by Joanne Rock
She needed to change the subject—fast.
“Rhonda was just asking me about my next collection,” she told him, rambling. “She must know a lot about fashion to be familiar with my designs. And I’ll bet that jacket she’s wearing won’t be available in ready-to-wear for another year at least.”
Duke punched in a few commands on the computer, inciting John Wayne to take one final puff of his cigar before the screen faded to black. “The Garment District is Rhonda’s beat. She makes it her business to know everything that happens there.”
He snagged a ring of keys out of a desk drawer, unaware his words had just utterly deflated Amanda’s hopes that she was making headway in her career.
“She sort of keeps an eye on some of the designers—” Duke’s gaze darted to hers.
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.
“Like my father? How many other designers were suspected criminals?”
Duke shrugged. “Designers lead very public lives, and sometimes that causes problems. Tabloid reporters loiter around the showrooms, the jet-crowd attracts drugs dealers hoping to make big bucks...lots of things.”
Amanda nodded. Her good mood vanished, but her determination to confront her father about his unscrupulous friends had just kicked into overdrive.
She wouldn’t lead a life under suspicion and she wasn’t going to be accused of guilt by association.
Duke Rawlins might be a brash, flashy guy, but at least he lived a life full of honor. Amanda wanted that kind of respectability, and she knew exactly how to get it.
By this time tomorrow, she’d be having a serious heart-to-heart with her father. And sooner or later, he would run out of arias to sing and he would have to listen to her.
She wasn’t going to live in anyone’s shadow anymore.
And for tonight, she intended to step into the limelight with Duke Rawlins as an audience.
12
DUKE CONSIDERED HIMSELF a “people person.” Part of what made him a good cop was his ability to read someone else, an emotional sensitivity that made him alert to others’ thoughts and moods.
But he had no idea what Amanda was thinking tonight.
He knew she could be open and down-to-earth—he had seen those qualities in her the day they bought out the vendors on Canal Street. Now, however, her reserved side seemed to have taken charge. She reminded him of the trench coat-clenching beauty he’d met at Gallagher’s apartment, the untouchable mob princess and socialite he ought to avoid.
But that didn’t stop him from feeling like he’d won a big victory today by convincing her to agree to dinner.
Duke downshifted his pickup truck as traffic slowed on the Manhattan Bridge. Thousands of other people were leaving the city at the same time, seeking their homes in Brooklyn and beyond.
“Is it like this every day?” Amanda asked, breaking the silence she’d maintained since they’d left the precinct.
She looked elegant and out of place in his truck. Her slim black skirt and oversize white men’s shirt were simple enough, but Amanda had a way of wearing clothes that made her stand out. A gold pin in the shape of a dragon held her blouse together instead of buttons. She’d wrapped and tucked the tails of the shirt in such a way that she had plenty to cover her, but Duke couldn’t help but think the whole ensemble would fall to her feet if he vanquished that dragon.
Not that he had any intention of trying.
Yet.
“Yeah. For me, it’s worth it. I like leaving the city behind every night.”
Amanda peered out the window at the East River. “Are you a native New Yorker, Duke?”
The question gave him his first clue to her mindset in the last hour. He didn’t make it a habit of talking about himself, but she had told him she wanted to take it slow when she agreed to see him again.
That meant that they needed to get to know one another better.
“I’m from the suburbs of Cincinnati.” Knowing that probably wouldn’t suffice, he offered up a little more. “My grandfather was a cop in Cincinnati and I wanted to follow in his footsteps. Of course, when I was young and stupid, I figured I’d be doing even better if I fought crime in the Big Apple, so I moved here.”
“Do you regret it?”
“Hell, no. I love New York. It’s like the whole world squeezed into a few square miles.” He stole a glance across the truck cab to find her watching him intently. “I just meant to say I came here for the wrong reasons. I wanted to impress my granddad by working here, but I didn’t realize for a few years that fighting crime here is pretty much the same as anywhere else. The crimes are just as frightening, human nature is just as unstable.”
“You grew to like New York, but you see now that you could have remained closer to home?”
“I grew to like it, but I hope I didn’t insult my grandfather’s career by implying I was doing something bigger and better.” He rounded the block to his house. “The restaurant is two streets over, but do you mind if I make a quick stop at my place first to change?”
She cast him a skeptical look. “Do you live far from here?”
He pulled into his driveway and pointed up at the big brownstone, but left the truck running. “Right here. But I understand if you’d rather not come in. I can be back in two minutes.”
“You live here?” She blinked up at the house.
Duke looked up at the neat brick building, wondering what his simple home looked like through her eyes. “I’ve got three on this block. I rent out two of them, but this one is mine. It’s not finished inside, but it’s—”
“May I see it?”
“Sure.” He answered too quickly, not taking time to think about the ramifications of Amanda Matthews strutting her sexy walk through his house. She’d paint his hallways and imagination with enough fantasies to torment him all year.
Lucky for him he was a gentleman, damn it. He could handle a taste of temptation.
Killing the ignition, Duke jumped out and walked around the truck to offer her his arm. He refused to notice the way her skirt hitched up her thigh, offering a tantalizing glimpse of the honest-to-goodness stockings she wore.
The first fantasy already appeared, fully formed in his mind. It involved the truck’s bench seat and a very unimpeded view of those stockings. Not that he would ever act on it.
Good cops were very proficient at being gentlemen, right?
“You’ll like it,” he informed her, talking just to distract himself.
He led her up the steps to the front door, already brainstorming ideas about how to treat her to a romantic evening. He had a bottle of great wine, if she was interested. And he could even show her the stars, if only she would let him.
Crossing his fingers for some of his luck to help him out, Duke scrounged for whatever charm he could muster. “It’s got a showroom all its own, too.”
Her curiosity piqued, Amanda followed him.
She sniffed the fragrant potted flowers in an urn on the brick handrail and wondered if he had planted them himself. She found it hard to envision the detective in gardening gloves, but she had to admit the combination of bright blue, purple and yellow flowers looked like something Duke would dream up.
No red geraniums for this man.
“Come on in.” He flashed her a grin that made her think of spending all day in bed as he held the door for her.
As she sidled by him into the house, Amanda remembered that first time he’d held a door for her, when she’d been wearing next to nothing beneath her coat.
She’d thought her reaction to him had been strong back then, but she’d never imagined her longing for him would grow to the proportions that weakened her knees now.
If she hadn’t been so committed to taking her time tonight, Amanda would probably already be kissing him senseless right now.
“Let me grab a couple of drinks, and then I’ll show you the surprise.” He tossed his keys on a curio cabinet in the foyer. “Make yourself at home.”
; Amanda wandered into the living room, charmed by the warm polished wood gleaming on the floor, on the wainscoting, in the ceiling molding. The patterned rugs, and elegantly mismatched furniture all used bright color. The deep flame color of the walls above the wainscoting wasn’t gaudy, merely rich and warm.
“Don’t tell me you decorated this place.” She’d be a little disheartened if a New York detective could turn out this kind of decorating scheme when she couldn’t manage to give her loft anything more than a couple of photos on the walls.
Duke returned with two glasses of wine and handed one to her. “You think I couldn’t do it?”
“I don’t know what I think, but you can bet I’d beg you to come work for me as a style consultant if you could pull this off.” She sipped her wine. Smooth and warm, it held just the right finish without being too sweet or too dry. She smiled to think that, for all of Victor’s snooty manners with the sommeliers of New York’s fashionable restaurants, he’d never found her a wine this good.
Duke Rawlins was turning out to be full of surprises tonight.
“Actually, after I did all the woodwork, I scanned through a few back issues of Architectural Digest and pretty much ordered the room straight out of a photograph.” He nodded toward the staircase. “Don’t be too impressed. The rest of the house is a mess, and it will probably take me the next ten years to bring it up to speed with this room.”
Amanda was comforted to see he spoke the truth. The other rooms in the brownstone looked more like Amanda’s loft—scattered and disorganized, crowded with the stuff of his hobbies. Instead of fabric bolts and mannequins, Duke’s home overflowed with saws and sawhorses, paintbrushes and ladders.
After an abbreviated tour of the other floors, Duke led her up a third flight of steps and then shoved open a heavy door to the roof.
Amanda had been on the roof of her building before, and although the sights were interesting, the atmosphere of heating and air-conditioning units still made it a drab place to visit.
Not here.
A teakwood arbor and Adirondack chairs nestled in one corner of the roof, surrounded by potted trees and bushes. At the other end, a grapevine archway spanned a picnic table, all but hiding it from sight.
But the best part of the rooftop was the view.
Manhattan loomed on the other side of the East River, illuminated by the perpetual glow of streetlights and office lights. Night had fallen while they’d been touring Duke’s house, and by now the sun was long set.
Raindrops lingered on every surface, hinting they’d missed a spring shower.
“It’s incredible.” Amanda walked to the edge of the roof to stare out at the skyline. “The city looks so glamorous from here.”
“Glitzy on the outside, but lots of substance on the inside.” Duke joined her, resting his wineglass on the low brick wall that ringed the rooftop. “Sounds like a woman I know.”
He stood close enough to touch, his silver tiepin winking at her in the moonlight. It would be so easy to reach out to him, to run her lips along that granite jaw of his and forget all about her plans to get to know him better.
But she was determined to take bigger risks tonight.
“How do you know I’m not all about glitz and glamour?” She sipped her wine, foolishly hoping to find fortification in the mellow drink. “I’ve worked my tail off to create an image based on those very concepts.”
“That’s Amanda Matthews the designer, not Amanda the woman.”
The damp night air blew between them, lifting Duke’s tie and causing Amanda’s blouse to billow gently around her body.
“They’re one and the same.” Awareness kicked through her as he neared, heating her skin and tingling through her veins.
“No they’re not.” He lifted her wineglass out of her hand and set it to rest near his on the low brick wall. “I went on a date with the woman, but I’m pretty sure it’s been the designer who has been giving me the cold shoulder for the past few weeks.”
Duke didn’t want to rush her.
She’d said they needed to get to know one another better and he planned to make sure they did just that. He wouldn’t take advantage of the moonlight to kiss her, no matter how much she tempted him.
She looked out at the Manhattan skyline again, but he could tell by the quick, shallow rhythm of her breathing that she wasn’t unaffected by his nearness.
The notion teased his senses, making him wonder how long he could keep his hands off her if they remained here.
“Maybe I rely on my professional self to be strong,” she mused out loud. “The fashion world is fiercely competitive. I guess I’ve had to adapt a certain attitude to hold my own.” She turned back to him, her brown eyes reflecting the city lights. “They would have eaten me alive long ago if I ever let them see the real me.”
Duke nodded. “Please say the real you is the one who knows the whole Mets roster and likes llamas.”
“That would be me.” She laughed. “I’ve never actually been to a Mets game. I ended up forming an attachment to the team because my father steals the style section of the paper every day. I’m stuck with sports or the front page, and since I refuse to read about murders and robberies, I started searching for sports news that would interest me.”
“So you just chose the Mets out of thin air?”
Her grin was sheepish. “Their uniform colors were more interesting than the Yankees’ blue and white.”
“You realize that would be like me saying I liked the Amanda Matthews collection because the designer is a knockout, right?”
“A little insulting?” As the wind tossed her hair around her shoulders, Amanda tucked a few strands behind one ear.
He edged closer, unable to keep his hands off her another minute. Brushing his fingers over her arms, he lured her forward to close the remaining distance between them. “Come to Shea Stadium with me next week and we’ll make you a fan for real.”
“Will there be a next week?” Her unblinking gaze fixed him.
“I want there to be.” He knew that much for sure. He didn’t know what the future would bring for her father, however, and the shadow of Clyde Matthews and his mob connections still loomed between them.
But he didn’t want to think about Matthews or his criminal friends right now.
She nodded as if content with their silent agreement not to talk about it. “So do I.”
He wanted to kiss her.
He wanted to haul her into his arms and run like hell for his bedroom, but he wouldn’t.
In a strangled voice he barely recognized, he prompted, “Maybe we should go have some dinner?”
He needed to get out of here if he wanted to continue in the gentleman vein.
But instead of answering, she used her pink-painted fingernails to scrape down the front of his chest just then.
Sparks flew from her touch, painting a trail of fire toward his…
She stopped too soon, teasing him with her fumbling fingers a few inches above his waist. “Maybe we ought to wait a little while.”
He propped an eye open that he hadn’t realized he’d closed and discovered her unfastening his tiepin. If this was her subtle payback for his walking away from her, it sure as hell was working.
He gulped for a breath of air and tried not to touch her. She needed, wanted, to be in control this time, and he could respect that.
He just didn’t know if he’d survive it.
She sheathed the pin and deposited it in his pants pocket before walking her fingers up his chest again.
Tension locked up every last inch of him. Maybe even a couple of extra inches, judging by the way his erection strained against her. “Honey, I don’t know how much torment I can take. I’ve been thinking about you for weeks.”
Slowly, she unknotted his tie and slid the silk back and forth over the collar of his shirt. A wicked gleam lit her eyes more than the city lights. “You deserve the torment after the way you ran out on me.”
He groaned at the thou
ght of erotic anguish at Amanda Matthews’s hands. Not exactly a prison sentence, but he wondered how he could stand it. “I think you’re letting Amanda the tough-as-nails designer take over again, sweetheart. I’m voting for Amanda the woman to make a comeback.”
She unfastened the top button of his shirt, then another. Ducking her head under his chin, she breathed a hot puff of air onto the flesh she’d exposed. “Thanks to you, I think Amanda the woman is finally coming into her own.”
He promised himself he would let her have her way. If she would stay with him tonight, she could definitely do as she pleased with his body. But he needed one touch of her first.
He clamped his hands on her hips and sealed her lower body to his, needing the pressure of her thighs against his.
Immediately he knew the movement had been as much a mistake as a relief, because now he only wanted her more, sooner.
Now.
Amanda thought she’d melt all over him as he crushed her up against him. She wanted to lure him, tempt him, make it impossible for him to walk away from her again.
But Duke was definitely doing some tempting of his own.
He nibbled hot kisses down her neck, plucked at the single pin that held her blouse together.
“Amanda the woman definitely has my attention,” he whispered in her ear, his voice gravelly with the same need that gripped her. “I watch that striptease of yours over and over in my mind as if I had that videotape hard-wired into my brain.”
Her skin caught fire and tingled with chills at the same time. The damp night air swirled around her, but it barely had the chance to cool her before Duke’s touch heated her through again.
“You’ve seen plenty of me,” she managed, gasping as he tugged open her blouse to the breeze. “It’s your turn to reveal a thing or two, Detective. And I want the narrated version. The show and the tell.”
He bent his head to her breasts, gliding his lips across each curve and moistening the edges of the white lace cups with his tongue.
She halted him with a hand on each stubbled cheek before he could reach the nipple, preventing him from inflicting the pleasures that might make her forget what she wanted from him.