Читать книгу Just One Look - Joanne Rock - Страница 8

HE NEEDED TO BACK the hell off.

Warren scrolled through old newspaper archives on his home computer the next afternoon and told himself he shouldn’t be spending his day off digging through Tabitha’s past after the flood of inappropriate thoughts he’d been having about her from their first very unorthodox meeting. But then, if he was being honest with himself, hadn’t he taken the day off from work purposely to see what he could find out about this ex of hers?

“Producer’s Partying Puts Wife Over the Edge” read one headline on his most recent search, making Warren incensed that tabloid journalists could soft sell infidelity as partying.

Technically, a stray shot through a woman’s window was not an official NYPD investigation yet. He’d filed a report in case she had any more trouble, but without any concrete reason to suspect she’d been targeted, the work Warren did this afternoon was strictly out of personal interest.

Personal because—hell, he couldn’t deny it—he was attracted to Tabitha. When they’d parted ways at the coffee shop the day before, he’d had to hold his tongue firmly beneath his teeth to keep from suggesting he escort her home and be there at her side when she looked to see if her gun was in its case. He wanted to be there for her because he knew what she would find—a gut hunch confirmed by her phone call an hour after he’d gotten back to the precinct. There was no gun in the case, just a pile of bullets nestled in the foam cutout of the gun to weigh down the pouch.

“Aspiring Actress Loses Prime Part Amid Blackball Accusations.” The next headline that caught his eye was taken from a more reliable source than the article about Tabitha going “over the edge” about her ex’s partying.

Apparently Tabitha had wanted to be a character actress at one point—a more prominent role in the community where she now worked as a silent participant. According to the story, she’d lost a recurring role on a popular soap opera after she’d filed for divorce, and she’d publicly accused Manny of pulling the strings to make it happen. Bastard.

The more stories that Warren scrolled through, the more pissed off he became at a guy who would try to railroad his wife’s career simply because she didn’t let him get away with flagrant adultery. Warren couldn’t help but relate to the woman whose life had been steered off course by someone hell bent on revenge. But it wasn’t until he discovered an old photo of Tabitha in a decorating magazine ensconced on a pristine white couch in the middle of a snow-white living room that he knew he couldn’t back off Tabitha Everhart.

She sat alone and off center in the photo of a palatial living room, a vibrant woman with flaming hair and a heart-stopping smile. A woman with dreams she’d been forced to reroute because she’d gotten involved with a man who thought what she wanted didn’t matter.

Shutting down his computer, he whistled to Buster and decided to take his run early today—right past Tabitha’s place. There was no law against what he was thinking about doing, no code of ethics that prevented him from seeing her again on a personal level since there hadn’t been an official investigation into the incident at her place.

He had no idea what he was going to say to her, but then, if things went his way, maybe they wouldn’t be talking at all.

MAYBE THE GUN really had been stolen.

Tabitha stared at the empty case on the middle of her coffee table and tried to remember those last few days in her old house before she’d moved out. Manny had hardly spoken to her. His fury at the scene she’d made had embarrassed him, putting an impenetrable wall between the two of them. So maybe he’d just been too angry to let her know there’d been a break-in, too caught up in his silent grudge to speak to her about anything, but he’d done the right thing and phoned in the missing weapon to the police.

She hoped that’s what happened.

Still, the incident didn’t add up.

Day had turned to evening while she ventured back in time in her mind. The blanket she’d stapled over her newly replaced front window wasn’t attractive, but it provided a thicker barrier than her curtains until she could afford massive drapes that made her feel less on display.

She revealed enough of herself at work without having her whole life visible through her front window. There was only one man she might like to reveal a little more of herself to, and she knew that had the potential to be a big mistake. Besides, Detective Vitalis had seemed mistrustful of her the last time they met. What good could come from an attraction tempered by suspicion?

So it came as a surprise when she heard a bark outside her front door a few moments later, followed by a quick, efficient knock.

“Tabitha?”

Warren’s deep masculine tone penetrated the repaired door easily. And God help her but how did she end up thinking about Warren and penetrated in the same moment?

Her subconscious was working overtime.

She had the vague sense of being caught doing something naughty since she’d just been thinking about what she’d like to do with him if he wasn’t a cop poking through the skeletons in her closet. He seemed safer to fantasize about when he wasn’t close enough for her to actually act on those thoughts.

Confirming that it was indeed Warren who stood on the concrete steps out front, she unfastened the bolt and opened the door.

“Glad to see you’re using the dead bolt now.” He smiled crookedly while Buster dispensed with the formalities and attempted to push his way past her.

She noticed Warren looked over the repairs to the doorframe as he stood on her threshold.

“I figured I didn’t want any more strangers bursting in here with a gun drawn. Come on in.” She stood aside to let both man and dog inside, gesturing toward her assembly of mismatched furniture that was cast in a reddish glow, thanks to a sheer scarf thrown over a table lamp by the window.

Buster hurried right over to the bowl of water she’d left out since his last visit, a sad testament to her cleaning ethic. While the dog slurped briefly and then sniffed his way around her apartment, she closed the door behind them.

“Have a seat.” Her apartment seemed smaller with Warren in it, his presence making her very aware of how much she’d avoided men for the past year.

Maybe she was only attracted to him because she’d been severely orgasm-deprived? Yeah, right. Whatever the man did to keep fit was sure as hell working. He was all lean muscle.

“Tabitha.” He didn’t sit when she did.

“What? Is this about the gun? Did you find out anything?” She rose again, more nervous because of her inappropriate thoughts than because of the conversation about a deadly weapon. How strange was that?

“Not yet.” He came closer now, lowering himself onto the couch as if to make her sit back down, too. “I just wanted to make it clear to you before we got too comfortable that I’m not here on business.”

Oh. Her pulse jumped in response, immediately interested in this new development.

“You’re not?” She dropped back on those couch cushions with no conscious thought, landing too close to the attractive detective who wasn’t paying her a business call.

Oh my.

“No. This is strictly a social call, so feel free to boot us out if you’re busy.” He looked around for Buster, who was already walking in circles near the fireplace as if trying to find that perfect place to sleep.

Would the detective be as quick to make himself comfortable here? Her mouth watered.

“I’m not busy.” The words rushed out of her mouth so fast she probably sounded like exactly what she was—an undersexed divorcée too long deprived.

Why did men have to continue to tempt her after all she’d been through thanks to the penis-bearing half of the species? Damn biology.

“It occurred to me tonight that since there is no official investigation into the bullet through your window—just an incident on file—there was nothing stopping me from asking you to…dinner sometime.”

The way he paused over the invitation made her question what else he had on his mind besides dinner.

Especially since he looked at her for the first time in the man-to-woman way instead of the cop-to-victim way. His eyes lingered, so warm and inviting on her that she had to glance down at herself to be sure she hadn’t accidentally greeted him in her nightie again. But nope. She was respectably dressed in a calf-length plaid skirt and a short white cardigan sweater. Very Park Avenue despite her downtown address.

So it wasn’t her outfit causing any kind of sensation here. Heat unfurled between her hips. She needed to stop this before she did something she regretted.

Like tackle him to the floor and tear his clothes off. It would be fine for a one-night stand, but what if the gunshot incident turned into something more dangerous down the road? She’d hate to compromise her relationship with a man who made her feel far more safe and protected than any of the patrol officers who’d followed up on the call that night.

“Dinner? I hate to be blunt, Detective—”

“Call me Warren.”

“Warren.” She tasted the name on her lips and liked it a little too well.

“And please be blunt. I’m not a man who appreciates false facades.”

The wealth of possible meaning beneath that statement intrigued her. Who had shown Warren a false facade in the past?

“Okay. Warren.” She couldn’t resist the warmth of that name, the intimacy of calling him by it one more time. “Then I’ll be honest with you. I’m not in a good place to consider dinner dates or any kind of normal dating scenario.”

“So that’s a no?” He shifted on the couch, angling slightly closer by turning to face her.

The diamond in his ear caught her eye, making her wonder about the show of sparkle on an otherwise Spartan-looking man. The earring fascinated her, as did the rest of him. Her ex had been all about the dazzle—he probably had more carats than that in the insignia on his money clip, let alone the collection of rings he’d taken to sporting after he’d sealed a deal with a silent partner that moved him into a much higher earning bracket.

And his hair—Manny would have never had the balls to come as close to shaving his head as Warren had. She reached to touch the bristly hair at his temple and caught herself. Stopped herself.

What was she thinking?

“I’m not in a good place in my life for any kind of relationship.” And wasn’t that the God’s honest truth? As much as she’d love to indulge a few fantasies with this man, she wasn’t putting herself in a position to get her heart stomped again. Or her pride. Or any other part of her, damn it.

“So you’re not interested in a relationship. Who says this has to be more than just dinner?” His arm unfolded across the back of the couch until she could feel the heat of his skin close to her shoulders, his hand coming to rest lightly on the back of her head, fingers sifting gently through the ends of her hair until her scalp tingled pleasantly.

And that wasn’t the only tingle.

Her eyelids grew heavy at the hypnotic brush of his fingers through her hair, the solid male presence of him beside her urging her to lean on him, into him, all over him.

Oh, that sounded unwise. And tempting.

“Since when is dinner ever just dinner? I’ve been alone too long to sit through polite small talk.” Since her marriage had fallen apart, she’d given up couching her words in social niceties.

“You think you’ll be bored?” Warren was clearly on another wavelength since that wasn’t at all what she’d been thinking.

She couldn’t help the short bark of laughter that escaped her lips.

“Not likely.” Her gaze locked with his and she felt herself being pulled closer. Willed closer. But she didn’t know who was doing the willing.

“Then what does being alone have to do with you not being able to make it through dinner?” That soft scrub of his fingers shifted from her hair to the back of her neck.

“Besides sending the wrong message about my dating availability?” Maybe she should have taken him up on dinner. “I’m way too impatient to sit through chitchat when all I want—”

She still couldn’t quite put it into words. She trailed off as his fingers sought a path down the curve of her neck to her shoulder. The cardigan sweater that had seemed respectable enough when she answered the door now gave him access to bare skin since she’d left the top button undone.

If she wasn’t careful, she’d be coming undone next.

“What do you want?” he prompted, steering her gently back to the conversation they’d been having, the one in which she’d almost admitted to dark desires for a downtown detective.

Her heart pounded so loudly she couldn’t hear herself think through the noise. No. Admit it, Tabitha. She just wasn’t thinking at all.

“I don’t know about you. But I really only want dessert.” The sordid truth of the matter sat between them for only a moment before her confession ignited something explosive.

She arched up to him, drawn to him and unwilling to pretend she wasn’t. She wanted this man. Badly.

Lips parting, she kissed him. Sensation rippled through her chest, fluttering down to her belly and tingling outward.

For long moments, she simply breathed his air, her mouth hovering lightly against his. He didn’t press her, didn’t touch her anywhere except that feather-light caress of his hand on her shoulder.

He tasted like peppermint. The scent mixed with the vanilla lip gloss she’d put on at some point that day. Courage growing along with the liquid warmth threatening to swallow her, Tabitha couldn’t wait any longer to test the texture of the rest of his mouth. Her tongue came in brief, hot contact with his lips, darting along the fullness of the middle before she wound her arms around his neck and pressed her whole body against him.

He surprised her by breaking the contact, pulling back when she’d been debating another move forward. Had he realized she’d been about to tackle him? The twinge of disappointment startled her as much as the way her heart jumped in nervous rhythm.

“You’re agreeing to dessert then, right?” He relinquished her shoulder to smooth his way up her neck and cup her chin. “I want to make sure we understand each other before we go any further.”

“You want clarification?” Her fingers reached up to touch the open collar of his shirt and she remembered how he mentioned not liking people with false facades. Lucky for him, she was all too glad to be honest about this. “I’m interested in exploring this attraction wherever it leads, but I’m not going down the path of dinner or drinks or a standing Friday-night commitment for all the orgasms in the world.”

“I’ll make sure not to bother you on Fridays.” A hint of a smile twitched his lips before he ventured near again, but now that Tabitha had found her voice, she couldn’t seem to silence it. She had to share one more, very important thing.

“But if we’re going to follow this where it leads, could you do me one small favor?” She pressed her hand to his chest at the last minute and got to experience the solid warmth of him.

Her hand splayed against his heart.

“Name it.” His heart hammered quickly beneath her hand in a way that fascinated her. Flattered her even more.

“Just be careful you don’t touch any more than my lips until we’re ready to take this to its natural conclusion.” She’d always had intimacy problems. Bad timing with her…er, climaxes. “I’m sort of a sexual powder keg after too many nights alone and—” deep, steadying breath “—I think I have a pretty sensitive trigger by now.”