Saturday morning found Madeline immersed in her normal routine, but in concession to the adjective Martinez had pinned on her yesterday, she varied the times of each chore from her regular schedule. There, just let him call me regimented now! she thought smugly, thinking of how she had worked out at the gym before tackling the cleaning. She’d stopped for her usual creme-filled doughnut on the way home from the gym, though. Just because he’d correctly guessed the precise way she ordered her life didn’t mean that she needed to listen to his disparaging comments about what she ate. She enjoyed her unconventional eating habits and firmly believed that chocolate was the fifth food group. Since she was in excellent health and had weighed the same for the past ten years, she saw no reason to change those particular habits now.
When the doorbell rang she checked the peephole with her usual caution, even knowing that the visitor would be her neighbor, Ariel.
“Madeline, it’s been ages since we talked. I tried to catch you one morning this week, but I just missed you. You were already in the elevator.” She flew into the room with her usual hurry, talking nonstop. She went immediately to the kitchen area, pulled a stool up to the counter and sat with a flourish, arranging the folds of her robe neatly around her. When she finally looked at her friend, she blinked. “Aren’t you going to the gym today?” she asked. “Why aren’t you dressed for it yet?”
Madeline looked down at her jeans and T-shirt. “I’ve been already,” she answered. “I’ve just finished cleaning.”
Ariel widened her heavily made-up eyes in shock and held a hand to her heart theatrically. “You changed your schedule? You? Is the world coming to an end? This is it, isn’t it, one of the great signs in the book of Revelations that my minister is always quoting. I’m going right home to repent.”
Her neighbor rolled her eyes. “You’re surprised,” she said with masterful understatement. It was uncanny the way Ariel walked right in and cheerfully took up where Cruz had left off commenting about her life. It was also irritating. Was she really so predictable? Yes, she answered her own question. But it was a conscious choice, not a compulsion. No matter what the two busybodies in her life seemed to think.
“No, surprise doesn’t cover it,” Ariel responded. “Do you have any of those doughnuts-thanks,” she said as Madeline pushed the bag over to her. Without waiting for an invitation she went to the cupboard with an ease that spoke of long familiarity and, taking out a mug, poured herself some coffee. Returning to her seat, she continued, “Surprise is when you win the lottery, or when your mother tells you that she’s running off to Bermuda with a taxi driver to learn to samba. Surprise might even describe your feeling when you walk into the bedroom and find your date trying on your lingerie. But this…” She bit into the doughnut and closed her eyes in appreciation. “This surpasses surprise. Colossal, earthshaking, monumental, absolutely mind-blowing shock comes much closer to describing the wonder of Madeline Casey changing her schedule.” She nodded effusively to negate her friend’s grimace at her words. “Now the only question is, what would elicit such a change? Gotta be a man,” she said wisely, taking another bite from the doughnut.
“You’ve been drinking too much of that herbal tea again,” Madeline told her friend flatly. She loved Ariel dearly, but sometimes she felt like strangling her, and now was one of those times. She was really the only person Madeline knew in the condominium complex, even after living there three years. If Ariel had her sights set on getting to know someone, the person hadn’t much choice in the matter. She could be rather forceful in her neighborliness. But Madeline had grown genuinely close to her despite, or perhaps because of, their differences. Ariel was as effusive as Madeline was reserved. With her wacky style of dressing, makeup and far-out hairstyles, she was the antithesis of Madeline. She also had the unfortunate knack for acknowledging no boundaries of privacy regarding personal lives. As a result, Madeline had few secrets from her friend. Her usual aloofness couldn’t withstand the assault of Ariel’s good-natured prying. It was easier to give in and tell her what she wanted to know. But Madeline had no intention of humoring her latest flight of fancy. “Can’t a person alter her day off a little on a whim?”
Ariel had finished the doughnut and was licking her fingers with delicate greed. “Other people can, you can’t. Something had to happen to shake you out of that rigid mold you keep yourself in. So what gives? Tell Auntie Ariel all about it,” she cooed, resting her chin on folded hands and staring at Madeline with avid interest.
Madeline laughed in spite of herself. “How about if we skip talking about my life and you just go get one of your own?”
Ariel shook her head. “Been there, tried it. Failed and flopped, with a few disasters thrown in along the way. I’m resting from life, recharging before I march out there and get shot down again. That’s why I depend on you to bring me a little vicarious excitement along the way. Very little, I might add,” she finished drolly.
“I’m sorry to be such a disappointment to you,” Madeline remarked dryly. She had no doubt that her dull life was of little real interest to her friend, who lived a colored one of her own. Most of the surprises she’d mentioned a few minutes ago had actually happened to her, according to some of the hugely entertaining stories she’d recounted to Madeline. Ariel collected experiences and husbands with equal fervor, both to be regretted at later dates. At last count she’d been married four times, and proclaimed to be taking a break from the search for number five as she tried out numerous prospects.
“C’mon, Madeline, don’t make me beg. For once just come right out and tell me. Who is he?”
“What makes you think a man is involved?” Madeline asked, stalling for time. Although Cruz Martinez could be credited for her decision to vary her day a little, he was not playing the kind of role in her life that Ariel was imagining. Nor was he likely to. Madeline didn’t go out with obscenely good-looking men, men she was professionally involved with, and especially not with men who might be criminals. But she had no intention of telling Ariel all of that. Ariel would be fascinated; she would think it was exciting, for heaven’s sake.
Ariel waved her hand dismissively, as if the question didn’t even deserve an answer. “All of a woman’s important changes are brought on by a man. Men we love, men we hate, men we want to love, men we wished we hated… it’s destined. One of the realities of life. So-o-o, tell me, dear,” she said with a wicked smile, “about the man who caused these variations in your life today.”
Madeline smiled to herself. She might not agree with all of her friend’s ideas, or even with most of them, but she had to admit that listening to Ariel was amusing. “Sorry to disappoint you, but the only man in my life at the moment is my father, and it would take a high-priced analyst many years to help me figure out which of your four categories he would fit into.”
“Oh.” Ariel was instantly sympathetic. “You must have had another of your horrible dinners with him. How bad was it?”
“The usual.” Now that some time had passed, Madeline could think about the evening with a little humor. “He was condescending, I was defensive. He got high-handed, I got angry. He began giving advice, I began shouting…” She shrugged. “It kind of deteriorated from there.”
“Parents.” Ariel sighed. “They never stop trying to pull our strings.”
“It’s some kind of strange Pavlovian response. I hear his voice on the phone, and…” She snapped her fingers. “Instant immaturity.” She waited a few moments and then added nonchalantly, “I did get assigned a new case this week.”
Ariel pulled a face. Madeline didn’t talk much about her job. Ariel had only the vaguest idea of what she did. But as far as she was concerned, Madeline spent entirely too much time thinking about work. In her opinion, what her friend needed most in her life was a few long nights in bed with a hot-blooded hunk to help her redefine her priorities. But try telling her that.
Ignoring Ariel’s lack of enthusiasm at the change of subject, Madeline continued. “I’ve also acquired a partner for the duration of the investigation.”
A flicker of interest passed over Ariel’s face. “A man?”
“Uh-huh.” Madeline went and poured her own cup of coffee and came back and sat down again. “His name is Cruz Martinez.”
“Ooh, what a positively yummy name.” Instantly intrigued, Ariel’s eyes sparkled. “Tell me more. Does he look as good as he sounds?”
Madeline affected an indifferent shrug. “Depends on what you like. He’s about fifty-five, fat, short and balding,” she lied blandly. She felt a moment of glee picturing Cruz’s reaction to her description of him. “He has seven children and loves fishing. He talks about it all the time.” When she saw Ariel’s face fall, she almost regretted misleading her. But not enough to tell her the truth and have to listen to the smug comments that would bring.
“Just your luck,” Ariel muttered. “Sometimes I think you and I were born under the same planet. Although, of course, I know better, having done your astrology chart for you last month. Actually, when I examined your chart, I couldn’t really find any reason for the dismal luck you’ve had in your love life. Mine, now, that’s a different story. As soon as I did my chart and saw that Venus was squared with Saturn, I thought, well, of course! That explains…”
Madeline’s thoughts drifted off as her friend chattered on. She’d heard it all before, at length. She didn’t share Ariel’s interest in astrology, any more than she believed in her philosophy of life. Actually, she felt the same about both. They were entertaining, but pointless. Events were caused by nature or people. She might not be able to control either one, but she certainly could control the effect they had on her, and she did so, stringently. Caution had always been her middle name, steady her pace and Look First her motto.
That hadn’t saved her from the mistake she’d made with Dennis Belding, however. He’d known just how to get through all her defenses. He’d taken his time, soothed her fears with his calm, understanding manner. He’d seemed so harmless. And he’d almost brought her life crashing down around her ears. If she didn’t despise him so much, she could almost admire the accuracy with which he’d read her character and the ease with which he’d transformed himself into the kind of man she would be drawn to and trust. Only for as long as he needed her, of course. Just as long as it took to have free access to her and, through her, to her father. There was no telling how many times he’d helped himself to the papers in her father’s office before he was caught. Certainly he’d had plenty of opportunity. Her father had liked him, and invitations to the house had been frequent. Dennis had told her he wanted to be the bridge that mended the chasm between her father and herself.
That should have been the tip-off, she thought caustically. The only person he’d helped was himself. Once they had caught him, it hadn’t been too difficult to find that Dennis had used the information he’d gleaned to sell to businesses and corporations interested in making bids on city projects. When he was found out, he’d tried to explain it all away. When it became obvious that neither his talking nor his engagement to the councilman’s daughter was going to be enough to keep him from standing trial, he’d turned vicious. That was when he’d begun asserting that Madeline had helped him every step of the way. His lies had been public enough, believable enough, that she, too, had been forced to undergo an investigation. That had been the worst time of her life. She had longed for the opportunity to clear her name. And she’d eventually been cleared of any wrongdoing.
But even without her father’s innuendos, she was very much aware that she’d been cleared more because of a lack of evidence of her criminal involvement than because they’d found proof of her innocence. The difference was subtle but devastating. To some people, the doubt about her culpability would always remain. All she could do was live her life and do her job in as exemplary a fashion as possible, and ignore those who couldn’t-or wouldn’t-let go of their doubts about her.
“You’re thinking of that creep you almost married, aren’t you?” Ariel waved her hand dismissively at Madeline’s look of surprise. “It isn’t hard to tell. You get that same expression on your face every time you start thinking of him. When are you going to forgive yourself for being human?”
“It’s being gullible, not being human, that I need to forgive myself for,” Madeline corrected grimly. “Every time I think of the way I stood up for him… I refused to believe he could be guilty, do you know that? I wouldn’t let myself examine the evidence that was stacked against him. I ignored all my police training, and focused solely on what I wanted to see.” She snorted. “And he rewarded my loyalty by trying to make it look as if I’d known what he was up to all along. So much for true love.”
“He was a real pig, all right,” Ariel agreed. She’d met Madeline shortly after the whole thing had happened, but it had been years before Madeline had discussed it with her, even briefly. “Lots of men are, but not all of them. There are some good guys out there, and you’ll find one, if you just let yourself look. You should adopt the cowgirl philosophy.”
“And what, pray tell, might that be?”
Ariel’s face was solemn, as if imparting a divine wisdom. “When a man bucks you off, you’ve just got to get up and get back on.”
Madeline wadded up the empty doughnut bag in front of her and threw it at her friend. “You’re incorrigible,” she declared, an unwilling smile tugging at her lips. “I’ve got a degenerate for a friend.”
“Believe me, honey,” Ariel said with an arch look, “a few nights in bed with a certified man dime, and you’d have a whole new perspective on life.”
“I’ll have to take your word on that,” Madeline drawled. She sought, and found, another channel of conversation. “Pardon me for asking, but what have you done to your hair now?” Ariel was a hairdresser, and quite a successful one. But her efforts on her own hair did nothing to inspire confidence in her abilities. She changed colors and styles regularly.
“Like it?” Ariel brushed back the long straight mass, recently dyed to an improbable shade of black. “I felt like a change. Are you ready to break down and give me a chance with yours?” The look of horror on Madeline’s face was answer enough. “I haven’t steered you wrong yet, have I?”
“You were right about cutting it shorter,” Madeline admitted. “I like the new shoulder length you talked me into.” Actually, bulldozed her into would be a more accurate description, but why quibble with success?
“And?” Ariel fluttered her eyelashes, waiting.
“And the straightener was a good idea, too,” her friend said grudgingly. “The curliness is easier to manage now.”
Ariel got up and swept her a bow. “Thank you, thank you. And now, with your sweet compliments ringing in my ears, I’d better go. I’ve got a date with a new man tonight, and it’s going to take me all day to get ready. What do you have planned for the rest of the day, as if I couldn’t guess?”
“I’m going to work.”
“What a surprise,” Ariel muttered as she went to the door. When she reached it, she turned and pleaded, “Do me a favor? Do something, anything out of the ordinary this weekend, okay? You are in a rut so deep you may as well be in a coffin.”
“Thank you, Ariel. Goodbye, Ariel,” Madeline said, and closed the door before her life elicited any more comments from her friend. She leaned against it and closed her eyes for a moment. Sometimes dealing with her neighbor’s high-energy voltage drained her. Then her eyes popped open and she strode over to the desk in the corner of her small living room. She unlocked it and pulled down the drop front. Little did her friend know she was going to follow her advice. Well, kind of. It was time to start digging up what personal information she could on Cruz Martinez.
She pulled out the file that Brewer had had prepared on him, picked up a pen and tapped it reflectively against her teeth. This investigation was going to have to be approached a little differently from most, since she couldn’t talk to people who knew Martinez, at least not openly; she didn’t want to do anything else that would tip him off that someone was interested in his actions. That would make her job a bit more difficult, but not impossible. She listed everything she knew about him so far. Then she took another sheet of paper and marked off three columns. Under one she listed every bit of information she had that could be construed to look suspicious. Under the middle one she listed personal things she’d learned about his life. The final column was for the things that pointed to his innocence. When she was finished she put the information she had just written in the proper columns. There wasn’t much written on the sheet when she concluded.
But there was nothing at all written in the third column.
Monday morning when Madeline reached Cruz’s desk he was already working. At least, she assumed that was what he was doing. He was slouched in his chair in front of his desk, shoulders propped against the backrest. She shook her head, wondering by what marvel of nature he managed not to slide onto the floor. She was tempted to give the chair a nudge, to see if he’d do just that.
He raised his head from his cup of coffee when he saw her, and pointed to another steaming cup on his desk.
“Thanks,” she said gratefully, reaching for it and pulling up another chair. Sipping from it cautiously, she asked, “Did you talk to Ritter yet this morning?”
He grimaced. “Don’t remind me.”
Instant understanding dawned on her face. “That bad, huh?”
“Not only did he strike out with Jacobs, he was not too pleased with me for talking him into it in the first place. Jacobs must have given him a real earful for even suggesting that he offer Stover a plea bargain.”
So Brewer had been right about that, Madeline thought with a sigh. “Well, we half expected this.”
“We did,” he agreed. “And who knows? If we could show proof that all these weapons came from the same supplier, and were assured that Stover could lead us to him, maybe Jacobs would reconsider. In the meantime, Stover isn’t going anywhere for a while. I’ve heard he’s having trouble coming up with bail.”
“Well, that’s the only bit of good news to come out of this so far. We’ll just have to get to work and come up with the proof it will take to convince him. Meanwhile, why don’t we use our laptops to access the listings of any people who bought AK-47s legitimately.”
“We already know that Stover didn’t buy that gun legally-he doesn’t have any papers for it,” Cruz replied.
“It’s possible that the gun could have been stolen from someone who did buy it legally.”
“I still think we’re going to find that one supplier is responsible for arming all these punks. Are you claiming the gangs have all coincidentally stolen the same kind of gun from different people in about the same time period?”
“No,” she admitted. “And I agree with your hunch. But let’s face it-we’ve only recovered one of the actual guns themselves. We need to cover all the bases.”
He gave a mental sigh, not looking forward to the tedious task of poring over lists of gun serial numbers, yet knowing the job had to be done. An idea struck him then, and he looked at her speculatively. Perhaps there would be an advantage to working with a partner on this. If he could convince her to take care of this aspect, he could follow a lead of his own.
“More coffee, Madeline?” he asked solicitously.
“No, thanks, I’m fine.”
“I could warm yours up for you.” The polite denial died on her lips when she looked up and correctly interpreted the look on his face.
“Oh, no, you don’t, Martinez,” she said flatly.
His eyebrows climbed. “What?”
“You’re not going to con me into doing the records check by myself. You’ll be right by my side the whole time.”
“Now, Madeline.” His tone was reasonable. “Why should both of us suffer through a boring job like that? If you took care of it, then I could be pursuing other possibilities. We could accomplish two things at once. I’d offer to do it myself,” he added, “but sitting inside here staring at a computer screen all day gets me hyper.”
That was a laugh. She flicked a studied glance over his casual pose. “Yeah, you strike me as the restless type, all right. What’s this hot lead you want to follow, anyway?”
“I know some people who aren’t above making money in, shall we say, unconventional ways. Some of them have been known to deal in guns, although nothing on this scale. But if pressed, one might be persuaded to give us a tip about what he’s heard on the streets.”
Madeline nodded. “Sounds like a good place to start, and I think you’re right. We should follow both leads.”
“All right!” A delighted grin broke over his face. She let him get halfway out of his chair before she added, “We can do the firearms checks in the mornings, and hit the streets in the afternoons.”
He poised in midair for a split second before dropping back into his seat.
“Can’t change your mind, huh?” His tone held resignation.
“No way.” Not only was she not about to let him shove the most tedious work off on her, she had another motive for insisting they stay together. In order to keep track of him, she had to stick close to him. Otherwise she would have no way of knowing if he actually had done what he reported, saw the people he claimed. No, she wouldn’t be able to let Cruz Martinez out of her sight during their working hours. Not if she was going to complete her own investigation on him. “We’re partners. We’ll investigate as partners.”
He sighed, already dreading the task ahead. “Well, you can’t blame a guy for trying.”
They spent the rest of the morning bringing up files on their computers, printing them off and examining the results. Gun merchants were required to take down a great deal of information about their customers, so that record checks could be done. Soon they had a list of names of people in the state who had purchased an AK-47 legitimately.
After a couple hours Madeline said, “Now why don’t we compare the serial number of Stover’s gun to the numbers on this page and-”
“Uh-uh,” Cruz said. “Look at the clock. It’s almost lunchtime. There’s no use starting on that. Time to quit, go to lunch and then onto the streets.”
Madeline felt a moment’s frustration. She hated leaving a job before seeing it through to the end. If she’d been working alone she would have chosen to complete this task before tackling a different lead. But she wasn’t working alone. Cruz had already risen, and she slowly got to her feet, too. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “But since we’re taking lunch on my time, I’m picking where we eat.”
His look was pained. “You drive a hard bargain, Casey.”
Following him back to his desk, she was retrieving her purse when she heard a voice speak behind her.
“Hey, buddy, surprised to see you here. Haven’t seen you around in almost a week.”
She turned curiously to see who was addressing Cruz.
“Yeah, we’ve been working on that case I told you about. I wouldn’t be here this morning, either, but Madeline had a hunch, and we compromised.” His tone was pained.
The man addressing her partner was about her own height, and he projected a commanding presence. Wavy hair the color of antiqued brass was cut around his ears and left long enough in back to brush his collar. His face lacked the movie-star good looks of Cruz’s, but this man was attractive in his own right. The angles of his face were compelling, the chin uncompromising, the chiseled mouth undeniably sensual. When she looked at his eyes she caught her breath. His pale green gaze was pinned on her, despite the fact that he was talking to Cruz. And its shrewd, assessing look seemed to sum her up in the space of a second, and find her wanting.
“Madeline, this is Connor McLain. We were partners long before he became Lieutenant Detective McLain. Connor, Detective Sergeant Madeline Casey.”
“How long were you and Cruz partners?” she asked Connor.
“Long enough to discover what he thinks of compromising.”
“He wasn’t too bad,” Madeline said judiciously, throwing Cruz a sidelong glance. “He only sulked half the morning.”
Connor cocked a brow at this information. “Is that right? He’s matured, then.”
“Gee, thanks, amigo,” Cruz interrupted, slapping him on the shoulder. “Remind me to tell Michele about the time we went down to the wharf and found that bar, where you-”
“On second thought, he was the best damn partner I ever had and you’re lucky to have him,” Connor said quickly. With a warning look at Cruz, he added, “Michele ordered me to invite you to dinner this week, but you’re only coming if you can keep your mouth shut.”
Cruz’s mouth quirked. “I’ll give her a call. We were just on our way out for lunch, and it’s Madeline’s turn to pick where we go, so catch you later. I’ll need to take a little extra time to deal with the heartburn.” They walked away.
“Very funny.” She remembered how he’d almost kissed her the last time she’d chosen where to dine, and she wiped away the moisture the memory brought to her palms. She realized suddenly that it had been much easier to keep Cruz at a distance this morning. They had spoken strictly about work. But it was not as easy to maintain that distance when they were on the street and she pondered that. She’d never been a particularly easy person to get to know. Ariel had been the only other person who’d managed to get close to her, despite the obstacles in the way, and that was only because Ariel had crashed right through them. Cruz, however, was managing a similar feat with much more grace and charm, and the realization frightened her. She had to be on a friendly basis with him in order to get close enough to prove or disprove his criminal involvement. But she was uncomfortable with opening herself up in return. “How long have you known Lieutenant McLain?” she asked as they left the building and walked toward the car.
“Since he was rookie McLain,” he answered. “We’re good friends. He’s a great guy.”
She was a little surprised at the revelation, although she’d picked up on the camaraderie between the two. They didn’t seem to have much in common, at least at first glance. Displaying the direct opposite of Cruz’s easy manner and lighthearted banter, McLain had seemed very tough and unyielding. On second thought, she’d had occasion to see Cruz turn into someone very tough indeed when he’d been confronted by Baker last week, so maybe he and McLain had more in common than she’d first believed.
She drove them to Louie’s, a place noted for its hamburgers. It was crowded, and they sat on stools at the tiny counter.
After they’d placed their orders, Cruz looked around with a jaundiced eye. “I’ll bet you know the whereabouts of every greasy spoon in the city.”
“This isn’t a greasy spoon,” she objected. “And out of deference to your lack of table manners, I brought you to a place that serves the food on plates. What more do you want?”
“How about an antidote for ptomaine poisoning?”
She ignored that. He obviously lacked an adventurous spirit when it came to dining, but by the time this case was over, she would have broadened his culinary habits extensively.
By the time this case was over. The words came back to echo in her mind with nagging insistence. What else would she have changed for him by that time? A change of address, perhaps, if he landed in jail? She studied the napkin on the table in front of her. She’d spent most of her free time over the weekend looking up information on him. She’d gone to 1.A. headquarters to use the computers there. She now knew his address and what kind of car he drove, and the fact that he’d received two speeding tickets in the past three years. It was the information on his car that returned the slightly sick feeling to her stomach now. Checking through the records for licenses on motor vehicles, she had found that he was the owner of a new model sports car, one that listed for more than his entire year’s salary.
When she’d checked his credit history she’d had another unpleasant surprise. He had only one outstanding loan, for some property listed at his address. He was obviously buying his home. So how, she wondered for the hundredth time, did someone who made the kind of money she did afford to buy an expensive toy for a car and pay cash for it?
The question had plagued her for the rest of the weekend. From what he’d told her about his family, she could discount the possibility that he’d received an inheritance. It sounded as though he and his siblings had been raised solely on the hard work of their parents.
She surreptitiously studied the man seated across from her. She was having a hard time imagining this man as a criminal. Right now he was trying to get comfortable on his stool. Finally he turned to the side to face her, resting his torso against the counter and leaning his head on his folded elbow Thinking of bow she’d spent her weekend made it difficult to meet his eyes, but she forced herself to do so.
“Did you get to the family dinner yesterday?” she asked with studied disinterest.
“Sure did. What did you do?”
“Not much.”
“Well, believe it or not, I spent much of the weekend on my knees.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Praying or begging?”
He laughed. “You have a wicked way of thinking, do you know that? I like that in a woman. Can’t you think of anything else I might have been doing? C’mon, Madeline, use your imagination.”
She did, and the images that floated through her mind gave her hot flashes. He was provocative just by being, damn him, and he knew it, too. “I can’t imagine,” she said indifferently, and he laughed again.
“I’ll have you know I was doing good deeds most of Saturday morning,” he informed her. “One of the tenants in the building where I live was moving out, so I helped him carry his things.”
“That wouldn’t have had you on your knees,” she blurted without thinking.
He grinned, amused that he’d caught her interest, despite her efforts to act otherwise. “No, that wouldn’t, would it?”
Their orders were placed in front of them, and he looked up from his grilled chicken breast to see her biting into a thick cheeseburger with huge enjoyment. “You’re a heart attack waiting to happen, lady,” he observed. And in more ways than one. When she’d shown up at work today wearing yet another jacket over tailored trousers, he’d been tempted to ask if she owned one of those in every color of the rainbow. But before eating, she’d slipped out of the cream-colored jacket and he was treated to the picture of her in a turquoise silk tank top, and the sight was impairing his ability to swallow.
Her arms were shapely and incredibly white. So was the skin above the rounded neckline of the top. When she put her sandwich down and reached for her glass, he was treated to the slightest hint of cleavage. He picked up his knife and fork and began sawing at his lunch with methodical precision. He needed something, anything, to take his mind off a mental picture of his own hand laid upon her chest. The contrast of his bronzed skin against her far fairer skin would be incredibly arousing. As a matter of fact, just imagining it was incredibly arousing, and he shifted uncomfortably on the stool. By sheer willpower he tried to push the flick of visual imagery from his mind and focus on eating. But somehow the simple process of chewing and swallowing wasn’t enough to keep teasing questions of what she looked like beneath that silky top from dancing across his mind. And when he heard her next words, sounding as if she were reading his every libidinous thought, he froze in the act of lifting the fork to his mouth.
“Are you sure I can’t tempt you?”