“So show me what you’ve got,” Nick whispered
Isabel shuddered even as she began to unbutton her blouse. “What do you want? Proof that I’ll keep you warm at night?”
The garment fell open and Nick was staring down at nicely shaped breasts beneath a see-through teddy. His heart pumped faster. His mouth went drier. His erection grew harder.
Determined to push her to the edge from which she would flee, he pressed against her back and cupped her breasts from behind. He thumbed her already aroused nipples through the thin material and she arched against him.
A small gasp suddenly escaped her and Nick flushed so hot he felt burned. Her sexual response to him was triggering long-repressed memories.
They’d been younger then and innocent in their lovemaking. The vivid recollections were overpowering. Nick pulled away from her too-tempting flesh. He had to regain his composure.
Isabel swung around and faced him. “Well?” she asked coolly, the impassioned woman of a moment ago gone. “Did I pass your test, Nick? Will I do?”
Dear Reader,
How exciting is this—my second CHICAGO HEAT entry in the Blaze line! The erotic thrills and chills you’ll find in Improper Conduct go beyond the Intrigue stories I usually write for Harlequin.
I love using the hot and hip Wicker Park/Bucktown neighborhood in Chicago as my setting—also the setting of my new Intrigue series, which debuts next spring. Don’t be surprised to find familiar faces and places there.
In the meantime, enjoy Improper Conduct, Nick’s story, one of the most challenging I have ever written. Watch for Helen’s story next year, the last of the CHICAGO HEAT trilogy.
Let me know what you think about Improper Conduct: Patricia Rosemoor, P.O. Box 578297, Chicago, IL 60657-8297 or better yet, e-mail [email protected]—and check out my Web site at www.PatriciaRosemoor.com.
Happy reading,
Patricia Rosemoor
P.S. Don’t forget to check out www.tryblaze.com!
Books by Patricia Rosemoor
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
35—SHEER PLEASURE Chicago Heat, Bk 1
IMPROPER CONDUCT
Patricia Rosemoor
To my agent Jenn Jackson:
Thanks for all your hard work
and dedication on all my projects
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
1
ISABEL GRAYSON…WELL, if just seeing her name didn’t make his day.
Nick Novak had taken up residence in Helen’s Cybercafé, a trendy establishment painted in crackled pale yellow and furnished with overstuffed sofas and chairs. He was sitting near a fireplace at one of the computers lined up against a wall to have his Internet fix along with his morning coffee. His hard drive had crashed a couple of months before, and he still hadn’t replaced it because he’d always found a better use for the money.
Helen had interrupted him from reading an e-mailed invitation to a poker party sent by one of his old buddies at the television station where he’d worked as a news cameraman until the previous fall. He fingered the card Helen had handed him—Isabel’s calling card, and admired the rich texture of the stock and the simple elegance of the design. Both reflected the socialite herself, he thought, tamping down his initial physical reaction and flicking the card straight into the nearest waste container.
“What? You’re really not going to get in touch with her?” demanded Helen Rhodes, a blond knock-out and former baby-corporate Web Mistress who owned the cybercafé.
“Nope.”
Narrowing her green gaze on him made the small mole at the corner of her right eye all but disappear. “Aren’t you curious about what she wants?”
Nick thought about it for a moment and lied. “Nope.”
“But it must be important—she’s called every day that you’ve been gone.”
He’d been gone away for more than a week this time. So Isabel was persistent in addition to being elegant, smart and a bitch on wheels.
“I’m just not interested in whatever is on the mind of a poor little rich girl,” he said.
“Well, I am!”
“That’s because you want to run everyone else’s lives.”
“At least I have one. I don’t go underground and disappear on my friends for days or even weeks at a time,” Helen stated, her irritation with him finally surfacing. “Where were you when Annie needed us?”
Thinking of their friend’s troubles, which had escalated while he’d been gone, Nick flushed guiltily. “It couldn’t be helped. Annie’s fine now. Better than fine. She’s found the one man for her. Or don’t you agree?”
The man being Nate Bishop, owner of Cornerstone Realty and the commercial building where all three of them had their businesses. Helen had been suspicious of their landlord from the first when he’d come on to Annie wearing full leathers and riding a Harley, a one-eighty from his business persona. But Nick had known about Nate’s intentions all along—had given the guy some pointers with Annie, actually—and now was glad he had no cause for regrets. That Annie was finally getting a man worthy of her brought a smile to Nick’s lips.
“Nate really did turn out to be Superman,” Helen admitted. “I was wrong.”
“That’s a first—your admitting it, that is.”
Helen gave him one of her deadliest looks and then turned her gaze away. She eyed the waste container as if she were going to climb inside and retrieve the card.
“Go ahead. Do it,” Nick said. “I’m sure Isabel would love to spill to you.”
“I would love to spill something on you.”
Nick laughed. “Another empty threat.”
Narrowing her gaze on him once more, Helen picked up his water glass and stared at him for one unsettling moment before downing the contents.
“A reprieve,” he said.
“Go on, get out of here before I change my mind, before I do something really radical like revoke your caffeine and Internet privileges forever.”
“Oh, no, anything but that,” Nick said, logging off the Internet as he rose. He’d already taken care of a few business inquiries, and the rest of the e-mail could wait. “Later.”
“Yeah, no matter what you do to prevent it, bad pennies always come back.”
Nick laughed. He and Helen had given each other a hard time since they’d met on their first day of college. Now here it was a decade later, and they hadn’t grown out of the habit. They also hadn’t lost their affection for each other. And for Annie Wilder. The three of them had remained best friends and a strong support system for one another. Together, they had all quit their lucrative rat-race jobs and had put all their savings into businesses they cared about. Unfortunately, his business had been more expensive to finance and harder to get going than an Internet café or lingerie boutique.
He exited the café, which faced the six-corner intersection where Bucktown and Wicker Park met in an eclectic fusion of mind-sets.
The neighborhood held its appeal for artistic types. The streets were dotted with galleries, and the triangular Flatiron Building across the way was taken up by studios of various sorts. It was too early, though, for the pierced and tattooed who frequented the area to be out and about. Instead, the street was filled with commuters—nine-to-five conservative suits and skirts heading for the rapid-transit station down the block. The neighborhood was so eclectic that if he stood
in one place long enough, Nick knew every ilk of Chicagoan would eventually pass by.
Nick went with the flow of foot traffic to a nearby doorway that led to the upper floors of the building. He rushed up the flight of stairs to his business—and home, albeit the building was zoned commercial only—situated over Annie’s Attic, lingerie store extraordinaire.
But he wasn’t alone on the staircase. A woman was coming down toward him. One with luscious long legs, a graceful demeanor and a familiar face, one even more lovely than he remembered. She had the same good bone structure, the same flawless skin, the same perfect features, but at the moment the delicate flesh around her luminous blue eyes was drawn and tight, making her seem decidedly unhappy.
Nick’s smile faded.
Isabel Grayson had shattered him emotionally once.
What the hell made her think he was going to give her a chance to do so again?
ISABEL STOPPED AND STARED at the man coming up the steps toward her and, despite the rush of adrenaline that flowed through her like a raging locomotive, tried to force herself into a state of cool objectivity.
He was tall, maybe six-two now with broad shoulders and great abs—his perfect torso showed through the thin T-shirt, one with the words Film Addict, What’s Your Vice? in neat script across one shoulder. His body had changed, certainly, and for the better, but the hair, brown with gold streaks, and the hazel eyes with hidden depths, those she recognized.
A moment’s recognition flicked through those familiar eyes, as well…and then it was gone.
Whatever he was thinking was hidden by an expression as impersonal and as neutral as her own. She wondered if his internal reaction to her unexpected presence went as deep as hers. She could barely breathe. He continued up the stairs, looking past her, ignoring her as if she weren’t even there. His shoulder brushed against hers, leaving her shaken, trembling inside, but he continued right on by.
“Nick?” she called after him, and to her embarrassment, she sounded a bit breathless saying his name. “You are Nicholas Novak, right?” As if she wouldn’t recognize the first guy she’d slept with.
“What of it?” He continued upward.
“I’ve been trying to find you for a week.” She turned around and followed him back up to the landing, where he pulled keys from his jeans. Her eyes were level with his butt, as tight and muscular as the rest of him, but she averted her gaze and continued talking to the center of his back, as if there never had been anything between them. “I left my card for you. Isabel Grayson.”
He opened the door and turned to face her. “I know who you are, Isabel. I threw the card away.”
Anguish swept through her, but she buried it immediately. She was a Grayson, which meant she had steel for a spine. Her mission here would be a success. She could negotiate anything.
“May I come in?”
“I have work to do.”
He hadn’t changed, she thought. The rudest teenager in their high school had grown into an even ruder man.
“Please. This is important.”
He sighed and threw up his hands. “All right.” Though he turned his back on her and went inside, he left the door open. “Come in and make it quick.”
Isabel didn’t give him a chance to change his mind. She entered and closed the door, whose window bore the gold-stenciled words, Nick’s Knack, Videography, to identify the business.
The high-ceilinged, multiwindowed room was a studio of sorts. A backdrop graced one wall. Several lights hung from a ceiling grid. And one end of the studio was filled with racks of equipment. For editing, she supposed.
At the other end, in a corner, she spotted a trundle bed, covers strewn across it as if he’d slept there. And a shelf of free weights lined the wall nearby.
“So what is so important, Isabel, that you hound me for an entire week?”
She brought her attention back to the man who was now a stranger to her. “My sister Louise. She’s that important.”
“So what about her?”
He’d never met Louise, so it was understandable that he might not remember her. Isabel doubted he kept up with politics or politicians. And even if he did, she doubted Senator William Grayson was on his list of people to watch.
“Louise is missing.”
He digested that for a moment, then said, “Maybe she simply wanted to get away from the Graysons.”
He sounded as if he’d had experience in that department. No secret to her why, either, Isabel thought. Hopefully he wouldn’t hold against her what had happened between them so many years before.
“She’s only seventeen.”
“Eleven years younger than you.”
Startled that he should remember exactly how old she was, Isabel murmured, “She was Mother’s late-life gift.”
Actually, Mother had once callously called Louise her afterthought, but that was only because of how angry she’d been with the teenager, Isabel assured herself. Louise had always been a handful. A spitfire like himself, her father had once proclaimed proudly, going on to mutter something about having another politician in the making.
Not that he felt proud of her any longer.
“If your sister is missing,” Nick now said, a shadow of concern flitting through his otherwise mulish expression, “it’s a matter for the police.”
“She’s not missing as in being a victim. She’s a runaway and she’s seventeen and just graduated from high school. I’m told this isn’t anything unusual. That teenagers hit the streets every day and that if she doesn’t want to be found, she probably won’t be.” Isabel took a steadying breath and slowed down. “Louise is a few months away from being an adult and adults are allowed to disappear if they want to. The police aren’t going to put on a manhunt for her. She’ll just be another name in a database.”
“But with your father’s influence…”
“Yes, you would think so, wouldn’t you? But that would mean he would actually have to make a fuss. He would have to ask for special treatment for a member of his family.” Controlling her anger so that her voice was even, she added, “He would have to put himself in the spotlight when it wouldn’t be to his advantage.”
Nick’s eyebrows shot up. “I see.”
He didn’t see, she thought, not really. Nor did she. She didn’t know how her father could continue to skirt around the truth when a member of his family was in trouble. But she would think about it later. For now, finding her sister, making certain she was safe, had to be her focus.
“So why come to me?” Nick asked.
“Your name came up as someone who knows the kids on the streets. I was told you’re doing a documentary on runaways. If that’s true, you might be able to find her.”
“An assumption that’s questionable at best.”
“You’re my only hope.”
Nick shook his head. “Then don’t get your hopes up, because I have neither the time nor the interest to get involved in your problems. Besides, I have a bond with these kids. I don’t betray any trusts they ask me to keep.”
“You wouldn’t have to,” she promised.
“Hire a private investigator. Hell, Isabel, with your money, you can hire a whole firm.”
Isabel’s insides twisted at his words. This was going to be more difficult than she’d hoped. She had to admit a part of her motivation in seeking him out was curiosity about Nick himself. Or maybe she just wanted to get him out of her head once and for all…though that didn’t seem likely. Even now, even when she had more important things on her mind, Isabel couldn’t help remembering how his touch had made her melt…and wondering what it would be like today.
Louise was the priority here, and instinct told Isabel that Nick was her best bet at finding her sister without the situation being leaked to the press. She wasn’t about to give up.
“Maybe if I told you something about my little sister?”
“Go ahead.” Nick made himself comfortable in a portable canvas-and-tubing chair, the kind people brought to
outdoor concerts. “But you’re wasting your time.”
He indicated she should sit in the mate to his chair, but too nervous, she shook her head and paced instead. She feared if she got that close to him, she just might come completely unglued.
“Louise is a bright kid—”
“As would be expected of a Grayson.”
“—and a little wild—”
“Which wouldn’t be.”
“May I speak without the editorial?”
“I thought you were used to that, your father being who he is and all.”
Isabel gritted her teeth. She needed Nick Novak’s help, would do anything to enlist his cooperation. And unless she made nice, she wasn’t going to get it.
“Louise and I have always been very close. She always came to me, to talk, to get advice. She was levelheaded, thought things through before acting. Then something changed several months ago. She got into some trouble,” Isabel admitted, remembering how her sister had started acting up. “More than once, in fact. Nothing serious, but it was out of character and enough to bring Dad’s wrath down on her.”
“Because she wasn’t displaying the proper behavior? Oh, sorry. No editorializing. I keep forgetting.”
He hadn’t forgotten anything, Isabel decided, no more than she had. Was he really thinking only about her father’s interference in their lives or was he thinking about them? About how they’d fallen in love? About how they’d consummated their feelings for each other?
Staring into his familiar hazel eyes, she couldn’t help but remember the past herself. Her heart beat a little harder, her pulse rushed faster, as she considered the possibilities. Licking her lips, Isabel forced her mind where it needed to be. On her sister.
“She’s been trying to get Dad’s attention, unfortunately in the wrong way, making up excuses for her actions afterward. All she did was make him furious with her. They fought…horribly—” about what, she hoped Nick wouldn’t ask at the moment “—and then she disappeared. We thought she’d gone to a friend’s house and was trying to make a point. But I’ve checked with her friends and none of them have admitted seeing her. And then her best friend, Rosalyn, got scared and admitted that Louise stopped by several days ago and told her she was never coming home again.”
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