaving her face free of makeup, she pulled a brush through her hair and swiftly dressed in jeans and a T-shirt before going back to face The Sister.
Tanya had polished off her sandwich by the time Sophie returned and was sitting, apparently at ease, with her wine. But there was a puzzled expression on her face when they were once again facing each other, and her sharp gaze searched Sophie as though seeing her for the first time, which, in a way, she was. “You went into the guest room. Was that for my benefit?”
She hadn’t even thought about how odd that would appear to Tanya. “No. I’m staying there.” She huffed out a breath and picked up her own wine. “Look. I don’t know how much I’m supposed to tell you, but Blake’s and my association is…professional.”
“I’m guessing you’re not a hooker.”
At Sophie’s indignant splutter of protest, she grinned. “You’re a cop?”
Oh, the hell with it. If Blake hadn’t wanted her to tell his sister anything, he should have warned her the woman had a key to his apartment. “I’m the human resources director for a bank. I’ve had some…um…problems. Blake’s been assigned to the case. If you want to know anything else, you’ll have to ask him.”
“So you’re not sleeping with him?” The patent disbelief mixed with indignation in her tone had Sophie doing the grinning this time. She knew where The Sister was coming from. When you thought your own brother was God’s gift to womankind, it was tough to imagine any woman not wanting him.
“No. I’m not sleeping with him. We just have sex.”
“Excuse me?”
Sophie rose. “I should do these dishes before—”
“Sit!”
She squeezed her eyes shut in the vain hope that she could open them and find Tanya had been a figment of her imagination. A bad dream. A demon from her subconscious. But when she opened them, the woman was still there, looking determined to yank all Sophie’s secrets out of her, by torture if necessary.
“Your brother’s a very…well, we’re attracted to each other. And we’ve got carried away a few times.” Under-statement of the century. “But we’re trying to keep the relationship casual.”
She glanced up, hoping to see female understanding in Tanya’s eyes, but all she saw was puzzlement. There was hostility, too, but she was obviously holding it at bay until she got the whole story. And she might be the absolute worst person in the world to unload to, but Sophie realized she desperately wanted to unload to someone.
“You see, I have this policy of not sleeping with men I work with. I think that’s only professional, don’t you?”
“Sure. But my brother’s not a banker. He’s a cop.”
Sophie sighed noisily. “That’s how he sees it, too. But right now…well, it’s complicated. And I’m no good at relationships. I always screw them up. So I stopped having them.”
“You stopped having relationships?” The woman looked as though she was struggling to keep up.
“Right. I was engaged twice but I couldn’t go through with it. It’s like—I don’t know—I felt like I was getting trapped by these men into a marriage I didn’t want. I couldn’t breathe.” She huffed with noisy indignation. “Everybody else in the world seems to have casual sex with no problem, but with me, they always fall in love and want to get married.”
“Maybe you haven’t found the right man yet?”
“Or maybe I’m not meant for it. The trouble is, I love sex. I really love it. Before Blake, I had a long-distance thing with this guy in San Francisco. I thought that would be perfect. Long distance, snatched weekends—could my intentions be any more clear?”
“What happened?”
“He proposed.”
“You can’t trust men. What about Blake? Is he in love with you?”
The question took her aback. “Oh, no. He’s not that kind of guy. He’s like me. Well, he thinks I’m an idiot to sleep in the guest room, but he’s dealing with it. No. He’s not in love with me. He only wants to protect me to death.”
An earthy chuckle caused her to glance sharply at Tanya. “What?”
“I think things are going to get very interesting.” She smoothed a perfectly manicured hand down her thigh. “So, when is my adorable brother expected back?”
“About five. We’re going to the opera.”
The other woman’s brows rose. “Is he forcing you at gunpoint?”
She laughed. “No. I love opera.”
The smile on Tanya’s face had a distinctly smug edge. “Well, well. I might just have to stick around for a while.”
At the words, Sophie gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh. You sleep in the guest room when you’re in town. I forgot. Look. I’ll move my stuff out and sleep on the couch. And I know that was your mask. I was planning to replace it.”
Tanya stuck her hand in the air like a referee. “Forget it. I’ve already booked into a hotel. I’m doing some business while I’m out here. It’s easier from a hotel. Really.”
Of course Sophie didn’t believe her. But she knew she’d do the same if she waltzed in to her brother’s place and found another woman staying there. She ought to be the one going to a hotel. She’d discuss it with Blake when he returned.
“I’m staying at the Waterfront. Tell the rat to call me.”
“Are you sure you won’t stay?”
Tanya rose, in one elegantly fluid move. “Positive. That was a great sandwich. It was…interesting meeting you.”
Sophie couldn’t hold back her chuckle, part mortification and part genuine amusement at the woman’s dry humor. “Sorry about the knife.”
“No problem. Oh, I know he’s a slob most of the time, but Blake treats a trip to the opera like a personal audience with God. Make sure you dress.” Tanya narrowed her eyes and perused Sophie from head to toe. “Your boobs are bigger, but other than that we’re probably about the same size. Help yourself to anything in the closet.”
“Thanks. But I bought a dress.” A real smasher, too. She had no idea why, she’d simply wanted to spend one over-the-top night without worry or stress, enjoying Blake’s company, and Wagner. She could hardly wait. The dress was simple, but devastatingly elegant. She’d taken one shocked peek at the price and shoved her credit card at the saleswoman.
“Ooh. Can I see?”
Feeling girlishly excited, Sophie nodded.
“Put it on.”
So she did. Sighing with pleasure when the silky black fabric caressed her skin as she slipped it over her head. The neckline didn’t plunge, but it hovered on the brink, with a generous hint of breast on display. The fabric lovingly outlined her curves, ending in a flirty flared cocktail length.
“Oh, it’s fabulous. Where did you get it?”
They launched into an instant female bonding routine as they exchanged favorite stores and designers. Watching its effect on his sister, Sophie could only imagine Blake’s reaction to the dress. She felt feminine and desirable, and the way the fabric teased her flesh when she moved, she had a feeling it would turn her on just wearing it. In combination with sitting next to Blake and listening to opera… Mmm.
Tanya took a slow turn around Sophie, looking like a very critical—and young—fairy godmother. “What about jewelry?”
She hadn’t told Tanya about her apartment blowing up, so she said, “I picked up some chunky costume stuff. Want to see?”
Tanya shook her head slowly, then said, “Wait here,” and ran out of the room.
Sophie heard a zipper being opened in the front hallway. She’d been right, then. His sister had planned to stay. Tanya returned with a small leather jewelry case. She opened it and pulled out diamond-and-ruby drop earrings and a matching necklace of webbed gold studded with diamonds and rubies.
“Oh, how gorgeous.”
“Try them on. I think they’ll be perfect with that dress.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t. What if I lost them?”
“They’re insured. And with Blake beside you, nobody would dare steal them.�
��
Even as she hesitated, Tanya was fastening the necklace and holding the earrings out to her. The gold felt cool as it settled onto her chest, but soon warmed. She walked to the mirror in the guest room and Blake’s sister followed. Once she had the earrings in place, they both considered her reflection in the mirror.
“Perfect,” said Tanya, echoing her own thought.
She touched the necklace with gentle fingertips. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Look, I’ve got to run, and you’ve got to get ready. Have a great time.”
On impulse, Sophie hugged Tanya. “Thanks.”
“Oh, one other thing.”
“Yes?”
“Ditch the panties. The lines show through the dress.”
16
“HEY, SOPHIE. SORRY, I’m late, but I have a surprise for you,” Blake called cheerfully as he came in the door, hanging his dry cleaning in the hall closet so he had his hands free to kiss Sophie. Thinking how nice it was to have her there.
“I have a surprise for you, too.”
“I got my cast off.”
“I got a new dress.”
They spoke at the same time. He emerged into the living area as she stepped into it from the direction of the guest room.
“You got your cast off? That’s great. Did it hurt?”
He could only stand and stare. Answers, conversation, thought of any kind was suspended. Oh, the synapses were firing all right, but he imagined them in a riot, making a fireworks display of his brain as he reacted to the sight of Sophie looking like his personal sex goddess, every glorious curve of her glorious body touched and teased by a dress that only made him impatient to strip it right off her.
“Blake?”
There was a time for words, and a time for action. Since Blake currently had no words more recent than Paleolithic-man grunts, he settled on action. In two strides he was in front of her, pulling her to him so he could kiss her.
He felt the air leave her body as he brought her close, his blood so hot he feared he’d scorch her. But after the first huff of surprise, she responded in kind, answering his plundering tongue with her own as they stole each other’s breath, tasting, lapping, needing more. Needing to be closer.
He feasted on her, nipping, biting, sucking at her lips, her tongue while the need to take her beat inside him. He grabbed her butt and pulled her hard against his pulsing erection.
She moaned, deep in her throat, and he felt her heat even through his old tearaway pants and her new dress. He angled his hips to nudge at that warmest spot of all. “The opera,” she gasped, sounding like a drowning woman coming up for the third and last time.
Probably no two other words could have stopped him.
The opera was Wagner. Tristan and Isolde, star-crossed lovers who died in each other’s arms. He felt a sudden kinship. To call him and Sophie star-crossed would be a gross exaggeration, but their path wasn’t a smooth one, either.
There were obstacles. A gang of international criminals were easily as threatening to true love as any operatic squabble. He would protect Sophie, whatever it took, but there was yet another obstacle between them. Her own skittishness. As long as she kept up the pretense that they weren’t emotionally involved, there was no future for them.
The irony wasn’t lost on him. Normally he’d be over the friggin’ moon to have a free-spirited, sexy woman giving him some of the hottest sex of his life then pretending the whole thing had never happened.
It was your basic guy’s wet dream. No “we have to talk,” no hints about the future, no ticking biological clock. She only wanted him for sex.
So how crazy was it that he found himself thinking about the future, wondering how long this thing would last before their hot passion cooled, or they ran out of places other than the bedroom to have sex.
He shrugged. He wasn’t a man to turn away from something this great. But sometimes he wondered…
Tonight, all he was wondering, with hot anticipation, was whether she’d go along with the surprise he’d planned.
Would she let him combine his two greatest loves? Sex and opera?
He took a shaky step away from her, knowing it was his last chance. If he didn’t get his hands off her right now, they wouldn’t be seeing any opera. Maybe if he could hoist her off those ridiculous heels and march her into his bed, he’d say to hell with Tristan and Isolde. But he’d made the most stupid bargain of his life and he tried to be a man of his word.
If he couldn’t have sex with Sophie in his bed, he’d go with his original plan. Or give it his damnedest.
He was on his way to the shower. An icy one if he had any chance of getting out of this apartment in the next hour. But first, he leaned closer to her, not close enough to touch, which would have been the end of him, merely close enough to whisper in her ear. She wore perfume tonight. He didn’t ever recall her doing so before. It was so subtle, he could only smell it when he put his face mere inches away from her. “I have a surprise planned for later.”
He pulled away to look at her face and her expression was sexy and mischievous. “I love surprises.”
Then he took off for that cold shower.
His first shower since he’d broken his leg—just his luck it would have to be a cold one. Not even frigid water pounding against his skin could cool his blood. He tried to focus, not on the dress that made him think of Sophie’s beautiful body naked, but on the opera. The music began to swell in his head. Without conscious effort, his brain downloaded the Liebestod, the wonderful, passionate aria from the final act.
He felt it build inside his head, mounting like a woman’s passion, growing in intensity, the focus shifting inward as she sang of a love so great it could cross any barrier, of the—
His eyes flew open. It was like a five-minute long vocal orgasm.
He climbed out of the shower, dried swiftly then shaved, brushed his teeth and dashed to his room to dress. For her.
She deserved a tux, but he didn’t own one. He put on the Hugo Boss suit his sister had appropriately bossed him into purchasing with one of the shirts she’d had specially made for him as a Christmas gift and added a wild tie in Popsicle-colored stripes that made him feel less Wall Street.
He’d planned this evening carefully, and he couldn’t wait to get started. The seats were the best. The champagne would already be chilling when they reached the restaurant, and, since he never allowed himself to drink and drive, he’d ordered a car. Well, a limo actually, but what was the point of a healthy investment portfolio if you never indulged? Most of his likes were simple. But a night at the opera—not to mention a night with Sophie—cried out for decadence.
Her eyes widened when he emerged to find her comfortably lounging on his couch, feet curled beneath her. “Wow,” she said. “You clean up good.”
He had a view down the top of her dress that made him swallow before he drooled.
Fortunately, at that moment the telephone rang to say his car was waiting. “Shall we?” He extended his hand to her and she placed hers in his palm.
She didn’t comment on the limo, beyond shooting him a glance from under her lashes. Did she think this was his surprise? Humping in the back of a limo? Well, it could be fun, but not tonight. Tonight he’d already made his choice.
THE LIMO SMELLED OF leather and the seat was cool beneath her, reminding her she wore no panties beneath her dress. She considered leaning over to whisper the fact in Blake’s ear, but she had a sneaking suspicion he’d find out for himself before the night ended.
She settled back against the upholstery and he took her hand, holding it idly on his thigh, their fingers linked.
She stared at their two hands, hers pale and slim in contrast to his darker, sturdier one.
“How’s your leg?”
He admitted it was a little stiff and he was already scheduled for physical therapy, but he was happy to have the cast off. She could see for herself his movement was much freer and her thoughts turned immediately lustfu
l as she considered how much more mobile he now was.
It wasn’t only lust, though. Here they were on a date. She could pretend the sex they’d shared didn’t count, but no way a night on the town complete with limo and tickets to the opera could be considered anything but a date.
She glanced at him under her lashes and caught his gaze on her, so hot she was surprised her dress didn’t scorch.
He opened his mouth and she tensed, waiting for some provocative suggestion, but he said, “Do you know the story of Tristan and Isolde?”
“Let’s see.” She tried to remember. “Tristan’s escorting Isolde to marry his king. They start out hating each other, but fall in love. His duty and somebody’s treachery separate them. They’re reunited in the end, but they both die. Isn’t that it?”
His voice quivered with humor. “In a nutshell. There’s this one aria in the final act that gets me every time. It builds slowly as the soprano sings of her passion.” His eyes darkened and his voice grew husky. She could swear it was playing right now in his head, she knew the piece, heard it begin to play inside her own head. His fingers tightened on hers. Did he even realize it? “It builds and builds until this kind of sweeping intensity takes over and you can feel the entire audience being swept up in it and finally, when you think you can’t take anymore, the wave crests and crashes, and slowly subsides. It’s like an unbelievable orgasm.”
She smiled, her eyes half-closed, listening to the music in her head and hearing his interpretation of it, feeling so aroused, she crossed her legs, only to be reminded of her pantyless state.
“The Liebestod,” she said.
“You know it.”
“It always makes me cry.”
They’d reached the opera house by this time, and Blake helped her out, while the uniformed driver held the door. The driver handed Blake a printed card. “Call me, sir, when you’re ready to be picked up.”
Then they were inside the plush opera house, and some of the tension she’d been carrying night and day since she overheard that fateful phone call dissipated as she gazed at the opulent theatre with its chandeliers and red-and-gold decor. Patrons milled around, some sipping drinks and wearing ballgowns and tuxes, some in jeans and hiking boots.