Читать книгу A Dash of Temptation - Jo Leigh - Страница 9

DASH CLIMBED TO THE second floor of the old brownstone, then looked at his watch. It was four-fifty. He wondered how far along Tess was in getting ready. Experience had shown him that women were genetically predisposed to lateness connected in any way with makeup or hair products. So, he’d wait. He just hoped the limo would be safe downstairs. The neighborhood left something to be desired.

He walked up two more flights of stairs trying to ignore a scent he didn’t want to think about, then down a murky hallway. Three lights had burned out. Tess should ask the landlord to fix them. It wasn’t safe. Anyone could hide in one of the shadowy doorways.

Then he found apartment 42. He knocked, straightened his bow tie, pulled his tux jacket down in back, and with some effort, relaxed. He’d mention the light situation casually, while she was puttering around with her last-minute touches. He wouldn’t say a word about the smell.

When the door swung open, his hello caught as a strange woman smiled at him.

“I’m looking for Tess?”

The woman, thin, attractive with her large eyes and button nose, stepped back to let him in. “Tess is almost ready,” she said. “I’m Mary, her neighbor.”

“Nice to meet you, Mary.” He took her hand in his and kissed the back. Women liked that. Mary’s grin confirmed a direct hit. “I’m Dash Black.”

“Yeah. I kinda figured.”

He smiled, hiding his surprise at her interesting wardrobe choices. A Scooby-Doo T-shirt over a pair of jeans so large she could fit in them twice, held up by red suspenders. Her hair was seminormal, if you considered a streak of purple normal.

“You want something to drink?” Mary shut the door. “There’s some Merlot that’s pretty decent.”

“No, thank you. There’s going to be enough of that at the party.”

Mary led him into a small living room. Really small. Dash hadn’t been in an apartment like this in years. He’d forgotten people actually lived like this. Typical in Manhattan, it would be considered a shoe closet in most other cities. There was room for a love seat, a chair, a lamp and a coffee table of sorts. When he looked closer, he saw it was a tree stump with a glass top.

“Have a seat.” Mary plopped down on the chair, so Dash took the love seat. He sank into it until his knees were above his waist. Getting up wasn’t going to be easy. He prayed Tess was almost ready.

“So, what’s it like being you?”

He looked sharply at the Scooby-Doo woman. “I don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought.”

“Are you happy?”

Who was this strange girl? She looked to be in her mid-twenties, and from what he could see she didn’t have a speck of makeup on her squeaky clean face. “For the most part.”

“Hmm,” she said, sounding too much like a therapist for his taste.

“What?”

“I’ve only seen you smiling. In magazines, and stuff. So I guess I’ve just thought of you as happy all the time.”

“No one’s happy all the time.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Mary, stop bugging the nice man.”

Tess’s voice came from the doorway behind him, and using his hand on the frame for leverage, Dash stood, relieved as hell. He wanted out of here, to be on his own turf. He turned, then stopped dead still. Tess was a vision of luscious womanhood in a red dress that made his throat dry. Her hair looked wild, like she’d just gotten well and lustily laid, and her eyes were luminous with mischief and something else he couldn’t peg. But where he got stuck was her lips.

Red, like the dress, full, like her breasts. He wanted to pull her to him, feel that body from shoulder to knee, and kiss her senseless.

“Please excuse my friend,” Tess said, walking toward him with a sinful sway of hips. “We normally don’t let her speak to strangers unless she’s taken her Prozac.”

He smiled as he caught Mary’s surreptitious one-finger salute. But his attention was on Tess. Only Tess. “You look stunning.”

She lowered her lashes as her cheeks pinked. “Thank you.” Shyly, she looked at him again, her gaze moving down his tuxedo, then back up. “So do you.”

He laughed. “Stunning? I don’t think so.”

Her head tilted to the side. “You are.”

He waved away the compliment, and took hold of her hand. This time, when he kissed the delicate skin on the back, he lingered, inhaling deeply her sweet honey scent. “The coach awaits,” he said, reluctant to let go of her.

“I just need my bag.”

Her hand was lost to him, but in recompense, he got to watch as she walked to the tiny kitchen to collect her purse. The curves were just as impressive from this side.

He tried to remember why he’d decided to keep his hands off Tess. Patrick’s face came to mind. For about two seconds. He took one more look at Tess’s backside and banished his brother for the night.

“Okay, I’m all set,” she said.

He crossed the room in three strides and captured her hand once more. “It’s going to be a great party,” he said as he led her toward the front door. “And I’m going to be the luckiest man there.”

Tess faced him with a frown. “Maybe you should take Mary. You two have a lot in common.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’d understand if you knew her.”

He nodded at the woman still curled up in the chair. “While I’d be delighted to get to know you better, tonight is for Tess.”

“Be good,” Mary said. “And if you can’t be good, be safe. Remember, no glove, no love.”

“Mary?” Tess said sweetly.

“Yes?”

“Remind me to kill you when I get home, okay?”

“I’ll leave you a note.” She waved all five fingers this time. “Have fun, kids.”

Dash got the door, and once he and Tess were in the hallway, his gaze went right to a burned-out bulb. “This isn’t safe,” he said. “You need those lights fixed. You don’t even have a doorman.”

“I know,” she said. “But I’ve come to the conclusion that the super here is a hologram.”

“Then you should contact the landlord.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Promise?”

She nodded. “It’s okay. Honest. Thanks for your concern.”

“Well, it’s dangerous.”

“So is walking in these heels.”

He got the hint and led her down all the stairs to the street. Some kid had his boom box on painful-death-bass, and some other kid was screaming up to his mother on the fifth floor, but the limo was still intact, the engine purring, waiting for them.

Moe, Dash’s driver for over five years, smiled as he opened the back door. Moe was forty-seven, with a shocking thatch of thick black hair and a mustache to match. He didn’t look it, but he was also a bodyguard. His CIA training had been supplemented by years mastering karate.

“Good evening, ma’am. Let me help you into that seat. The step is a little tricky.”

Tess thanked him while Dash went to the other door. A moment later, they were happily settled in the quiet of the car. “Get comfortable,” he said. “It’s three hours.”

“I could run up and get my bunny slippers.”

“Or I could pour you a cocktail.”

“Bunny slippers are highly overrated.”

The limo was well stocked, and after a moment of concentration, Tess decided on an apple martini. Dash got the shaker, the ice and the vodka, but he almost dumped the whole thing in his lap. Inattention. She’d leaned back, taken a deep breath, and he was all thumbs. It wasn’t like him. He disconcerted women, not the other way around. Pulling himself together, he poured her drink, fixed himself a scotch and water, then leaned back next to her. Not close enough.

She sipped, moaned with pleasure, then sighed. He felt inordinately pleased.

“I can see why Mary asked you those questions,” she said softly.

It took him a moment to remember. “About being happy?”

Tess nodded. “It’s tricky when you only see a public image. I don’t know you at all.”

“Why don’t we fix that.”

“Right. Three hours.”

“Ask ’em if you’ve got ’em. If, that is, I get to ask you questions in return.”

“My life’s an open book. I wish I had skeletons in the closet, but so far, it’s only dust bunnies.”

“I see a motif shaping up here. Did you have bunnies as a child? Did you have an issue with a bunny?”

She laughed, throaty, rich. “Nary a bunny crossed my path. It’s Mary’s influence, I’m convinced. Being around her too long would make anyone a little nuts, and she’s my best friend.”

“I’ll wager you have lots of friends.”

She sipped her drink, then put the glass down between them on the leather seat. “I have enough. I grew up in a very small town, and so I had a gang there. Mostly out of self-defense. The boredom factor was daunting. One movie theater. No mall. It wasn’t pretty.”

“And now?”

“New York isn’t exactly the easiest place to make friends, but I have a few. Mary. The woman who brought me into the plant business. My online girlfriends, of course. And Tate.” At the name, her face softened.

“And who would Tate be?”

“He’s a wonderful man who takes me to the theater.”

“Oh?”

“No, it’s not like that. He’d old enough to be my father. He’s someone special, though. I’m glad I know him.”

“What makes him special?”

She shrugged her shoulders, reminding him again of her proximity and his hormones. “He’s incredibly passionate about what he loves, and he shares that with me. There are no compromises in Tate.”

“It’s a lucky man who doesn’t have to compromise.”

“I’m not sure it’s about luck. I think, in his case, he simply was prepared to pay the price.”

Dash brought his glass up to his lips and savored the aged scotch as it heated a trail down his throat. Some compromises were harder than others, that’s all. She didn’t know that yet. She was so young.

Tess felt the change in him, although she had no idea what had caused it. One moment she was dizzy in the focus of Dash’s scrutiny, and then she’d lost him. She’d only been talking about Tate…

Oh, God. Maybe that was it. He’d assumed she’d told him about Tate so he would know the coast was clear. But this wasn’t a real date, and he wasn’t really interested, just polite.

Maybe, if she could pretend to be as smooth and confident as she sounded, she wouldn’t feel like throwing up. She’d had the gift always. No one ever saw her sweat or shake or fumble for words. Which didn’t mean she wasn’t quaking inside.

The black stretch limo, complete with uniformed chauffer, the red dress, Dash…who wouldn’t be a complete wreck? God, but he was gorgeous. The tuxedo was something out of a James Bond movie, and Dash was made to wear it. He was the ultimate playboy, the elegant scoundrel who broke hearts as easily as she broke her nails.

At the thought, she looked down at her hands. The press-on nails were still attached, shiny with red polish to match her dress. No one would guess she really had gardener’s fingernails, so short they didn’t even reach the tip of her fingers.

Her gaze went back to Dash, to his expression. The frown line between his brows had gone, and he looked back at her with real interest. “What?”

“I was just thinking,” he said.

“About?”

“Your business proposal.”

Her stomach clenched and she almost dropped her drink. “Thanks a lot. I’d managed to put that terror on hold for a while.”

“Sorry, although I don’t see what you have to be afraid of. Cullen is going to love you.”

“From your lips…”

He grinned, and she felt it down to her toes. Perfect teeth, that bottom lip. Oh, my.

“Don’t sweat it. I mean it. What had me puzzled was why you didn’t approach me.”

“For what?”

“For the funding.”

“Why would I do that?”

“For the same reason every other entrepreneur in the city does. Because I could help.”

“I work for you. This is separate.”

“It never occurred to you?”

“No. Don’t look at me that way. I’m serious.”

“I believe you.”

“Okay, then.” She finished off her martini, then handed him the empty glass. “I did want to say again how much this means to me. It’s way over and above the call of duty. You’re helping me big time.”

“No thanks necessary. I’m getting as much out of this as you are.”

“Which is something I don’t fully understand.”

“Not much to understand. I get to escort a beautiful lady to a party.”

“Yeah, uh-huh.”

His grin turned a little sheepish. “Okay, so there’s a bit more. All those pictures you see of me smiling? That’s work. And it’s not easy work. Not that I’m complaining. I know I’m the luckiest sonofabitch in the world, but still. It’s not easy to be happy twenty-four-seven.”

“So you don’t have to work tonight?”

“Not in the same way. If I was with, say, an actress or a model, there would be speculation, constant photos, questions, innuendoes. With you, they’ll be curious, of course, but not rabid.”

“So I’m not going to appear on the cover of People?”

“Most likely not,” he said. “Are you disappointed?”

“Crushed.”

His grin faded. “I—”

She touched his arm. “I was kidding. I’m very happy to be whatever you need me to be tonight. Honestly.”

His gaze moved down to his arm, where her hand touched his sleeve.

She knew she should take it back, let him go, but she felt frozen. It was absurd, but she could swear she felt his heat. Impossible through shirt and coat. It hadn’t started out as an intimate gesture, but it had turned into one. Stoked by his gaze, the heat spread through her. And still, she didn’t move her hand.

“That could get a little tricky,” he said, his voice lower, huskier than just a moment before.

“What could?”

“You being whatever I need you to be.”

“Oh.”

He leaned toward her and she held her breathe. He was going to kiss her. Oh, God. But he stopped short, inches away from her lips. His breath, a ridiculously intoxicating blend of scotch and spearmint, slipped inside her. “Very tricky,” he whispered. And then his lips touched hers.

Before she could even close her eyes, he was gone. She blinked, tried to remember how to breathe.

He cleared his throat. Tugged his cuffs down. Looked out the window, at the moon roof, at the bar. Finally, at her. His frown surprised her. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“There are no strings attached to this evening. I apologize.”

“Don’t worry on my account.” She gasped the second the words were out of her mouth.

He laughed, but not at her. Not making fun. In fact, the sound made her feel a fraction less foolish. “Okay, so at least we know one thing.”

“That I need to learn to keep my big mouth shut?”

“No. That we’re both a little nervous about tonight.”

“I can understand me, but not you.”

“I’m always a little nervous around a beautiful woman.”

She nearly made a smart remark, but something stopped her. His eyes, or maybe his hint of a smile. Something made her entertain the idea that he could be telling the truth. That he thought she was beautiful.

She wasn’t a hag or anything, but please. She was just Tess. Ten pounds overweight, ugly nails, hair that looked like it was done in a blender. Not Nicole or Meg or Julia. She was a hick from Tulip, that’s all. And he was the most sophisticated, debonair man on planet Earth.

Which, of course, explained it. He was working tonight. Despite his protests. He couldn’t help it. When you seduce women for a living, it must come naturally, like breathing or sleeping. So it would be wise not to let her imagination run away with her.

This wasn’t a coach, he wasn’t a prince, and she sure as hell wasn’t Cinderella.

“Tess.”

She focused on him with a start. She’d been far away in the land of insecurity. “Yes?”

“No matter the reason. Favor to you, favor to me. Whatever. I’m glad I’m here, now, with you.”

She smiled as warmly as she could, but she wasn’t fooled this time. He was the embodiment of a smooth operator. A man so suave he made Cary Grant seem like an oaf. Of course he was going to flatter her. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad, too.”

If ever there was a Man To Do, Dash Black was him. Never, not in a million years, would he become a Man To Marry. Not to her, at least. Never to her.