Joe yawned. “Well, I’m sorry to chat and run, but I need to get Amanda back to her car and me to bed.”
“Sure, sure,” Bernie said as he helped Amanda up from the stoop. “You’d better go. Congressman Lewis is speaking at P.S. 41 tonight on the new park plans and they’re still not done debating the location. Four hours! Can you imagine? Plant a tree, four flowers and put a swing set in the middle. It’s a park. What? They need a committee to figure this out? When he finally lets them out, traffic’s going to be nuts around here.”
“Amanda, it was a real pleasure. Good night, Joseph. Come down tomorrow,” Vincent said.
“Working midnights tomorrow. Can’t do it.” Joe stuck his hands in his pockets and turned right at the corner, his stride more a run than a walk.
Amanda waved to the old men and then hustled to keep up. “Joe, wait. Why didn’t you tell me about the flying lessons? That’s so great.”
He stopped, his eyes hard. “Look. Nobody knows. Okay. I don’t know if I’ll be able to finish or not. I don’t know if I want to finish. It’s a lot more than I can handle.” He pointed to the row of cars parked on the street. “Which one is yours?”
She almost didn’t tell him. “The Mercedes.”
He just shook his head and laughed. “Yeah, why didn’t I guess?” She unlocked it with her remote, and he opened the door for her.
“See you around, Amanda.” He started to turn away.
“Wait.” She leaned against the cool steel door, shutting it. “What do we do now?”
“We’ve already done too much.”
In Amanda’s mind, they hadn’t done nearly enough, but she kept her mouth shut. “I’m talking about Avery.”
“Why don’t you marry him, Amanda? I’ve never seen two people more perfect for each other. My parents would be thrilled.” He actually sounded serious.
Why couldn’t anyone understand? “My plan is working. Avery really believes we’re having an affair. Just a little while, Joe. Give it a chance. I need your help.”
“Amanda, you don’t need anyone’s help. Least of all, mine. You could do anything you set your mind to.”
She didn’t want to see him go. Not yet. “Please? I know this will work.”
Joe looked up at the streetlights and closed his eyes. “Why would Avery ever believe this?”
It was the sarcastic tone that made her angry. “Look at me. I have put up with Avery Barrington for twenty-one years! That’s longer than most marriages. For the first time, Avery is actually entertaining thoughts of other women. Did you see him with Monique? That is what I was trying to tell you. This is going to work. It’s got to work. I don’t know what else to do.” To her chagrin, she felt tears pricking at the corner of her eye and she dashed them away with the back of her hand.
Joe swore, lifted a hand to touch her, and then stopped. “Don’t start crying. Look, if you want me to help, I’ll help.” He pushed at his dark hair with an unsteady hand. “But nothing else, Amanda. I don’t know exactly what you’re thinking here, but he’s my brother. Nothing is going to happen between us.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and took a step back. “Nothing.”
Amanda knew when it was time to pull back. She opened the car door, and settled in the plush, leather interior. Why couldn’t she drive a Volkswagen? He shut her door and saluted. Completely unaffected by what she considered was certainly a defeatist attitude, Amanda rolled down the window and waved. “You work on Sunday? We can go dancing.”
Joe put a protesting hand on the car door. “What if Avery won’t show?”
That she ignored, pulling away from the curb, honking her horn. Just to make sure he understood, she stuck her head out the window. “I’ll be by your place at eight o’clock to pick you up. Don’t be late.”
She glanced in her rearview mirror and watched Joe get smaller and smaller as she drove away. Well, their first date had gone surprisingly well, considering it was a disaster.
Sunday would be their Day Two. She touched her lips, remembering his kiss…touched her breast, remembering his touch, and then smiled to herself. He inspired such passion in her. Passion she’d never felt before. And who would have thought that Amanda Sedgewick would be out at midnight, sitting on a stoop in the heart of the city? It felt good.
An affair with Joe would be all that she imagined. And more.
4
AT JOE’S INSISTENCE, they took a cab. Some termed a New York cab living dangerously, however Amanda had always secretly loved it. Their cab driver was Armando Cruz, licensed since August 31, 2001. His Yankee’s cap was turned backward in what Amanda termed the doofus look.
“Where to, man?”
“137 Eighth Avenue. Brooklyn.”
Armando looked at Joe in the rearview mirror. “You’re sure about that?”
Joe nodded.
The cab lurched forward, pealing away from the curb. “Brooklyn it is.”
Amanda found herself flat against the seat and laughed in delight. “Step on it, Armando.”
Joe’s blue gaze flickered over in her direction, and she felt a fresh burst of heat wash over her skin.
He liked her dress.
Oh, he hadn’t said a word, but the banked appreciation in his eyes spoke volumes. Every now and then, they would drift in her direction, as intimate as a touch.
She shivered.
“Cold?” he asked, glancing at her chest.
She fought the urge to cross her arms over her breasts, and instead smoothed the red silk material lovingly over her thighs. She watched with smug confidence as he turned a little paler. “No, thank you for asking.”
The cab lurched left again, spoiling her moment.
The deserted midtown streets slid by, although every now and then an evening jogger or dog-walker would appear. Amanda checked her watch. Eight-thirty. If she was back by one, she could finish going through the articles she’d found on industrial cleaning solvents and their side effects. She’d agreed to take Vincent’s case almost immediately after they talked on Friday, and after two solid days of research she knew she was on to something.
And Joe didn’t miss a thing. “Got someplace else you want to be?”
She smiled and shook her head. He was exactly what she needed. Dressed in slacks and a plain cotton shirt, his hair slightly mussed, and a wicked gleam in his eye, he looked—perfect. “No. Tonight I’m going out on the town. It’s playtime.”
His eyes locked with hers for a moment, and then he turned away, looking out the window instead.
Chicken.
As they drove through Little Italy, there were pasta shops everywhere. She could imagine the smell of freshly baked bread and sauce simmering in garlic. Under the shimmering glow of the streetlights, two young lovers walked hand in hand. Amanda sighed, the long-forgotten echoes of Frank Sinatra playing in her head.
The cab screeched around a corner and Amanda slid into Joe. Mysteriously, her hand found its way to his thigh. Not so mysteriously, her hand worked its way up his thigh.
Joe didn’t blink. “You don’t want to be doing that.”
“Oh, yes I do.” He sat straight, taut, very unlike the easygoing man she thought she knew. Amanda plunged forward. “You’re attracted to me.”
He shrugged. “You’re a female. You’re alive. I’m easy.”
A headache throbbed right between her eyes. She had known he was stubborn. Had always thought his “stick-to-his-guns” trait was appealing, attractive even. She was an idiot. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “We don’t have to pretend, Joe.”
“Yes. We do.”
She flashed him a gentle, comforting smile. “No. We don’t.”
“Yes. We do.”
Amanda moved in closer. “We could do torrid, you know.”
“No.”
“Hot.” She licked her lips, getting into this femme fatale persona. The courtroom had never been this exciting.
“No.” The denial sounded a little strained.
“I could make you fo
rget your name.”
“You’re Avery’s girl. That’s all I need to remember.”
The mood shattered. “I’m Amanda Jocelyn Sedgewick. Daughter of Richard and Leona Sedgewick. Graduate, magna cum laude, of Columbia University, and Cornell University law. I’m my own person. Not Avery’s girl.”
They drove over the Brooklyn Bridge, and Joe looked away staring at the dark waters of the East River. The full moon cast a silver glow over the bridge’s spider-webbed cabling. “He’s in love with you.”
“Fixated. Avery’s love affair with himself is bigger than me, bigger than both of us.”
He turned back towards her and smiled. “Yeah.”
“You’re stubborn.”
His smile turned cocky and sure. “Just like my big bro.”
Her leg began to shake. She’d never quite been able to conquer the spasm of agitation, but she could hide it. She leaned back against the seat, tucking one ankle behind the other. Her voice was not all fun and games. “Why did I ever have to meet the Barringtons?”
“You’re cursed,” he replied, looking completely serious.
“You think Avery will be there tonight?”
“Yeah, I told him we were going dancing. He knows where I go.”
The driver turned his head and winked at Amanda. “137 Eighth Avenue. Twelve dollars and seventy-five cents.”
Joe fished in his wallet and paid the driver, and then held the door open for Amanda.
But Armando wasn’t done. “Hey if my girl looked like she does, and if my girl wanted to dance with me like that, I wouldn’t be in no cab. I’d be giving her the Armando Mambo. You’re a loser, man.” He pointed a finger at Joe to emphasize the words.
Amanda winked at the cabbie. “He’s not really a loser, just a little hesitant.”
“Lady, you need a real man? You come to Armando. I’ll treat you good.”
“Get out of the car, Amanda.”
She emerged from the cab, haughty and professional. “You are no gentleman, Joe.”
“Nag, nag, nag.” He slammed the door behind her.
Her heels sounded as she made her way down the street. “But I’m still gonna make you forget your name.”
THIS CLUB has always been Joe’s favorite place. Unassuming and out of the way, no one ever made judgments. The music was dark and sexy, just like the air. Blue Velvet was a throwback to days gone by, and for Joe, it was the best place to meet women.
But tonight, he was playing white knight for Amanda. And he wasn’t a loser. That one remark from Armando had hurt more than all the digs against his testosterone levels. He had spent his life not measuring up to Avery, and eventually he stopped trying. But with Amanda? Damn. For her, he wanted to try again. Those thoughts of material success were weaving a spell in his head.
Joe leaned back against the stuffed cushions of his seat. He sipped his beer and let the music wash over him. He’d already played that game once. Not again.
Not even for Amanda.
He watched as she moved on the dance floor. The red dress billowed out and then flowed back as she swayed to the sultry sounds of Nina Simone.
What was she doing with him? Why this sudden desire to walk on the wild side? Amanda was a high-society type. About as stuffy as Avery and just as polished and refined. That’s what prep school did to people. Probably was a good thing Joe didn’t go. He didn’t want to be polished, didn’t want to be refined.
His eyes narrowed, watching her move. Maybe not so stuffy after all.
He should be dancing with her. Instead, like a big jerk-off, he’d said no. And now, she was swirling on the dance floor with four guys flocked around her like an entourage in a music video.
Way to go, Joe.
He looked at his watch. Ten-thirty. Avery would be here soon. Joe would have to hold Amanda close, kiss that mouth again, kiss all that white silky skin.
Why did he ever agree to this?
Because you wanted to, sap, a voice whispered in his head.
One of the big bruisers pulled Amanda closer and Joe put down his beer. He stalked out on the dance floor, grabbed Amanda, and spoke very clearly to all the hulking members of her entourage.
“She’s mine.”
Amanda’s body locked up against his and he sucked in every molecule of oxygen, causing his head to spin.
She looked up at him, lashes fluttering, red silk barely covering the shadowy cleavage he still remembered touching. Her eyes were dancing with misguided hero-worship. He definitely wasn’t a loser. Not tonight.
“Is Avery here?”
“No.” Joe moved his feet, found the slow, throbbing beat, and maneuvered her around the floor.
She perked up. “You did that on your own? Because you wanted to?” Her hands curled into his hair. “Maybe you should kiss me, too.”
He wanted to do a lot more than kiss her. He wanted to take her home, peel the red silk from her skin, bury himself inside her for days. He looked up at the door, saw the full frontal protrusion of Avery’s jaw, and smiled tightly. “Maybe I should.”
He stopped moving, and met her waiting lips. He had hoped, he had prayed that his memories were faulty, that he’d built her up to be some sort of fantasy, but when he felt her lips melt under his tongue, he realized the reality was even sweeter. She tasted so good, so exotic, so ripe. Her tongue mingled with his, moving back and forth in his mouth, making love to him with her mouth, all in time to the music. He drew her closer, until their bodies merged together. For a moment, he let himself forget, but only for a moment. He drew back, stared into her eyes, wanting to understand her.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because I like you,” her lips nuzzled his jaw, “you’re sexy as hell,” her hands skimmed his back, “and I desperately want your brother to leave me alone.”
He took her hands in his, needing to have her stop touching him. He couldn’t think. “It doesn’t have to be real.”
That sultry smile could have overheated any engine. He didn’t even want to think about what it was doing to his own less-stablized anatomy. “I want it to be real.”
He locked his hands behind his back. Much safer. “Why?”
“I want to feel. I want passion. I want…more than what I have now. You could teach me.”
Fantasies popped into his head. Vivid portrayals of naked flesh, long blond hair and her mouth. On him. Oh, God. Could he teach her? He coughed, his desire to breathe momentarily forgotten. He had to get control of the situation. He was losing it. “There’s at least four other guys, five if you count Armando, who would be more than happy to teach you how to have passion in your life.”
Her gaze was only for him. “And what about you?”
“I can’t argue with any lawyer.” He stepped back away from her, before he touched her again. Before he forgot all about why they were doing this. Before he forgot all about Avery.
Those eyes that had flashed hero-worship before now flashed with anger and she grabbed his arm. “Now’s not the time, Joe. There’s Avery.” She tilted her head toward the door. “At least pretend.”
Pretend. He could do that. He watched as his brother found a table and ordered a vodka martini—shaken, not stirred. Joe knew the drill. Joe pulled Amanda close, smelled her perfume—what was she wearing?—and saw his brother’s eyes narrow.
What was he doing?
Amanda pulled away and danced a tight circle around him, teasing, taunting, pursing her wicked mouth, sending him imaginary kisses. His body was not happy with imaginary; it wanted the real deal. He looked at Avery, who had now looked away.
Damn.
Amanda was just Amanda. This wasn’t supposed to hurt Avery. Hell, nothing hurt Avery. At least not anymore. Avery had done all he set out to do, except for one thing. Marrying Amanda—the most amazing woman that Joe had ever met.
Her hair swirled around her, brushing his arm, his face.
Suddenly Joe didn’t want to do this. He just wasn’t that low.
“I can’t.”
Her smile turned slow and confident. A seductress. She took his hand and pulled them off the dance floor. They walked a few steps to the narrow hallway where autographed pictures of old musicians hung in tribute.
In the dim light, her smile lost a little wattage, became a little less sure. “Joe, you’re the only one who can fix this.”
“Find some other way. Did you see the way’s he’s looking at you? I’m not like you. I can’t ignore that. Talk to him. Dump him yourself.”
“I’ve tried.”
“Try harder.”
They could have heard her snarl in Jersey. “If I talked to him, and he still believes I’m his soul mate, then will you agree?”
“How will I know you’re really trying? I don’t trust you, Amanda.”
She threw up her hands and he caught a glimpse of a white breast, the shadow of her nipple. God, how he wanted he wanted to touch her.
“Listen. Decide for yourself. I’ll invite Avery over for drinks after work on Monday, and you can hear the whole thing.”
“Eavesdrop?” He frowned.
“You said you didn’t trust me.”
“I don’t.”
“Do you see another way?”
Joe wished for a flash of inspiration, but in the back of his mind he wanted nothing more than to see her tomorrow. “No.”
“Fine. Show up tomorrow at seven. My place.”
“Better make it eight. Avery likes Dateline.”
She closed her eyes, the picture of a sexy woman, desperately needing a white knight. “Fine,” she said, sounding so tired.
His heart twisted.
He headed out of the bar and he barely gave a nod to his brother on the way out, his stomach cramping like he’d had too much to drink. He didn’t trust himself with alcohol around Amanda. It wouldn’t take much to send him over the edge, and he suspected she knew it.
Amanda meant trouble. Somewhere about the time that Joe got his mechanics license, he discovered that he was content with his life. He liked his neighborhood and he had his friends. At last he’d found where he belonged. But every time he looked at Amanda, every time she watched him with that cool, appraising gaze, he felt anything but content.
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