Читать книгу Silk, Lace & Videotape - Joanne Rock - Страница 7

IN NEARLY TEN YEARS of stakeouts with the New York police force, Detective Duke Rawlins had never allowed anything to distract him from his job.

Too bad the file photo of knockout designer Amanda Matthews didn’t know that.

Duke stretched in the limited space offered by his police-issued, unmarked car. He smoothed his finger over the grainy black-and-white image stapled inside his latest case file. He needed to arrest Amanda’s drug-smuggling boyfriend this morning. Salivating over a Manhattan socialite with more mob connections than dinner invitations wasn’t about to get the job done.

Since when had Duke started going for the mob moll type anyway? No matter how long her family had been in the social register, Amanda Matthews’s father was a couturier to every mobster in the city. By the look of things, Amanda would follow right in Daddy’s footsteps.

Not that it mattered to Duke.

He slapped the file closed and tossed it across the bench seat. He’d definitely been pursuing Amanda’s boyfriend, Victor Gallagher, for too long.

So what if Amanda’s high cheekbones and pouting lips imparted a movie-star glamour Duke found damnably attractive? She would probably stroll out of Gallagher’s apartment any moment after a night of torrid sex. Maybe that little reality check would force Duke to get his mind back on his work—back on the promotion that Gallagher’s conviction would solidify.

He patted his gun and the pocket that held his badge, grateful he wasn’t the type of guy to get distracted on the job. Reaching for the car door handle, he prepared to face the key conviction in the Garment District’s drug smuggling ring. After today, Duke would gladly banish Amanda’s photo to a filing cabinet in the nether regions of the police station.

That is, if she wasn’t connected to her boyfriend’s crimes.

Duke started to step out into the late spring drizzle when a taxi pulled up to the apartment he’d been watching, the bright yellow cab a splash of color in a gray day. On instinct, Duke pulled his car door shut. From his angle across the street and down a few buildings, he had a view of both sides of the cab.

The newcomer was probably no one—just another artsy type who called this trendy area of the Lower West Side home.

Except that the endless feminine leg emerging from the cab didn’t look like it belonged to no one.

No. This trim calf and knee was sheathed in a light veil of pink, as if some clever spider had woven a cotton candy web around that expanse of perfect flesh. Capping off the pink stocking and mouthwatering leg was a hot pink shoe that looked more suited to the bedroom than the puddle-covered pavement of West Twenty-eighth Street.

He recognized that shoe. The Barbie doll he’d bought for his niece two years ago had been wearing heels just like it. This was the first time Duke had seen such impractical footwear on a walking, talking—

Woman.

Duke swallowed hard as the second leg swung down to the concrete. A sweat broke out when a trench coat and hourglass figure slid from the cab. Light brown hair and an all-too-familiar movie-star pout made his jaw drop.

Amanda Matthews had arrived.

Duke reminded himself to breathe. To think. He had a job to do, damn it.

Unfortunately, all he could think of was how odd it seemed for Victor Gallagher’s sexy girlfriend to be entering his apartment building at 9:00 a.m. rather than leaving it.

Did that thought rank as a distraction from his case, or was he thinking about it by thinking about her?

Damn.

It looked like Amanda Matthews didn’t have any intention of being banished to the filing cabinet any time soon.

AMANDA HAD NEVER fully appreciated the silk lining of her trench coat until she slithered her way out of a taxi in the garment with nothing on underneath it.

Well, almost nothing.

The metal hooks on her garters scraped lightly against her thighs as she hopped a puddle on West Twenty-eighth Street. The tantalizing abrasion reminded her she did indeed wear something beneath the oversize camel-colored coat. But she hardly counted the pink lace merry widow and matching panties as clothes. She was prepared to bare scandalous amounts of skin for her boyfriend today if it would help shed her good-girl image. She deserved a little adventure in her life, didn’t she? Before Victor could say, “let’s wait until the wedding night,” she would make her too-honorable beau look at her with something more than warm affection in his eyes.

Of course, Amanda had no intention of dropping her coat and praying for the best. Oh no. She’d planned today’s seduction scene with the same care and precision she’d used to take her career from window dresser to fledgling designer. She wouldn’t ditch the coat until she’d given her noble boyfriend a chance to view her secret weapon.

The video.

Arriving at Victor’s building, Amanda patted her pocket to reassure herself the tape still rested there.

This ranked as the smartest or the dumbest thing she’d ever done.

Either way, after today she would know if she and Victor had any hope of a future together. She wasn’t willing to take it on faith that physical chemistry would magically appear on her wedding night.

She reached for the door, noticing too late that her “Passion Flower Pink” nail polish didn’t match her fuchsia ensemble as perfectly as she’d hoped. Damn. Victor was as fashion-happy as her father. What if the only thing he noticed about the scintillating striptease she’d taped for him was that her manicure clashed with her spandex and lace?

“Don’t go there,” she chided herself, refusing to allow old self-doubts to creep in now. She hadn’t propelled her designs onto the runways of New York and Milan by questioning her judgment.

Before she managed to lever the heavy door open, a broad masculine hand appeared in her line of vision to do the job for her.

“Allow me,” a silky baritone voice rumbled from behind, making her jump.

She turned to thank one of New York’s nearly extinct courteous gentlemen and found herself blinking up at Sinatra blue eyes, a granite jaw complete with cleft chin, and cropped blond hair spiking in careless disarray. The stranger flashed her a gorgeous lopsided grin that packed nearly as much firepower as his multi-colored necktie emblazoned with fluorescent stars. A definite original. This man made Amanda’s father’s male showroom models look as bland as carbon copy Ken dolls.

Amanda forgot what she’d been about to say. The only thought in her brain was that this guy had more charisma in his pinky than those male models had in their overstuffed portfolios.

He also had a very broad chest beneath that loud necktie.

The man leaned fractionally closer, making her all too aware of the scant whisper of lace beneath her coat. His blue gaze scorched right through to her skin.

He winked. “Never a doorman around when you need one, is there?”

His words jarred her, reminding her she wasn’t just daydreaming again. She was actually face-to-face with a fantasy-worthy man and she could only ogle him like an overwrought adolescent. Not that she’d spent any teenage years wearing peekaboo lace panties.

“Thank you,” she managed, vaguely annoyed a handsome man could distract her from her important purpose today.

She wanted cultured, refined Victor Gallagher in her life, didn’t she? She didn’t need a fleeting attraction to a flashy stranger with a sinful smile.

And much too knowing eyes.

She stepped inside Victor’s building and a gust of wind caught the hem of her coat. The cold breeze swirled up her trench coat and around her thighs to tickle her in shocking places. She hoped the breeze caused the ensuing tingling rush and not thoughts of the man beside her.

Amanda clutched the heavy material more tightly to her, tormented by visions of her garters bared to the world—especially the guy standing at six o’clock.

She sensed his presence trailing slowly behind her as she rushed toward the elevator. One of the elevator doors was closing, but maybe if she hurried…

“Hold the elevator,” she called. Picking up her pace, she was so intent on escaping the sexy man behind her, she forgot about her made-for-the-bedroom shoes and nearly twisted her ankle.

New visions arrived—even more horrible. If she took a tumble in the lobby, the man behind her would see a lot more than garters.

Stray strands of her hair were springing loose from the chic French chignon she’d struggled half an hour to create. How could a total stranger fluster her this much?

Taking long, calming breaths, Amanda waited for the next elevator and assured herself once she initiated an intimate relationship with Victor, she wouldn’t feel a stray temptation like this again. She was probably just starved for male attention, considering her years of unwanted celibacy.

That had to be it.

She sure hoped so anyway because the push-up underwires her getup required were rubbing her breasts raw. Certainly that accounted for the tightening sensation in her nipples and not the slow footsteps of Blue Eyes as he approached.

She had never tried to attract much attention as a teenager because she’d been fifteen pounds overweight and relentlessly focused on succeeding in her father’s glamorous world. Then later, she’d been overlooked because she was famous designer Clyde Matthews’s daughter and no one wanted to risk a back seat tangle with the daughter of a man reputed to be tied to the mob.

All of which had driven her to set the fashion world on fire with her own designs—but it had also left her nearly as inexperienced as a virgin at the age of twenty-five. Her one sexual encounter with her college boyfriend in his car had resulted in the man’s hasty departure to enroll in a liberal arts program somewhere in Utah. No doubt, her powerful father had influenced that decision. But Clyde Matthews hadn’t objected to her relationship with his best fabric supplier, Victor Gallagher.

Maybe once she got closer to Victor, she would consider his repeated offers of marriage. All Amanda had to do was take their relationship to the next level to be sure they were really…compatible.

And try to ignore studly strangers she bumped into on the street.

Amanda stood amid the potted palm trees in the lobby, willing away a fierce attack of nerves as his footsteps grew louder, closer. Her feminine radar blinked wildly as he reached her side again. Her skin turned to gooseflesh beneath her coat. The silk lining of the trench coat teased her mercilessly.

It had to be the lingerie and spike heels making her feel this way, heightening her awareness on the most basic level. She just wasn’t that type of girl. She’d gone to Catholic school, after all. She rarely went out with the party crowds of her father’s fashion world. So far she’d managed to avoid the hubbub of life in the tabloids, preferring to spend her free time close to home.

And this was the only time in her life she hadn’t worn clothing beneath her outerwear.

“Going up?” the spiky-haired stranger asked as an elevator door slid open in front of them.

That smooth voice wrought a tiny shiver. Although she didn’t think gusts of wind would be a threat on an elevator, Amanda decided she couldn’t be too careful at this point and hugged her coat all the tighter.

Nodding, she led the way inside the small space. Soon she would be safe inside Victor’s apartment and this steamy little interlude would be over. That would be a good thing, right? “Tenth floor.”

He pushed the button and Amanda noticed he didn’t press another one for himself. Did he live on Victor’s floor, too? Or was he preparing to mug her in the hallway?

She shook off her suspicion, certain criminals knew better than to wear such memorable clothing. Even if she hadn’t spent her life attuning herself to fashion, she would have known that tie anywhere.

The ancient elevator lurched its way upward, causing Amanda to waver on her feet just a little. The man’s hand slid under her elbow in a flash, securing her with a quick, sure grip.

He steadied her on her feet anyway. Her pulse kicked up a notch at his touch, leaving the rest of her feeling more flustered and overheated than ever.

“Maybe we should have taken the stairs,” he noted, his hand falling back to his side.

“Not in these shoes.” She was used to heels, but these shoes were made of little more than ribbons.

She regretted the words the moment she said them, because his blue gaze slid immediately to her feet. Then he eased up her legs, lingering on the short stretch of pale pink stocking exposed beneath the hem of her coat. Finally, he breezed over the rest of her body, his eyes meeting hers again.

The man had a lazy stare that was far too bold.

Amanda found herself wanting to show him more.

He nodded slowly. “You’re right. The shoes present a problem. But that’s a great coat.”

Amanda stared up at the numbers flashing by as they cruised upward, certain if she met the man’s searing blue eyes he would somehow guess her secret. “Thanks,” she managed.

“Classy and conservative.” He straightened his tie, drawing her attention back to the colorful cosmic pattern. “Right up my alley.”

Amanda couldn’t suppress a laugh. “I can tell.”

The elevator bell chimed as they hit the tenth floor.

For a moment, Amanda forgot it was her stop. She merely soaked up the warmth emanating from this dynamic stranger, wishing she’d known more people in her life who found it so easy to laugh at themselves.

Wishing she’d known a man who could make her feel so sexy without even trying.

“Your floor?” He held the automatic doors open when they began to shut again.

She gave herself a shake. What had gotten into her? “Yes, please,” she murmured, eager to escape those mesmerizing eyes.

She walked with leaden steps toward Victor’s door, her enthusiasm for today’s scheme significantly lessened. How could she seduce her boyfriend when a total stranger had just turned her on more in five minutes than two months’ worth of kisses from Victor?

As she stood in front of apartment 10G, she considered forgetting the whole thing. After nearly overheating in the elevator, Amanda was surprised at the slight chill that tripped over her now.

Then she recalled all the time she’d spent crafting the secret weapon. She’d created the striptease video so that she could finally learn if she possessed the ability to incite a man to lust.

Not exactly the Catholic school values she’d been taught, but Amanda needed assurance he was really the right man. Besides, didn’t she deserve just a little adventure in her life?

Shoving aside thoughts of Blue Eyes, Amanda rang Victor’s doorbell.

The spiky-haired stranger materialized at her side before her summons was answered. “Hey, is Vic a friend of yours, too?”

The heated sensations came flaming back to life.

Was Blue Eyes following her? She needed to put an end to this before she did something she’d regret. Like hustle the man into a broom closet and not come out for a week or two. “Yes. We are practically engaged,” she returned, pretty sure that Victor wouldn’t let anyone call him “Vic.”

“That’s too bad.” He shook his head. “I didn’t realize you would be here at this early hour or I would have waited to come by.”

Maybe the man did business with Victor. “It’s okay. I don’t usually bother Victor during his business hours, but—”

The door to apartment 10G swung open. Only the person standing there was not the man who’d practically begged Amanda to marry him.

No.

The person in Victor’s apartment was an exotic dark-haired beauty with bed-rumpled hair, smeared lipstick and a man’s bathrobe.

Confusion warred with shock. Surely Amanda had the wrong apartment….

Then Victor’s voice shouted from the back room. “Who is it, Cindy?”

The woman in the entryway flicked her gaze over Amanda and seemed to dismiss her. She licked her lips while ogling Mr. Necktie, however.

Cindy didn’t bother to greet them. She turned to shout over her shoulder. “It’s for you.”

Amanda’s confusion turned to anger as she watched the woman’s bold-as-you-please bare feet pad their way across the parquet floor to Victor’s kitchen. The interloper’s generous curves clearly swayed beneath the bathrobe, highlighting the woman’s lack of undergarments.

Humiliation burned Amanda’s eyes then singed its way through the rest of her. If not for the sudden sensation of Mr. Necktie’s bracing touch at her back, she might have whipped her secret weapon across the room straight into the woman’s sashaying butt.

Her elevator companion leaned close to whisper in Amanda’s ear. “Maybe you should come back later.” He nudged her slightly, unaware her feet were frozen to the floor.

Amanda’s good-girl instincts might have won out. She might have turned and walked away from what would no doubt be an ugly scene if two-timing Victor hadn’t stepped into the hallway at that moment.

“Who is it, babe—” he started before halting in his equally barefoot tracks to gape at Amanda.

How could she have ever thought she might love this man? His precisely creased pants were fastened but his belt had not yet been buckled. A silk Armani shirt fluttered at his sides, unbuttoned to reveal a sprinkling of dark chest hair and an abdomen honed to perfection at a posh gym.

How ironic that this was the most she’d ever seen of his body.

Even when he was caught in an act that revealed the blemished nature of his soul, the man had the nerve to look like an airbrushed advertisement.

His betrayal slammed through her, reminding her that no matter how successful her designs became, she’d never truly fit in her father’s glamorous world. Once again, Amanda Matthews had been the outsider, only this time she hadn’t even been aware of it—until now.

Her inner fury sprung to life and effectively un-froze her from her shock. That had paralyzed her. Her feet flew in Victor’s direction. “You no-good, lying bastard—”

Blue Eyes slid in between her and her target. “Maybe we’d all better sit down here and sort this out.” He gripped Amanda by the shoulders, his unwavering gaze fixed on her alone.

Rage burned through her, seeking any target in her path, even an undeserving one. She spewed some of that hurt anger onto Mr. Necktie.

“Who the hell are you?” Amanda’s words mirrored Victor’s.

Blue Eyes withdrew a small leather case from his coat pocket and flashed a shiny badge in both of their directions. His eyes remained on Amanda, however. “Detective Duke Rawlins, NYPD, at your service.”

A cop?

She’d been fighting an attraction to a cop? Amanda’s anger ebbed just a little as a wave of fear took its place. In the background she heard Victor and his trollop both start talking at once, but all Amanda could think about was getting hauled off to jail. The detective had followed her into the building and right into Victor’s apartment. Obviously she had more trouble on her hands than a lying, cheating boyfriend.

Had she committed some violation of the indecent exposure code? Had that gust of wind revealed more than she’d realized? What if he frisked her? Or heaven forbid, searched her? A strip search wouldn’t play out well at all. She tugged her coat tie tighter.

And if she got booked as a common flasher… Amanda didn’t think she’d survive the embarrassment. Her father provided more than enough Matthews family gossip for the tabloids. Her recent accolades as an up-and-coming designer in her own right would be meaningless in light of such a scandal.

Detective Rawlins pointed toward the couch. His whole demeanor had changed. The cheeky grins from the elevator had vanished. He seemed utterly at ease taking command of the room. “Ladies, I’m going to need both of you to take a seat for questioning while I take care of Mr. Gallagher.”

Cindy harrumphed her way over to the couch, no longer flirting with Blue Eyes now that she knew his identity. The woman glared at Amanda, as if the morning’s events were somehow her fault. Amanda ignored her, too worried about how she would explain jail time to her father to let Victor’s other girlfriend rattle her. Amanda carefully seated herself in a wingback chair, making sure her coat remained plastered to her thighs.

Detective Rawlins walked around the living room, his gaze seeming to absorb every detail of Victor’s sparsely decorated apartment. “Vic, you’re already looking at three to ten for helping your drug importer friends. If you start talking to me about your business partners, maybe I won’t call the IRS about all your undeclared income.”

Relief poured through Amanda as the cop read Victor his rights and arrested him on a string of charges Amanda didn’t really understand. What was criminal facilitation anyway?

All she could think about was maybe she wouldn’t face flasher charges now.

Amanda whispered a quick prayer of thanksgiving that she wasn’t going to jail. All she had to do was keep her coat firmly cinched, answer the detective’s questions, and not allow his sexy smile to unnerve her again.

Then with any luck, she could limp out of here in her fuchsia heels and go back to her safe—but respectable—existence.