Sizzle in the City (9 page)

“How do you know he’s working on a new scheme?” the detective asked.

Since
we overheard him recruiting investors at a cocktail party
sounded ridiculous, even to her, Shelby settled on, “We just know.”

Antonio stared at her in disbelief. “Yes, Judge Mackland,” he said mockingly. “I’m asking for a warrant based on a local caterer’s assertion that she
just knows
a fraud operation is being conducted in a midtown office building.”

“We don’t need a warrant,” Shelby said.

Both realization and anger shot into his eyes. “Hell.”

Calla laid her hand on his arm. “Have you talked to the witnesses whose statements I gave you last week?”

“Haven’t had time,” he said. “This East River homicide takes precedence.”

“Not for us,” Calla said, her tone gentle in spite of his obvious frustration. “You told me yourself that fraud is difficult to prove, that witnesses are reluctant to come forward. You haven’t been able to stop him. We can.”

“As long as you don’t do it on my shift,” he muttered.

He might not be prepared to arrest them, but he couldn’t help them, either. Shelby knew this might be their only chance. She already felt lousy for involving Trevor in their investigation. She was pretty positive she’d feel worse if she didn’t get this information herself instead of relying on him to get it from his brother—based on her lie, no less.

“Why don’t you guys go on down to the pub?” Shelby suggested. “I’ll be there in a minute.” She looked at the detective, then away. “I want to straighten up, make sure we haven’t disturbed anything.” Her gaze—compulsively, it seemed—went back to Antonio. “You know, out of respect.”

The detective didn’t move, even when Calla and Victoria headed to the door. “How do you know?” he asked Shelby.

Shelby pressed her lips together. The less the detective knew, the better. For all of them. Yet she also knew he wouldn’t relinquish control without a grain of confidence in her determination. Without some sense that they were, ultimately, moving toward the same goal.

She wondered if his conscience was as torn as hers. Did the end really justify the means? Retribution at any cost? Could justice truly be blind? Who, ultimately, drew the line between what was right and what was wrong?

“There’s an investors’ meeting,” she said finally. “We need to know when and where.”

He held her gaze, then jerked around and headed toward the door. “I’ll be outside.”

* * *

“I’
M
SURPRISED
YOU
HAVEN
’
T
asked me about Max’s investors’ meeting,” Trevor said to Shelby as he stood beside her in his kitchen.

“Oh.” Shelby’s gaze danced away from his and onto the beef filet she was rolling in pastry dough. “Did you find out something?”

Momentarily distracted by her hands molding the pastry and wanting her touch against his own skin, he endeavored to focus on the topic. “It’s a long-term project. He’s rehabbing an old artist space into condos and looking for tenants to buy.”

Shelby nodded. “Sounds like a great idea.”

“As long as everything comes together.” The last thing Trevor wanted to do was encourage Shelby’s friend into investing with Max. Maybe his brother would fit all the pieces together, but Trevor wasn’t counting on it. “She might want to wait a few months before investing.”

“She might, but Victoria doesn’t tend to live in one place for long. And if it’s a hot property, she could jump in.” Washing her hands at the sink, Shelby glanced at him. “When’s the presentation?”

“Next Thursday night at The Crown Jewel. Suite 1634.”

“Okay. I’ll tell her.”

“You don’t want to write it down?”

She used the towel tucked into her apron strings to dry her hands, then tapped the side of her forehead. “I’ve got it.”

“You’re in work mode and want me to leave you to do your job.”

She leaned into him, laying her hand against his cheek. “I’m glad you’re here…particularly since this is your apartment.”

“But I could do something else.”

“You could set up the bar.”

He kissed her forehead, then moved into the living room to follow her suggestion. As he polished glasses and checked the stock of liquors, he felt a pang of regret for the upcoming party. Though the clients he was entertaining were important, he’d much rather spend the evening enjoying Shelby’s exclusive company.

When everything was organized to his satisfaction, he reached into the back of the cabinet for a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue. Ridiculously overpriced, of course, but then the best things usually were.

He poured a small measure into two glasses filled with ice, then strolled into the kitchen, where Shelby was chopping celery. “Do you drink Scotch whiskey?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Not really.”

He handed her one of the cut-crystal tumblers. “See if this changes your mind.”

“I don’t usually drink with clients before an event.”

“It’s barely a sip. Besides, you could make an exception for me, couldn’t you? I’m more than a client, after all.”

Her gaze searched his. “I guess you are.”

He tapped his glass against hers, and the crystal pinged. “To us.”

She smiled. “And to perfectly done Beef Wellington.”

“I have complete faith in your culinary talents.”

As she sipped her Scotch whiskey, the warmth of pleasure lit her face. His body responded by hardening instantly.

Yes, he very much wished they could be alone tonight.

“Wow,” she whispered, her tongue peeking out to stroke her bottom lip.

“I couldn’t agree more.” Though he wasn’t referring to the drink.

His guests would be arriving in twenty minutes, and instead of letting his caterer do her job, he was plying her with Scotch whiskey and wondering how quickly he could get her out of her clothes. What was wrong with him? One minute he’d been relaxed, and the next he was fighting a tide of desire.

He took business seriously. He’d never have enjoyed so much success otherwise.

Maybe he was spending too much time around Max.

“Your place is beautiful,” she said, glancing around, so hopefully she hadn’t noticed the tension inside him.

He forced himself to follow her perusal.

Two walls of his corner apartment were windows, providing a spectacular view of the Manhattan skyline. The walls were gray. The floors wood. The furniture minimal, with clean lines dominating the design. Recessed lighting illuminated on artwork and showed off the spacious floor plan to its best advantage. The kitchen and living room were separated only by a long, curved bar.

The modern space of steel, glass and marble was a stark contrast to the ornate, antique-ladened decor that dominated his childhood memories.

Though sometimes he thought he’d ventured too far from home.

“Have you been here long?” she asked.

“About a year. It’s a lot of apartment for one person, but I couldn’t resist the view. There’s a terrace on the roof. Would you like to go up?”

She glanced at her watch. “I can finish the salad while you and your clients are having cocktails.”

Setting aside their glasses, he led her up the steel-and-glass block stairs to the terrace, which, unlike the apartment, burst with color. He didn’t come here often enough, he reflected as he took in the many varieties of trees, climbing vines and flowers. A landscaping service took care of the plants, a cleaning service the rest.

“Ah, now this is more like you,” Shelby said, running the tip of her finger over a purple pansy.

“How’s that?”

“Warm.”

He raised his eyebrows. “The apartment has three fireplaces if you’re cold.”

“I don’t mean temperature. I mean more homey. You’re a Brit. I figured you for a moss-dripping country house, old wood and busts cast in memory of some long-gone relative.”

“That’s my father’s style. I prefer modern New York.”

“Maybe so, but you could use one or two of these plants downstairs.”

Laughing, he slid his arm around her waist. “The next time you come over, you can redecorate to your heart’s content.”

She looked at him askance. “Next time, huh?”

He captured her hand, sliding it up his chest to hook around his neck. “No clients to entertain, and I’ll make you dinner.”

Her eyes brightened with anticipation. “Okay.”

Before he could stop himself, he’d covered her mouth with his. He deepened the kiss without delay, and she clung to him, pressing her delicate curves against his body to the point he had to stifle a moan.

Then she suddenly jerked back.

Her eyes wide, she blurted, “I need to check on dinner.” She hurried to the stairs.

Closing his eyes, so he wouldn’t have to watch her go, Trevor fisted his hands at his sides and ordered his body to calm.

Shelby wasn’t some fun and games girl he’d picked up at a party. She was the kind of woman a man had a relationship with, the kind you fell for.

She wasn’t going to tumble casually into bed with him, and he found that the seriousness of taking that step didn’t scare his bachelor soul as much as it had in the past.

But he needed to let her set the pace, and he needed to get his mind back on business.

At least for tonight.

8

L
OADING
THE
LAST
OF
THE
coffee cups into Trevor’s dishwasher, Shelby pushed the door closed and leaned weakly against the marble counter.

She’d survived.

And she had no idea how.

She couldn’t remember a more torturous night in her entire life. The food had been perfect, or so the guests had said. To her, everything was overwhelmed by the memory of the Scotch whiskey she’d tasted on Trevor’s tongue. Every time she’d heard his laugh, or saw his smile, she’d had to grit her teeth to choke back a surge of desire.

She’d had to suffer through the sparkling female guests flirting shamelessly with him, while she rushed around the party in plain black and wearing an apron. The blonde wife of the company’s CEO had been so obvious, Shelby had been surprised she hadn’t offered herself up to Trevor as the main course.

He’d been charming and polite through it all, even sending Shelby a wink or two when the blonde said or did something particularly obvious.

He’d also helped her carry dishes to and from the table, brushing her arm, touching her hand. By the time they’d reached coffee and dessert, she was so jumpy, she’d nearly dropped an entire load of dinner plates on her way back to the kitchen.

From down the hall, she could hear his voice, speaking in that smooth accent as he said good-night to his guests. A shiver rocked her body. She had to get a hold of herself. She was here as the hired help, not a hostess. If she didn’t locate her professionalism, and fast, she was never going to get another booking out of Trevor or anyone he might otherwise be tempted to recommend her to.

He appeared in the kitchen, tugging on his tie to loosen the knot and stealing every breath from her body. “That went well.”

“Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.”

Stripping off his tie, he laid it on the counter as he unhooked the top button of his white dress shirt. “Do you ever have a drink with a client
after
an event?”

His proximity caused a trickle of sweat to roll down her back. “Ah…sometimes.”

He trailed his finger down the bridge of her nose. “How about the rest of that Scotch whiskey?”

“Well, I…” If she didn’t get out of there, she was going to offer herself as the appetizer, main course and dessert of every meal he might want for the next week.

“You have somewhere to go?” he asked, his intent gaze pining her in place.

Had his eyes always been that bottomless pool of blue? Was it a trick of the light, or was she losing all her senses?

She laughed, which, to even her ears, sounded desperate. Yet another sense going south. “No, of course not.”

“You have an early booking tomorrow?”

She shook her head. “I have a wedding to cater tomorrow night, but most of the prep work is already done.”

“Good.”

Grasping her hands in his, he led them to the bar, where he pulled out a bottle from underneath the cabinet, then poured them each a measure into a crystal glass.

“You didn’t offer this to your clients,” she said.

“They get good. You get the best.”

He tapped his glass against hers, and they each sipped, never breaking their stares at the other.

“Will you stay awhile?” he asked.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The taste of the drink had her mind zipping back a few hours into the past, when he’d kissed her in his own private garden of Eden, when he’d held her against him as if he couldn’t bear to let her go.

Again, he took her hand to guide her to the sofa, which sat directly in front of one of the huge living-room windows. Did he sense she was contemplating a way to bolt from the apartment, or did he simply like touching her?

Either way, she was grateful for something to hold on to.

After setting their tumblers on the glass coffee table, he reached around her waist, tugging the tie of her apron strings. “Do you mind?”

She swallowed hard. “No. I should have thought of it. I’ll get hollandaise sauce on your furniture.”

As she reached behind her neck to undo that knot, he stopped her. “Let me,” he said gently.

When she was free, he folded the apron and laid it on the table. He handed her cocktail to her, and they sat side by side on the sofa, each sipping silently.

“I should have hired servers,” he said finally.

As she’d been staring at his elegant hand, wrapped around the crystal tumbler, she had to jerk her attention to his face. He looked worried. “I appreciated your help, but I guess you could have spent more time with your clients if—”

“That’s not what I mean.” He covered his hand with hers, sliding his thumb across the back. “I wish you hadn’t had to work so hard.”

Always the caretaker. But she’d been running her own business a long time. “I get paid to work hard.”

“Aren’t you exhausted?”

She was pretty sure she could sprint from here to Harlem, and she wouldn’t knock out her nervous energy. Of course if Trevor wanted to volunteer another way…

She generally didn’t sleep with guys after only a couple of dates. But then she usually didn’t lie, connive and conspire, either.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

Trevor drained the rest of his Scotch. Had they really run out of things to say? Maybe he was the one who was tired.

“Speaking of getting paid, I owe you a check.”

He started to rise, but she selfishly didn’t want to lose his touch. She held tight to his hand. “You’re good for it.”

“I’ll get it to you before you leave.”

Silence fell again.

“You’re not often this quiet,” she said, feeling stupid for needing to interrupt the silence.

“You, either.” Sighing, he brought her hand to his lips. “I’m trying to resist the urge to seduce you.”

Her throat closed so quickly, she found it hard to breathe. “Really? Why?”

“I have no—” He stopped, apparently realizing the question had nothing to do with curiosity. His gaze slid to hers. Whatever he saw alleviated his worry. “Thank God.”

He yanked her onto his lap, and their lips met. He laid one hand on the back of her head, angling her face so he could deepen the kiss. She tasted Scotch whiskey and felt hunger. Her body pulsed with need.

It had been a long time since she’d given in to sexual impulse. And never had a man like Trevor answered the call.

She fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, and he solved the problem by ripping it open, then following up by doing the same to hers. She’d imagined he’d be more controlled at a time like this, but she found herself thrilled by his impatience.

The passion in his touch electrified her senses, the ones she’d thought faulty. They’d obviously been looking for the right stimulation to come alive.

She let her head fall back as he slid his mouth across her cheek and down her throat. With a flick of his fingers, he unhooked the front-clasp of her bra and filled his hands with her breasts.

She moaned and let the sensation overwhelm her. Briefly, she pressed her palms against the heated muscles covering his chest, then drifted downward, to the button on his pants.

Either determination or the promise of fulfillment made her fingers steady. She undid the button, then the zipper, her fingertips brushing the tip of his erection.

“Bedroom,” he muttered, swinging her into his arms.

He set her down next to the bed, which had a steel frame and was covered in a charcoal-colored spread. “I need plants in here, too, I guess.”

She gripped the edges of his shirt and pushed them down his arms. “Sure. Later.”

They undressed each other with impatient tugs and a few rips. He swore he’d buy her a new shirt after tossing her tattered one onto the floor. Thankfully, he kept condoms in his bedside table, so the process of protection was a momentary interruption.

When he pressed her back to the mattress, his body braced over her, their gazes met and her heart stuttered to a halt.

She hadn’t imagined the pool of emotion in his eyes. It was there so vividly, she felt the piercing need of it and the significance of the moment wrap themselves around her as surely as their bodies longed to join.

He kissed her as they became one, bringing unexpected tears to her eyes.

Then all she knew was pleasure.

They moved together as if they’d been born for the purpose. The frenzied hunger became long, deep strokes of discovery and wonder. His body was a combination of lean muscle and raw power.

She found a million places to kiss him, to slide her tongue over his smooth, hot skin. Everywhere he touched her in return, she caught fire. Every movement intensified her excitement.

As the scent of desire filled the air, the world around them fell away. All she knew was the rhythm of their bodies, the press and slide of his touch, their skin growing slick with sweat.

His muscles quivered from the effort of holding back. “Let go,” she whispered, placing a kiss at the base of his throat. “I’m with you.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. His hips moved faster, deeper, stronger. The coil of need inside Shelby tightened further. The tension couldn’t possibly hold for long.

Even as the thought passed through her, her body pulsed, gripping him and bringing wave after wave of satisfaction crashing over her.

The sensations were so intense, she barely acknowledged him following her into paradise. She clutched him in ecstasy and gratitude.

He collapsed on his side next to her, his heavy breathing stirring the tangled hair against her neck.

Her head resting on his pillow, she turned her face toward him.

Damn, he was beautiful.

Even more so flushed and satisfied, his radiant blue eyes dazed.

She needed him more than was wise. Her life was a heavy, troubled mess, but she felt light in his arms. Maybe she was escaping, maybe she was running from her conscience, but he made her heart stop and everything else acutely breathtaking.

“You okay?” he asked, cupping her face, his thumb brushing her cheek.

She smiled. “Pretty great, actually.”

He kissed her lingeringly. “Me, too.” Turning onto his back, he held her next to him so that her head rested on his bare chest. “I was afraid I’d botch this.”

She paused to stare at him. “Sex?”

He grinned. “No, I knew that would work out.”

“Work out?” She thumped his chest. “Don’t go all gooey and romantic on me.”

He flung out his arm, then clasped his hand over his heart.
“For where thou art, there is the world itself. And where thou art not, desolation.”

“Okay, too gooey.”

“It’s Shakespeare.”

She pressed her lips together. “Sorry. It’s lovely.”

“Dramatic, certainly.” Clearly not offended, he tucked her head against his shoulder. “I was afraid to botch
us.
”

As a picture of her and her friends breaking into Max’s office flashed before her, she fought tensing up. “How would you do that?”

“We haven’t known each other long. I didn’t want you to feel pressured into sleeping with me.”

“I haven’t.” How amazing was he, concerned about her emotional state? Especially since she was the one botching things. How was she ever going to explain this business with Max? “Though it’s all happened a little fast.”

He slid his hand down her back, both comforting and sending renewed tingles of desire through her body. “I know.”

“Scary?”

“No.” He kissed the top of her head. “Well, maybe.”

“I think it’s supposed to be uncomfortable…to a degree. There’s something powerful between us, but it’s fuzzy. Whether or not it’ll come clear…” She shrugged. “Time will tell.”

“Nicely put. Uncertainty is the reason I left home. I wanted some.”

“You
wanted
uncertainty?”

“Yes, though I know it sounds strange. In London, my life was planned. It had been decided generations ago. I was supposed to follow the family legacy and go into politics, teaching or the clergy. I was supposed to marry a proper English girl of good breeding. And, of course, continue to breathe—just in case.”

“Sounds cold.”

He squeezed her. “I thought so, too.”

“So you came to New York, started your own business and became a huge success.”

“You make me sound bolder than I was. I did have a healthy trust fund to draw from.”

“And a family who expects perfection.”

“Yes.” He turned on his side, so they faced each other. “What does your family expect of you?”

He was making himself vulnerable to her. He’d told her things, shared memories and worries she suspected he’d shared with few people. If she cared, which she did, she could hardly give him any less.

“They expect nothing,” she said, meeting his gaze head-on. “They want my love, my respect. They want me to be happy. I want the same for them in return.”