“He probably insulted somebody important,” Shelby offered.
“Or ate too many doughnuts,” Victoria said.
“Not with a body like that,” Calla muttered.
Victoria smiled—well, victoriously. “Oh, yeah? What do you know about his body?”
“I had to undress him before I put him in my bed the other night. He smelled like whiskey and cigarette smoke. Which defies explanation, by the way. What bar in the city lets you smoke these days? You can’t even smoke outside in the parks. Regardless, I had to get those clothes in the washer. I’d never get that horrible smell out of my Egyptian cotton sheets.”
“Talk about burying the lead,” Shelby said, her eyes wide.
“I’m a feature writer, not a reporter,” Calla returned with a smirk.
Victoria tapped her fingertip on the table. “How did you manage to leave out the naked part of your grand rescue?”
Calla cleared her throat and tried, without much success, to banish the glorious vision of Devin’s leanly muscled body from her memory. “I focused on the immediate problem instead of extraneous details.”
“Extraneous?” Victoria repeated incredulously. “The lack of nakedness between the two of you is the reason we’re all here wallowing in—”
“Hang on,” Shelby jumped in. “So when Antonio woke up Sunday morning, in your bed, he was naked?”
Calla hesitated before she admitted, “Well, yeah.”
“Certainly explains why he was confused about whether or not you two had had sex.” Shelby pursed her lips. “You didn’t have sex, right?”
“No, of course not,” Calla said. “We’re supposed to be talking about Devin’s record.”
“I’d say he’s zero for one.” Victoria poured more wine into her glass. “Wouldn’t you?”
“V, please,” Shelby admonished.
In consolation, Victoria added wine into the other two glasses. “Just reminding you both of where we stand. What man wouldn’t want our brilliant, buxom Calla? The dude is either gay, crazy or carrying serious baggage.”
“But he’s a good cop,” Calla reminded her. “You said so a few minutes ago.”
“I think he gets the job done at all cost,” Victoria responded.
“An attitude that leads to either justice or trouble,” Shelby pointed out. “In his case, that could easily translate to a professional splotch or two.” Shelby met Calla’s gaze. “Everybody has regrets.”
Everything her friends said was true. Why was Calla hanging on to the dream that Devin would one day notice her and be grateful she was by his side? Why was she hurt and surprised he wouldn’t tell her about his past?
He’d certainly never claimed or pretended to be Mr. Sunshine, but she was Pollyanna.
* * *
HUDDLED ON THE SOFA with a cup of tea gone cold, a fleece blanket and a weepy romance DVD, Calla blinked dazedly at the knocking sound at her apartment door.
Anger, frustration, wine and most of her dinner in a take-out box wasn’t the combination for a peaceful night apparently.
Grumbling under her breath, she tossed aside the blanket and stumbled to the door. If this was her neighbor, ancient Mrs. Winsley, who thought somebody was breaking into her apartment every other minute, she was going to forget she was a nice person.
She flung open the door, prepared to blast whoever dared stand on the other side and invade her nightmare.
It was Devin.
A fluffy beige cat was tucked in the crooked of his arm. At her appearance, the cat blinked its big green eyes and meowed with great annoyance.
Her heart melted. Though the cat’s coloring was a combo of her and Devin, it obviously had his personality. Good grief.
Dragging her gaze from the cat, she met the identical green of Devin’s eyes. She steeled herself against the urge to get lost in the regret reflected back at her. “I’m surprised you remember where I live.”
“I’m a cop. Well, sort of. I can still investigate.”
“And Fluffy?” When he looked baffled, she pointed at the cat. “I don’t remember you having a pet.”
“An adoption notice went out on the NYPD email loop. His owner was killed in a hit and run. I thought you two might get along.”
A hit and run. There was no end to the man’s romantic streak.
“Do you take bribes?” she asked on a sigh instead of in a temper. The cat was incredibly cute, after all.
“No.”
She opened the door wider and moved aside so Devin could enter. “Lucky for you, I do.”
“Fluffy?” he questioned as they headed toward the living room. “I was thinking something cooler like Sharky.”
Calla considered the ball of fluff with the killer eyes. “Sharky it is.” When she reached the kitchen, she opened the fridge door. “I don’t know what to feed a traumatized cat.”
Devin held up a black plastic container, the kind the restaurants used for delivery. “I brought this.”
Inside was leftover chicken casserole. She supposed it had been a lot for one person. Of course, if he hadn’t been so difficult, he could have had three others join him for dinner.
Shaking aside the critical thought, she dished out a healthy spoonful on a saucer and put it on the kitchen floor. After Devin set the cat down, Sharky pounced as if he hadn’t eaten in a month.
Calla studied him to delay the inevitable confrontation with Devin. “If he keeps that up, he’ll be the size of tiger.”
“He’s been staying with Sergeant Franklin the last few days, and his diet is mostly street cart tacos and diet soda.”
“A gourmet cat?”
“He’ll fit right in with this gang. He can be the mascot. Do you want to keep him?”
You or him? Calla almost asked. Foolish. Hadn’t she decided she was done being an idiot over him?
Kneeling, Calla stroked the cat’s silky fur. Her purred beneath her touch. So easy, so right. She was hooked for sure now.
“I’m sorry.”
She glanced up, more at the tender note in his voice than the actual words.
Before she could respond, he knelt beside her. “Hard as it is to believe, I do understand friendship and compassion. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, and I’ve been an ass. I’d like another chance.” He tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “I really do need you.”
Unexpected, embarrassing tears clogged her throat. How many times had she hoped to see that earnest look in his eyes? She tried not to read too much into his need. Or let her hope rule her head. He’d said friendship, not undying love. “Okay,” she managed to say.
He stood, dragging his hand through his hair. “And I’d appreciate your advice on how to handle the information about Jimmie Forrester. I need more background on him. You’re the best researcher I know. Plus, I still don’t have a clue what happened the other night. Jimmie didn’t hit me, and I sure as hell didn’t hit him, so who did? And why?”
Rising, she shrugged. Despite his apology and adorable gift, she was reluctant to jump back into her role as assistant investigator.
“You’re usually the wordy one. Say something.”
“You’re going to tell me about your record, right? The reason behind your suspension?”
Looking only half as reluctant as she expected, he nodded.
“An accomplice hit you both,” she said easily, as that seemed obvious to her.
“Accomplice to what? A purse snatching? That isn’t a two-man job. Even if it was, why would Jimmie’s own partner beat him up?”
“Maybe he agreed, so you could be framed for the assault. Maybe the partner double-crossed him, and you were a convenient fall guy for everything.” She angled her head as she considered. “There could have been something extraordinarily valuable in the purse.”
“Like money or jewelry?”
“Or a top secret microchip. The thieves could be spies.”
“Jimmie? No way. He’s small-time, and he doesn’t have the brains for spying or th
e frame-up of a cop.”
“Then we’ll have to find out who does.” She scooped up the cat, who’d finished eating and was staring at them and looking annoyed again. “I’ll set up his litter box in the bathroom, you put on the coffee. Before we go forward, I’m gonna need a short history lesson.”
* * *
“THREE YEARS AGO I WAS working with Homicide on a murder case,” Devin began, leaning heavily on the balcony’s iron railing.
He and Calla had moved outside—a risk in itself, as the patio was barely large enough for two people to stand on without touching toes. But the night was unexpectedly warm, and he could use the air and space to tell her about the painful past he never seemed able to put behind him.
“A guy had been stabbed in a conference room at the Marriott Marquis. A business exec in town for an accounting conference found him when she arrived to set up for her presentation. She ran screaming through the hotel. At least twenty accountants trampled the crime scene before a security guard was found. Blood tracked everywhere. Hysterical tourists. It was a big, damn mess.
“By the time our techs examined all the prints, blood splatter and other evidence, there was nothing to link the dead guy to his killer.”
“Smart bad guy. Leave the body in a busy place where it would be discovered unexpectedly. Escape in a crowd of convention goers, random tourists and hotel guests.” She made a swirling motion with her hands. “Confusion ensues.”
He glanced at her in surprise. Though she looked like The Sunshine Fairy, her thought process was seasoned investigator. He hadn’t noticed the contrast until a few days ago when she’d made such meticulous notes about his assault. “But it’s also risky,” he said, wondering how she’d counter his challenge. “What if the body’s found by security or somebody who doesn’t panic?” As he recalled the chaotic crime scene, he added, “Anybody with sense.”
“A tourist with sense?” she asked, rolling her eyes as she smiled. “What are the odds?”
That smile was her silver bullet. Or, in this gang’s case, the golden arrow. Under her influence, thousands would confess and be led to jail without protest. Maybe he should throw himself on the mercy of the court and/or his scheming frame-up guys with her as his defense.
He really did need her—and in more than the obvious ways. Had he been so distracted by their attraction that he hadn’t noticed everything else she was? Was he so afraid of tainting her with his dark life that he hadn’t recognized her strength?
“Tourists can be smart,” he conceded. “Definitely brighter than me, but not about a bloody stab wound.”
“Exactly. So you’re down to hoping the body’s discovered by docs, cops, nurses and paramedics. Smart bad guy,” she repeated.
“Or at least one who was willing to risk playing the panic odds.” There was a strange parallel, actually, between the confusion of the night he’d chased the thief and the case that had changed the way he’d investigated.
Though the similarity might simply be because he’d been suspended as a result both times. Or that a stunning blonde had been on hand both times.
“She was,” Devin said, his gaze drawn by the moon hanging brightly in the sky, outshining even Manhattan’s brightest.
“Hang on. The killer was a woman?”
“The day after the murder, she found me at one of my pub haunts, claiming to be a cousin of the victim. She was beautiful, upset and lonely. I—”
“Made her less lonely,” Calla finished before he could admit the nasty truth.
Devin clenched his jaw. Admitting his mistake in judgment wasn’t nearly as difficult as telling Calla he’d lost his head over another woman. “I thought she was a concerned friend. She was his smuggling partner.”
“And honor among thieves only goes so far.”
“Apparently. We got her, thanks to determined work by my lieutenant and the rest of the team, though obviously not before my superiors uncovered our personal connection.”
“Resulting in the suspension.” She paused. “And a transfer out of Homicide.”
“I was lucky I didn’t lose my badge.”
“Was this Lieutenant Meyer, by any chance?”
“No. He was the only one willing to take me on after the stabbing case.” Devin closed his eyes against the image of Meyer being interrogating by straitlaced Colin Reid. “I owe him.”
Calla pressed her lips to his cheek. “Things will be different this time.”
His skin warmed by both her gesture and her touch. “How?”
“You’ve got me. And my friends.” She glanced at the kitten, curled up on a blanket at her feet. “Sharky, too. All great teams need a kick-ass mascot.”
Since their fierce symbol was currently flopped on his back and sleeping off his chicken casserole, Devin wasn’t sure of his advantage. But the cat had gotten him through Calla’s door and back into her good graces—for now, anyway—so he had a permanent spot in the gang as far as Devin was concerned.
As he raised his gaze to Calla’s face, he noticed what she was wearing, a filmy, pale yellow print dress. Her hair was piled on top of her head, and her lips were painted the same glossy pink as her toenails. His mouth went dry. Had he been so intent on his issues that he’d failed to notice his greatest asset was an angel?
“You’re wearing a dress,” he said like an idiot.
“Thanks for noticing,” she returned without missing a beat.
“You were wrapped in a robe when I got here.”
“And then I changed.”
“Why?”
“I like to look nice. I usually wear this dress with these cute brown cowboy boots that I got on sale at Barney’s.”
How they’d gone from murder to shoe sales at a high-end department store was just one of the mysteries of their relationship. A relationship it might be time to stop fighting. Distance and his clumsy effort to be noble were getting him nowhere. “You’re tougher than I thought you were,” he said, for once letting himself delight in her adorable girliness.
“Tougher, how?” she asked suspiciously.
“Stronger, harder, resilient. Not so...”
“Pollyanna?”
Based on the scowl marring her beautiful lips, he decided not to agree with that assessment. “Fairylike.”
“Have you been talking to Shelby and Victoria? Is this a Robin Hood thing?”
They weren’t stealing anything, they weren’t righting a wrong against the repressed and innocent, since he wasn’t either. “I don’t see how. Though, I guess he is a fairy tale.”
“Not in my world.” She turned her face toward the moon, leaving him with her stunning profile. “His ideology is as real as the Crusades themselves. We’re going to make things right. You’re going to get your badge back.”
“I have no idea why, but I believe you.”
“It’s the Pollyanna Plague.” She took a step toward him. Given the size of the balcony, they bumped chests. “Very contagious.”
At her proximity, his heart picked up speed. “I appreciate everything you and your friends are doing. But untangling this plot of a known thief, his assault and the reasons for it all is gonna be the biggest challenge...well, since the last time I was suspended. And since that will require all my effort, I’ve been thinking that the tension between us gets in the way of concentrating on work.”
At the end of his rambling, she blinked. “You’re into long speeches these days.” Her gaze dropped to his lips. “What tension exactly?”
“The I-want-you kind.”
“Which you’re admitting all of a sudden.”
“Seems stupid to continue to deny it.”
“How sensible of you. How do you propose we get rid of it?”
“Sleep with me.”
She coughed. “Boy, when you decide to solve a problem, you dive right in.”
“I’m not good at subterfuge.” He slipped his arms around her waist. “Pretending the attraction isn’t there hasn’t worked so far. I figure if we get the sex out o
f the way, we can be more relaxed around each other.”
“Gee, Devin, don’t go all gooey and romantic on me.”
How could he have ever imagined he’d do it right? He’d missed so many opportunities with her, convincing himself she couldn’t handle the realities of his life and past. She hadn’t flinched, and he was still fumbling for balance. “How about I want you like crazy, and I can’t go another second without touching you?”
“I can work with that.” She took his hand and led him to her bedroom.
She moved some clothes from the bed to a chair in the corner, then turned, sliding her palms up his chest. “You kiss me this time.”
He had last time, if she remembered, but he knew what she meant. If they were going to be together, he had to go all in. And since it was likely he’d say something else lousy, he cupped her cheek and laid his lips over hers before he could ruin everything.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and angled her head as he deepened the kiss.
He could hardly believe he finally had her all to himself, that she wanted him as much as he needed her. She was a dream he couldn’t possibly hold on to, but he wasn’t going to question his bounty now.
When she grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and lifted it over his head, he went to work on the buttons of her dress. In seconds, the fabric pooled at her feet, and she was left wearing a pale pink-and-white lacy bra-and-panty set. With all that golden flesh exposed, he dug deep for restraint. He didn’t usually have trouble with women and pleasure, but there was an added pressure he’d never felt before. Calla was special and pretending otherwise was futile.
He fell to his knees in front of her, kissing his way across her stomach. She slid her fingers through his hair, arching her back as he released the front clasp of her bra and his tongue wetted her nipple.
Glorying in her silken skin and vanilla-ladened scent, he wished for endless days to indulge in the need she inspired. Each sigh she exhaled and every stroke of her hands set off a fresh wave of longing. Desire unfulfilled, but assured to satisfy in short order.
When he could stand the foreplay no longer, he scooped her into his arms and laid her on the bed. She clung to him, seducing him with her mouth as if he needed more encouragement, then, smiling, she pulled a condom from the bedside table.
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