Privilege: Special Tactical Units Division: Book Two

by Sandra Marton

  Chatchit. He remembered that quirk of hers, the way her English got twisted when she was upset.

  It was not a good sign.

  “Bianca. Honey—”

  Her eyes narrowed. Her chin rose. She gave him one of those I-am-the-queen looks he remembered all too well.

  The only thing that ruined it was the rain dripping from the tip of her nose.

  “I am sure an invitation to your room works with all of your women, Lieutenant, but I assure you, it does not work with me. Goodbye.”

  She turned and started to walk uptown. He cursed and went after her.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, catching her by the arm. “Wait just one damn minute…What are you doing?”

  “Your jacket,” she said, as she worked at the buttons.

  Chay grabbed her hands in his. “Forget the jacket. Add it to your collection.”

  Her cheeks turned pink. “A true gentleman. Thank you for the reminder.”

  “Bianca. I came three thousand miles to see you. The least you could do is give me an hour of your time.”

  “Do not tell me you ran out of available females back home.”

  Now it was his eyes that narrowed. Maybe he hadn’t put on a stellar performance the last time they’d seen each other, but he deserved better than this.

  “Trust me, baby,” he said coldly. “I didn’t come all this distance to get laid. ”

  She flinched. Okay. It had been a stupid thing to say—and the truth was, he hadn’t meant to reduce that night on the beach to a four-letter word. He’d never once thought about it that way. And, dammit, he thought about it all the time.

  “I came to talk,” he said. “Just talk.”

  “I cannot imagine about what.”

  “Give me an hour and you’ll find out.”

  She stared at him. He was drenched. He couldn’t have been any wetter if he’d just stepped out of a shower. The only difference would be that he’d be naked then—although he was amazing to look at even with clothes, considering how the rain made his pale blue T-shirt cling to his shoulders and torso, delineating what she knew were ridges of taut muscle. She could still remember spreading her hands over his chest, feeling the race of his heart beneath her fingertips.

  Heat swept through her.

  She imagined getting into a taxi. Going to his hotel with him. Walking into his room. The anonymity of a hotel room, a hotel bed…

  Bianca! Are you insane?

  She took a quick step back. “Sorry,” she said in a way that made it clear she wasn’t sorry at all. “I don’t have an hour.”

  “I’ll settle for thirty minutes.”

  “I have an appointment.”

  “Cancel it.”

  If she hadn’t been so wet and uncomfortable, she’d have laughed. How could a man be so sure that any demand he made would be met?

  “I can’t cancel it. And I’m already very late. So good-bye and—”

  “Did you get your period?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “What?”

  Jesus. Chay ran his hands through his wet hair. On a scale of ten, he was somewhere around a minus five, but it was too late to change things, to work up to the question that had plagued him for the last few weeks or even to rephrase it.

  “I said, did I get you pregnant? I never used a condom that night. It’s the first time in my entire life I forgot all about condoms and—” Someone walking past inadvertently poked him with an umbrella. Chay shot the guy a furious glance, took Bianca’s arm and tugged her closer. “We can’t discuss this here. I’ll get a cab. My hotel. Your apartment. I don’t care which. You pick it.”

  Bianca couldn’t think straight.

  The lieutenant had come all this way to find out if he’d made her pregnant? Impossible. She knew what kind of man he was, she knew all she needed to know about men who lived for risk. Her father had, pretending to be one man with her mother and a different one entirely with the other wife and family he’d kept a secret.

  Men like that were not the kind to worry about anyone but themselves.

  And yet—and yet here Chay was, a continent’s width from where he lived, asking her if—

  “I’ve been going crazy,” he said in a low voice. “Just, you know, wondering. I told myself you’d contact me if you were pregnant and then I thought, no, maybe you wouldn’t. After a while, I decided there was only one way to get the answer.” A muscle knotted high in his cheek. “I need to know.”

  He looked—desperate. The woman in her was amazed. Didn’t most men walk away from chance encounters without second thoughts? The psychologist in her was curious. There had to be more to this than met the eye.

  But there was nothing the least bit professional in their relationship, if you could call a one-night stand a relationship, and all she owed him was an answer.

  “You can stop worrying, Lieutenant. You did not make me pregnant.”

  He nodded. “Yeah.” He puffed out a long breath. “Okay.”

  “But—but thank you for asking.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  They stared at each other. Then the slightest of smiles tilted across his mouth.

  “I have to tell you, this is the strangest conversation I’ve ever had, especially when you add in the fact that we’re standing here and nearly drowning.”

  “Si.” She tried a smile, but she wasn’t sure it worked. “I mean, yes. Me, too.”

  “Which is why we should go somewhere and talk.”

  “We just did. Talk.”

  “Look, it’s late. And we’re beginning to look like flood survivors. How about a drink? A meal? A cup of coffee?”

  “Mannaggia! Coffee!”

  “Fine. I passed a coffee shop on the next—”

  “No. You don’t understand. When you said ‘coffee,’ it reminded me… Really. I have an appointment.”

  His eyes met hers. “Cancel it.”

  This time, his voice was soft. Rough. Sexy, just as she’d remembered it. Heat swept through her as it had a few minutes ago, and wasn’t that ridiculous? The way she’d reacted to him that night in Santa Barbara had been an aberration.

  He wasn’t her type, and one decent instinct did not turn a rogue into a gentleman.

  “I can’t. As it is, I’ve kept him waiting.”

  “Him? You mean you have a date?”

  Her eyebrows rose. He sounded as if she’d said she was on her way to Mars. So much for his being a gentleman.

  “Is it that so difficult to believe?”

  “No. I didn’t mean…”

  She stuck out her hand. “Thank you for—for your concern, Lieutenant, but I assure you, you have nothing to worry about.”

  He looked at her hand. Looked at her face. Enough, she decided, and she spun away from him and started for the corner.

  The light was red. Red lights had never stopped Sicilians nor did they stop New Yorkers. But there was traffic coming, so she tapped her foot and waited.

  She wasn’t just late, she was unforgivably late.

  That wasn’t all that was unforgivable.

  The way she’d run into the lieutenant’s arms. As if she were a maiden fleeing a dragon, and he were a knight come to rescue her.

  Dammit, why didn’t the light change?

  If her feelings about him had softened those final minutes she’d been trapped in the dark, it was only because remembering what he’d said about facing fear had been effective. In a sense, he’d helped her. And then there he was, just outside the door. Was it any wonder she’d lost perspective and rushed to—

  The light changed to green.

  Bianca stepped off the curb.

  A horn blared.

  Chay’s hand closed on her wrist. He dragged her back as a truck hurtled by.

  “Goddammit,” he growled,
“you want to get wherever in hell you’re going in an ambulance?”

  “I told you, I’m late.”

  She hurried forward. He did, too, one hand still clamped around her wrist.

  “How come this guy you’re in such a rush to see didn’t meet you at your office?”

  “He didn’t meet me at my office because he doesn’t have the address.”

  “What do you mean, he doesn’t have the address?”

  “I mean exactly what I said. He doesn’t…” She shot him a sideways glance. “Come to think of it, neither did you.” Her eyes widened. “You did not ask Tanner for—”

  “I did not, no.”

  “Why are you mimicking me?”

  “I am not mimick…” His grip on her tightened. “Watch out for that puddle.”

  “I am perfectly capable of avoiding puddles on my own,” she said, and silently cursed herself when she stomped straight through it. “You still have not told me how you got my address.”

  “I remembered the name of the place. East Side Associates.”

  “I did not tell you that.”

  “No, you did not. Alessandra did. At dinner that night. Did you know that your speech changes when you’re upset?”

  “I am not upset and my speech does not change.”

  “Maybe upset’s the wrong word. It changes when you get emotional.”

  “ And I do not get emotional, either.” She stopped walking and turned towards him. “We are here.”

  “We are where?”

  “What I meant was, I am here. I am where I am meeting someone.”

  “A man.”

  “A man, yes. Please let go of my wrist.”

  Chay looked around him. They were standing outside a coffee shop. Cuppa Joe’s. The place he’d passed getting to her office building. It looked like a thousand other coffee shops, but it had one saving grace—an awning that extended the length of the window and ended over the door.

  He drew Bianca under that awning, out of the rain.

  “Who is he?”

  “That is none of your business.”

  “Why would you meet him here instead of giving him your address?”

  “Because.”

  “That’s a ten-year-old’s answer.”

  Her head came up. “It is my answer.”

  “How many times have you gone out with this guy?”

  “I do not see any reason to continue this discussion.”

  “You want a reason?” He stepped closer to her, so close she could feel the heat coming off his body. “Here’s one. I find it odd that a man you’re dating wouldn’t pick you up at your office.”

  “I told you. He does not have—”

  “The address. Right. Odder still.” His eyes focused on hers. “How many times have you and this loser gone out?”

  “He is not a loser.”

  “How many times?”

  “Thr—four.”

  “Thr—four.” Chay folded his arms over his chest. “Interesting number. What’s his name?”

  “Dio! None of this is your—” She sighed. The best way to get rid of him was to answer his questions, but, dammit, what was the man’s name? A biblical name. “Jos…Noah.”

  “Josnoah.” His mouth twisted. “Unusual.”

  Bianca tossed her head. “An old family name. Now, if there is nothing else—”

  “You don’t really remember his name.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Because you’ve never met this guy before. He isn’t your date. He’s part of your study.”

  “My…” She blinked. “What do you know of my study?”

  “Only what you said at the restaurant. That you were studying online dating.”

  “My sister said that, and why would you remember such a thing?”

  Why, indeed? Why had he remembered everything about her, about that night? God knew he’d seen enough women since then to wipe out those memories.

  Well, he’d seen them, yeah, but he hadn’t been with them. Not in bed. Not even in spirit or whatever you wanted to call it.

  He’d spent his time thinking about this woman and that night.

  And that was when he’d realized that there might have been consequences.

  He’d thought of calling, but he couldn’t come up with an easy way of saying Hi, this is Chay Olivieri, and I just wanted to find out if maybe I knocked you up. Better to do that in person. And then, after he knew the answer, surely he could get the Tigress out of his head.

  So far, he thought grimly, that part of his plan didn’t seem to be going too well.

  “Just answer the question. Is this guy a subject in your study?”

  “Lieutenant. Please let go of me.”

  Chay focused on her face. Her wet, makeup-free, lovely face.

  “Ask me nicely.” He caught hold of her chin. “Say, ‘Chay, please let go of me.’”

  “That is precisely what…” She blushed. Jesus, he loved that blush, that rush of rosy pink into her cheeks. “This is not a game, Lieutenant.”

  “No, it’s not. Just ask me nicely and I’ll let go.”

  Her eyes gleamed. He wanted to laugh. Or maybe he wanted to kiss her. In truth, it wasn’t a tough decision to make and he lowered his head, brought his mouth to hers and kissed her. It was a light kiss, barely the whisper of his lips over hers, but it put a knot in his belly. And it did something to her, too. He saw it in her face, heard it on a swift little intake of air.

  “Ask me,” he said softly.

  She touched the tip of her tongue to the center of her bottom lip. He fought the urge to kiss her again.

  “Chay,” she whispered.

  “Good. Excellent.” The hell with fighting urges. He bent to her, kissed her again. This time, her lips parted on a sigh. “Is he a date? Or is he research?”

  “I told you. It is none of your—”

  One more kiss, a little longer, a little more intense than the last.

  “Research,” she breathed, and he had to struggle against the desire to pump his fist in the air.

  “I’ll wait for you, Tigress.”

  “Who?”

  He smiled and smoothed a wet curl from her temple.

  “I’ll explain later.”

  “No,” she said again. “There is no reason for you to wait.” She stepped back. “Goodbye, Lieutenant.”

  He clasped her shoulders. Turned her around. Opened the door to the coffee shop and stepped aside.

  “You’re late,” he said, and the next thing she knew, she was standing inside Cuppa Joe’s.

  And freezing.

  It was summer, this was Manhattan, and of course the AC was on. Normally, that would have been perfect—but she was wet, wetter than wet, if that was possible, and the last thing she needed was to be blasted with icy air.

  At least she wouldn’t have to stay.

  A quick look around the shop assured her that though some of the tables were filled, the one she’d specified to Noah as their meeting place was empty.

  Well, it would be.

  According to her cellphone, when she pulled it from the tote and checked the time, it was—mannaggia—twenty of seven!

  Okay. She’d have to text Noah an apology, but really, she was glad he’d given up and left. She wasn’t in the mood to sit through tonight. The only thing she wanted was to go home, take a hot shower and try to figure out why being with the lieutenant—with Chay—seemed to turn all her convictions inside out—

  “Bianca?”

  No, she thought, please, no…

  “Bianca. You’re here!”

  She turned towards the voice and her heart sank. Noah had not given up. Not unless there was another tall, thin man with curly red hair and a copy of the New York Times tucked under his arm who would
recognize her from the site she’d set up for her study.

  She took a breath, plastered on a smile and went towards him.

  “Noah,” she said, and stuck out her hand. He took it and clasped it in both of his. His grip was surprisingly strong; his palms were clammy and she tried not to recoil. “I’m terribly sorry I’m late. The storm…”

  He smiled.

  Not only clammy hands. His teeth were an unpleasant shade of yellow. Well, she wasn’t here to make personal judgments on anyone.

  “I understand, Bianca. I knew you were surely as eager to meet as I was, and that it was the weather that had delayed you.”

  His answer sent a prickle over her skin. And he still had hold of her hand.

  “Your photo on the study website is great, but it doesn’t do you justice.”

  Uh-oh. Prickle number two. Smiling, she tugged her hand free of his.

  “Since it’s already so late,” she said politely, “let’s sit right down and get started.”

  She started towards what she thought of as the Interview Table. Noah cupped her elbow and led her away from it.

  “Why don’t we sit someplace a bit more private?” he said, drawing her to a corner table. Smiling, he tossed the newspaper aside and pulled out a chair. “Bianca?”

  Uh-oh, indeed.

  Is this a date or research? She could hear Chay’s voice in her head.

  Noah seemed to have the answer to that question. The wrong answer. Not even the male subjects who’d come on to her had moved this fast or this definitively. She’d have to regain control of the situation quickly or the time she spent here tonight would be wasted.

  “Thanks,” she said pleasantly, “but I’m going to get us some coffee.”

  “I’ll do that. A double espresso for me—and a café latte for you A grande, with an extra shot of espresso and skim milk.” He winked. “And one sugar.”

  She stared at him. “How did you know that?”

  Noah laughed. Truly laughed. Ha ha ha.

  It was not a comforting sound.

  “That’s my secret. You just sit down, Bianca, and I’ll take care of everything.”

  “It’s Ms. Wilde.”

  She felt foolish as soon as she’d spoken. She’d given up the Bellini-Wilde thing months ago, once she’d decided it was occasionally confusing and often sounded too formal. For this study, she’d wanted to keep things as relaxed as possible, and she’d told all the other subjects she’d met with to call her by her first name.