by Rebecca York
“And you’ll lose momentum.”
“Maybe, but I’m not going to take you anywhere dangerous again.”
“It’s a public bar,” she shot back.
“It was dangerous enough for Marianne. If another blind woman comes in, she’s going to be damn conspicuous,” he growled.
“I’ll leave my cane in the car and hang on to you as if I can’t walk a straight line by myself. They’ll just think I’m another tipsy bimbo.”
His breath caught as he remembered her body pressed to his. “It could take a long time to find the right place.”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday. We can both sleep late.”
The image that sprang to his mind—of the two of them together in a bed—probably wasn’t what she’d intended.
“Admit it,” she pushed. “You need me if you want to follow up this lead before it gets cold.”
He thought about arguing, but she’d boxed him into a corner. Or perhaps he wanted to be boxed—and wrapped and tied with a bow.
“All right,” he growled. “We can give it a try, but you stay with me at all times, and if I catch a hint of trouble, you’re out of there.”
“Okay,” she agreed, then gestured toward her jeans and T-shirt. “I can’t go like this.”
“Sure you can.”
“It’ll be better if I look like I’m dressed for a night on the town. Give me a few minutes to change.”
Without allowing time for further discussion, she stood and hurried toward the stairs.
Alone, he contemplated his line about staying with him at all times, then convinced himself that he was accepting her offer because he was, indeed, worried about the trail getting cold.
Twenty minutes later he heard her coming back down the stairs and looked up automatically. When she stepped back through the doorway, he damn near lost his breath. She stood there in jewel-green stretch pants and a matching top with gold and silver sequins scattered provocatively across the breast and over the shoulders. Dangling gold earrings ending in a cluster of gold and silver balls moved gracefully as she walked. And a small gold purse hung from a spaghetti strap over her left shoulder. The only concession to comfort she’d made was that she wore low-heeled sandals.
When he failed to speak, she stayed in the doorway, looking a bit uncertain. “So, will this do?”
“Oh yeah,” he answered, his voice thick. He cleared his throat. “I mean, uh, you look very together.”
A tiny smile flickered at the corners of her lips, and he suspected she could guess the effect she was having on him.
She used her cane to make her way down the steps and follow him to his car. Then she quietly laid it on the floor of the back seat and he started the car.
The silence of the next five minutes was broken only by the sound of a light rock station on the radio.
He took his eyes off the road several times to see her stroking the edge of the leather seat with her fingers the way she’d stroked the cutlery at the restaurant
“This car is nicer than the one you had the other day,” she finally said.
“That was police-department issue. This is mine.”
“What is it?”
“A Celica. I picked it up secondhand. The engine needed some work, but a friend of mine did it.”
“Oh.”
The silence stretched again until she murmured, “So, aren’t you going to offer me any candy?”
“Uh—sure.” Fishing in his pocket, he brought out one of the cinnamon disks.
When she opened her hand, he pressed the candy into her palm, lingering for a moment, captivated by the feel of her skin against his.
“You’re always prepared,” she observed.
“With candy, anyway.”
She unwrapped it, and he watched it disappear into her mouth. Then she held out the wrapper. Again, he accepted the opportunity, stroking his finger lightly against hers. He felt her shiver and wondered if she was really brave enough to hang on to him the way she’d promised. He definitely hoped so.
She cleared her throat. “So tell me, you said you liked my shirt when you came in. I’ve got several with cartoons. Which one was I wearing?”
His head swung toward her. She looked a bit quizzical.
“Monsters destroying New York.”
“Oh, right.” She grinned, her white teeth flashing in the semi-darkness.
He did too, then realized she couldn’t see the expression. “How do I let you know I’m sharing the joke?” he asked softly.
“You just did.”
The ice was broken once more. For several heartbeats she turned her hand up and touched her fingers to his, and his blood raced.
He took his eyes from the road several times to look at her. Despite his best intentions, he was getting pulled in deeper, like a swimmer who couldn’t fight a riptide. And he didn’t have the strength to stop it from happening.
“That outfit looks great on you,” he said huskily.
“Does it?”
“Yeah.”
“Some of my friends help me shop. One of them—Sabrina—is kind of flamboyant She made me get this, and picked the accessories, too. I wore it to her garden party last summer.”
“She knows what she’s doing.”
“So do we look like we’re going to the same party?” She found his arm, and ran her hand along the nubby fabric of the sleeve to the shoulder and then the notched lapel. “Sports jacket?”
“Yeah.”
“What color?”
“Black and gray. With a white button-down shirt, no tie, and gray slacks.”
“Sounds conservative.”
“I could stop home and get my leather jacket.”
“You’ve got one?”
“Leftover from when I worked undercover narcotics.”
She drew in a little breath. “It must have been dangerous.”
“It was good experience,” he answered quickly. One of the most harrowing of his life. He’d made it a kind of test. And he’d passed. But he wouldn’t want to endure another two years of that hell again.
“I was worried about you,” she softly repeated what she’d said earlier.
“I should have called” He said what he should have all along.
“You were busy.”
“Not too busy to set your mind at ease.”
They had reached Fells Point, and he slowed as he began to search for a parking place. There was nothing on Broadway, so he turned left along the harbor. A couple blocks down, he made a U turn in an alley, came back up the block and wedged the car into half a space in front of a stop sign.
“You must be lucky. There are a lot of cars circling around down here,” she murmured.
“I’m pulling rank.” Opening the glove compartment, he got out his police card, which he put on the dashboard.
“So are we ready?” she asked.
He turned toward her. “I want to make sure you know what you’re getting into. The crowd can be kind of rowdy on a warm night.”
“I’ve got protection.”
“It’s all relative. I once saw a guy come down Thames Street carrying a huge, round cake he was holding up in the air over his head the way waiters carry trays. He stopped dead in his tracks and pitched it into the crowd.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. So don’t blame me if you get covered with icing.
“Sounds like a free dessert.”
He laughed. “Actually, people were scooping it up off the sidewalk and eating it.”
“Yuck.”
He nodded, then added, “Agreed.”
AS JENNY WAITED on the sidewalk, she resisted the impulse to wrap her arms around her shoulders. She’d never been down here on a Friday night, and she had no idea how she was going to manage. She was assaulted from all directions by a thousand impressions. The heavy warmth of the evening air. The sounds of people laughing, talking, shouting, walking. Car wheels moving against the pavement. She felt naked without her cane but she wasn’t
going to admit it.
“If we head toward Broadway, we’ll pass a lot of bars and restaurants,” Brisco said.
“Fine.”
“Time to try out our act.”
Maybe he was hoping she’d back out. Instead, she stood without moving, fairly vibrating to the sound of his approaching footsteps. Her breath caught as he slipped his arm around her narrow waist. All at once she was buffered against the swirl of activity around her. Brisco represented safety, security. Or he would have, if he hadn’t been so sexy. Every nerve ending was aware of her body touching his. It was well-muscled, supple, masculine.
And responsive. To her. She’d boldly tested that in the car, and thrilled to the knowledge that the kiss the other evening hadn’t been an aberration. Knowing she was turning him on made up a little for her own uncertainty.
“If this is gonna work, you’ve got to look like you’re enjoying yourself,” he warned, his voice as thick as the blood pounding in her temple.
“Okay.” Before she could reconsider, she slipped her arm around him and settled more comfortably against his side. His breath caught the way hers had.
Then her breast pressed against his ribs, and she felt an electric charge surge through her. Neither of them spoke. They clung together as if for support, and she wondered if she was crazy to think she could pull this off with a man who aroused her so powerfully. She was in a world of chaos. Yet all the other external stimuli were pushed into the background by her awareness of Ben Brisco holding her against his side. She knew he felt the shiver travel through her body.
“Steady,” he murmured.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
“Let’s try it. On the count of two. One…two.” His right foot moved. So did hers. He took several small steps, probably shortening his strides considerably, she guessed. She followed as if he were leading her in some sort of strange folk dance. There was a grace to their movements, as if they instinctively knew how to maneuver together. She had just started to relax a little when the smell of beer wafted toward her and a big person in what sounded like highheeled shoes brushed by, knocking her against Brisco.
“Watch where you’re going, buddy,” he growled.
“That was a man? In high heels?”
“Cowboy boots,” he said as he steadied her. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
“We’ve hardly given it a try,” she argued, knowing she’d be disappointed if the experiment ended before it had really begun.
“Tell me if you want to quit.” His movements weren’t quite so smooth as he steered her around the corner onto Thames Street.
Suddenly, there were a lot more people and more noise. Excitement A big outdoor party. Most of the revelers were reasonably behaved, yet a few were not She could tell when they passed, by the way Brisco’s arm tightened protectively around her. If he let her go, she’d be lost.
“Lots of people,” she murmured. She neglected to say that she wasn’t comfortable in crowds. So she pushed everything but him into the background. He was enough to make her giddy.
“You’re doing fine.”
They ambled up the sidewalk, and he brought them to a halt in front of what seemed to be a popular bar, judging from the noise level inside.
“No cover. No minimum,” a deep male voice said.
Jenny turned away from the speaker, hiding her face against Brisco’s neck.
She felt him react, not anything she could define but a subtle change in him that she was starting to recognize.
“You got a band?” Brisco asked, his hand sliding along her bare arm, raising goosebumps.
“Rock.”
“Maybe we’ll be back later,” he said before addressing her, “Come on, honey.”
“You’re the boss,” she answered throatily. As they started off again, she felt dizzy. She’d never imagined herself glued to a man like this on a public street. But it was for a good reason. She had to look as if she fit in. Apparently, so did Brisco. As they walked, his lips nuzzled her ear, and she almost lost her footing.
“Careful,” he murmured.
She wasn’t being careful. Just the opposite. But she was going to play this through. For Marianne. No. She wouldn’t lie to herself. She was getting high on being this close to Brisco. And she was certain the feeling was mutual—even though neither one of them was admitting it out loud.
They passed another bar where music blared from the interior. Brisco stopped and brought his lips close to her ear, his breath warming her several degrees. “Sound familiar?”
She listened for half a minute. “No.”
“You’re sure?”
“It’s nothing like it.”
“There’s another place a couple of doors down. It’s called Three Sheets to the Wind.”
“I suppose that’s a charming reference to Baltimore’s nautical heritage.”
“Right.” He led her several yards farther along the sidewalk. As they approached the entrance, all she could hear were people talking and laughing. Another strike out. Then the band began to play, and she went very still.
“What?” Brisco asked instantly.
“I think…this could be it.”
“How sure are you?”
She listened for another minute. The beat was very similar to what she remembered. But there was something different about the quality of the sound.
“What’s the place look like?” she asked.
“Nautical decor. There’s an old-fashioned diving suit in the window. The sign is on a ship’s steering wheel. There’s a porthole in the middle of the door.”
“Could we go inside?”
“I’d rather not have you in there.” The words were brusque, short, certain.
Jenny struggled to keep her protest quiet but insistent “Marianne called me from the pay phone. I want to hear what the music sounds like from wherever that is.”
Brisco hesitated for several seconds. Then he sighed. “All right.”
Inside, the atmosphere was thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of beer. The noise from the band felt like it was going to shatter her eardrums.
“You want a table?” a woman asked. “’Cause you can’t come in here just to use the John.”
Jenny held her breath as she waited for the answer.
Long seconds passed before Brisco said, “Uh—a table.”
The room vibrated with closely packed humanity. Although Brisco steered a course through the crowd, it was impossible not to brush against furniture and bodies.
She breathed a sigh when he announced, “We’re here.”
After finding the edge of a small table, she eased into a seat, practically jammed up against the wall. She was also jammed up against Brisco, who tried to move his leg away. Apparently, there was nowhere else to put it. She was left with the new stimulation of his knee against hers. She moved her leg a little, just for the pleasure of turning up the heat building inside her.
“Tight fit,” she murmured.
“Uh-huh.”
She hadn’t thought his voice could get any thicker. She’d been wrong.
When the waitress came by to take their orders, he asked for a Coke. Jenny did the same. Around them, most of the patrons were drinking beer, and the smell made her stomach twist into a knot. She hadn’t touched beer since high school. In fact, it was associated in her mind with her worst memories.
“YEAH, THIS PLACE is pretty raunchy,” Brisco whispered and she realized her expression was probably as tightly knotted as her stomach.
She tried to relax. “Not Marianne’s kind of place.”
“Maybe it’s the wrong one.”
“Maybe it wasn’t so crowded on a weeknight.”
He made a noncommittal sound.
She brought her attention back to the band. Despite her previous comment about needing to hear the music from inside, she was pretty sure this was the place from which her friend had called. But she suspected that if she said so, the evening would come to an abrupt end and she wasn�
�t ready to give up the thrill of being this close to Brisco. He’d told her he’d known who he was kissing. If she hadn’t believed him when he’d said it, she did now.
The Cokes arrived, and she took a couple of small sips to moisten her dry mouth.
“Damn,” Brisco muttered. “I see a guy a couple of tables away I busted for possession.”
“And you don’t want him to spot you,” she murmured.
“You got it.”
Before she had a chance to reconsider, she angled her body around and brought her hand up. Slowly she moved it forward until it was pressing the side of his face. Maybe it hid his features. Maybe it only gave her the excuse to touch him the way she’d wanted to since they’d sat down.
He drew in a breath, then answered, “Right,” in a tone that gave her permission to go farther. Which was lucky, because once her hand settled against the scratchy surface of his beard, she couldn’t stop herself from stroking it. Almost imperceptibly, he moved his face against her fingertips, sending warm currents racing through her. She’d never behaved like this. She’d never wanted to. Yet Brisco did something to her that made her want to throw propriety— and caution—to the wind.
Her pulse hammered as his hand curved around her back, tight and strong. She felt a surge of excitement that increased the sense of recklessness.
“So, do we fit in with the crowd?” she asked.
“Oh yeah,” he growled, moving so that the other side of his face pressed against her cheek. Her heart lurched inside her chest. All she had to do was turn her head slightly, and her lips would brush against his. Then she could taste him again. That heady taste more intoxicating than wine.
She knew she shouldn’t do that. Yet she wasn’t sure what she would have done if Brisco hadn’t taken the decision away from her. Oh so slowly, giving her time to pull back, he turned his head. She stayed where she was, thrilled by the first brush of his lips against hers.
It was a very light contact, yet heat coiled through her. Heat that had been building all the time they’d been walking up the sidewalk, all the time she’d been in his arms.
“Jenny.” Her name came out as a strangled set of syllables.
His lips moved lightly against hers. Then he took several nibbling bites that she felt all the way to her toes.