Читать онлайн книгу "Hot in the City"
Hot in the City
Samantha Hunter
The proof of her desire…Mathematician Della Clark just met the most gorgeous man on a plane. According to her calculations, the odds of meeting Mr. Perfectly Hot are approximately 1 in 285,000. Gabe Ross is an unexpected variable. Handsome, smart and unusually interested? Yes, Della has definitely improved her odds…Except that Gabe Ross isn't his real name. He works for the Department of Homeland Security, and Della is a part–a very distracting one–of an investigation into a critical security breach. Gabe tells himself that their affair is vital for the investigation. That he can remain objective. But mostly, he lies to himself…to hide the fact that he may be falling for the right woman at the wrong time.
The proof of her desire...
Mathematician Della Clark just met the most gorgeous man on a plane. According to her calculations, the odds of meeting Mr. Perfectly Hot are approximately 1 in 285,000. Gabe Ross is an unexpected variable. Handsome, smart and unusually interested? Yes, Della has definitely improved her odds...
Except that Gabe Ross isn’t his real name. He works for the Department of Homeland Security, and Della is a part—a very distracting one—of an investigation into a critical security breach. Gabe tells himself that their affair is vital for the investigation. That he can remain objective. But mostly, he lies to himself...to hide the fact that he may be falling for the right woman at the wrong time.
She knew what she wanted...and went for it.
Della looked deeply into Gabe’s eyes, hoping she was communicating every bit of desire she was feeling.
“Tell me if I’m overstepping, but do you think our waiter would wrap this dish up so we could take it back to your place?”
Della smiled. Was Gabe asking what she thought he was asking?
“I think he’d do that, yes,” she whispered, lifting her face toward his so she spoke close to his mouth, just a breath away from a kiss.
“Good.”
The way he said the word, with so much sensual promise, made her shiver.
This was a first for Della, for sure. With the meal paid for, she took Gabe’s hand and they moved quickly down the walk, less busy now that the stars were out.
As they passed into the shadow of a streetlight next to a huge tree, Gabe held her back, directed her under the tree. He pulled her up close and looked down into her face. “I’ve wanted to do this ever since I saw you on that plane.”
He kissed her then, and Della’s world turned upside down. She’d been kissed before, but certainly not like this...
Dear Reader (#u9d070d6a-ab9b-55f9-a6fa-2ab25b280f67),
Book settings are so important to me, and I’ve visited most of the places where I set my stories so that I can capture the details and atmosphere of the location. I like to think the books are a mini-vacation as a reader accompanies my characters on their adventure. In the case of Hot in the City, Della Clark and Gabe Ross meet in a place I’ve been to many times, my home state city, New York.
What I love about New York City is its contrasts: it’s a place of glaring neon and noise, big buildings and bigger personalities—but it’s also a city with surprisingly quiet corners, quaint, tree-lined streets and beautiful gardens. Gabe and Della experience all of these as part of their own romantic landscape. Of course, the city has its secrets, and so does Gabe. With him, Della is about to discover more adventure than she ever counted on in her hometown.
If you’ve never been to New York, I highly encourage you to go. But in the meanwhile, you can enjoy some of the sites and atmosphere of the city in this book. As for me, I’m continuing to travel, which means more settings for future books, including new areas of the US as well as Europe. To hear more about where I’m going and the books I’m writing, follow me on Twitter or Facebook, or at The Chocolate Box blog. I love to chat.
Happy Summer,
Sam
Hot in the City
Samantha Hunter
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SAMANTHA HUNTER lives in Syracuse, New York, where she writes full-time for Mills & Boon. When she’s not plotting her next story, Sam likes to work in her garden, quilt, cook, read and spend time with her husband and their dogs. Most days you can find Sam chatting on the Mills & Boon Blaze boards at www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk), or you can check out what’s new, enter contests or drop her a note at her website, samanthahunter.com (http://www.samanthahunter.com).
For my editor, Kathryn, and thanks to all of the Mills & Boon Blaze editorial staff and production crew I’ve worked with over the years, for your hard work in making every book shine. With much appreciation.
For all of my friends who put up with me while I’m writing and often kvetching about it—you are all made of gold.
Contents
Cover (#u019607c2-1d51-5d56-9e7d-efc2e99ccc42)
Back Cover Text (#u87abad3d-461c-59b7-82a4-de5d5d2bc54c)
Introduction (#u97b94596-827a-5325-b793-106d76c26585)
Dear Reader
Title Page (#uf7c756ca-425d-51e8-b575-d24f4d5ad41c)
About the Author (#ub44a3f40-1e42-56c3-bb5e-a6b97a23d9dc)
Dedication (#ud953c35d-a8b8-5da5-94da-17614d70702c)
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
1 (#u9d070d6a-ab9b-55f9-a6fa-2ab25b280f67)
AS SOON AS Della Clark settled into her first-class seat, flying back to New York City after a month of consulting on a project in San Diego, she pulled out her tablet to check for progress on her online dating accounts.
Yes, accounts—plural.
Statistically speaking, she needed to cast a broad net. Fellow mathematicians had posited that the chances of finding a perfect partner, depending on the variables and location, were about one in two-hundred and eighty-five thousand. Della was pretty sure she hadn’t met that many people in her thirty-three years, and true to the math, very few were at all suitable for her. Well, at this point, the sum was actually zero.
On top of that, census numbers showed that there were far more unattached females than available males in the world, and the older a woman got, the more unlikely she—Della, for instance—would be able to find a man her age, thirty-three, or older. It wasn’t impossible, of course, just nearly so.
Unless you compromised, but Della didn’t want to compromise on love. Or sex. With a few mediocre sexual relationships in her past, she had yet to discover the sex that other women crowed about, the blow-your-mind sort. The kind of sex that made women fall in love with the wrong man—not that she wanted to do that.
Or maybe she did, if only for a while.
People crowded into the plane, but she was oblivious as she studied a few of the suitors’ profiles.
Jamie Reynolds was cute, she thought, pursing her lips and tilting her head to the side as she considered his picture. With attractive, masculine features and a good smile, she clicked onto his bio, feeling hopeful. Her hopes were quickly dashed. Among his interests were guns, hunting, and domination. He’d included some extra profile pictures that showed off his very nice body, but it was decked out in leather, with a picture of him carrying a whip and handcuffs slung off a belt at his waist.
Next.
Garrison Gunther.
Garrison had recently moved to New York from Germany, and he was curator of a small international museum. He was in his fifties, but appeared distinguished and intelligent, with no affection for weapons of any kind, that she could tell. Then she saw the note: Need someone who will love and take care of four young children. He wanted a nanny, not a life partner.
Next.
Unfortunately, she had to ditch the next three, as well. Too young, too political and one ex-con.
Oh well, at least she was getting more responses since she let her stylist put the strawberry highlights in her blond hair, and she’d started wearing some lip color and mascara. But she wasn’t attracting the right kind of guy. Did they think she was desperate because she was a single, mid-thirties mathematician? That she would take any offer that came along?
Well, she had standards. But perhaps she had cast her net a bit too widely—maybe she needed to revise her profile so that it would attract a slightly more refined range of potential mates.
As the flight attendants instructed that all wireless tech be shut down, she closed her tablet with a sigh. Looking up, she watched a handsome guy walking down the aisle to find his seat.
Nice. Why couldn’t someone like him show up on her dating profiles?
Tall, he had to duck slightly as he made his way down the center, a shock of ginger-brown hair falling across his high forehead in a way that made her want to push it back. He reached up to open an overhead compartment and showed off his flat stomach, accentuated by the way his maroon, short-sleeved shirt was tucked into a pair of rugged khakis.
The front of the khakis didn’t escape her notice, either. Strong thighs, slim, straight hips and...well, suffice to say he had—er, was—the whole package.
Then, he was right in front of her as he settled his computer case into the overhead compartment above her. He turned, slid into the aisle seat next to her and smiled. She was looking into caramel-colored—or were they more café au lait?—eyes that were only inches from hers.
It took her about thirty seconds to realize that his gorgeous lips were moving; talking to her.
Hi, looks like I’m your company for this flight.
Good thing she’d learned to read lips when she was a kid. One of her best friends had been deaf, and Della had never lost the skill.
“Yes,” she responded vaguely, still trying to decide on the right adjective for his eye color.
He held his hand out, and she placed hers in his. As his smooth, warm grip closed around hers, she sucked in a breath.
Wow.
Oh heck, had she said that out loud?
“I’m Gabe.”
“Della.”
He nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” she replied, removing her hand as soon as he loosened his.
The flight attendant went through the safety spiel, and Della and her neighbor settled back, belted in, secure in their individual space as they took off. Once at altitude, Della let out a sigh of relief and relaxed.
“Don’t like takeoffs?” Gabe asked.
She managed a smile. “Not much. Or landings.”
“They are the most dangerous parts of the flight, they say.”
“Landings are more so, about twenty-six percent more accidents happen on final approach and landings, though the number of fatalities is the same as in accidents during takeoff and the initial climb. Overall, though, the number of fatalities is below one percent for all flights, so it’s still the safest way to travel,” Della rambled, and then bit her lip, stopping herself.
Yes. This would be the reason she almost never had sex.
But Gabe leaned in, looking interested. “You know a lot about safety statistics.”
She shrugged, embarrassed. “I read a lot,” she hedged, taking off her dark-rimmed glasses and putting them in her pocket. She only needed them for reading, anyway. Maybe this was a good time to do some light research in revising her dating profile. Start with losing the glasses.
“So what do you do, Della?”
Next, don’t mention you are a genius mathematician.
“I teach. At Columbia.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Impressive. What subject?”
“Math,” she said quickly, and then pretended to drop something so she could bend down to reach for it, halting the conversation.
When she rose, he was looking at her closely, his eyes narrowed, studying her expression, as if he could see what she was thinking.
Oh, she hoped not.
“What do you do?” she asked brightly, changing the subject as she tried to regain her composure.
He was distracted from answering as the flight attendant approached with the drink cart, at which point Della also surreptitiously noted that Gabe was not wearing any rings.
The attendant also seemed to note that fact as she asked them what they wanted to drink. She made much more eye contact with Gabe than with Della, and when she handed Della her cola, she leaned over enough to give Gabe—and anyone who was looking—a good view down her blouse.
Della had to force herself not to roll her eyes. Though she couldn’t blame the guy if he did look; the attendant was practically shoving her breasts in his face.
Della slid her fingers up to the buttons on her blouse. Maybe she should try unloosening a few. Learn from the experts, they always say.
Instead, she sipped her cola and observed Gabe’s smile as the attendant engaged him in a few seconds of small talk—including letting him know she was on a weekend layover once they got into New York.
Subtle. Not.
Della stared out the window at the cloud layer, enjoying the view and pretending not to hear their conversation.
Suddenly, a warm hand closed around hers, and she nearly jumped out of her seat. Gabe’s fingers squeezed hers slightly, stemming her startled response.
“Thanks, but my girl Della and I are on an anniversary trip. Three weeks this weekend since we met.”
Gabe lifted her hand and kissed it, and Della simply let him, too surprised to do otherwise. The flight attendant looked like she wanted to gag.
“Well, then, enjoy your weekend.” Her smile was forced as her eyes met Della’s, with no small amount of disbelief.
As the attendant moved on, Della extricated her hand and whispered, “What did you say that for?”
Gabe shrugged. “She was being rude, and I wasn’t interested. Thanks for helping out.”
Della laughed. “She probably didn’t believe we’re together for a second.”
“Why not?”
She leveled him a disbelieving look. He was being completely serious. This incredibly hot man had no notion why a very sexy woman would not believe he was with her.
“Have you looked in a mirror lately?” she asked with a laugh.
He shook his head, staring back at her. “Have you?” he asked in the same tone.
Surprise choked off any reply.
“We should keep the ruse up, don’t you think?” he asked with a wiggle of his eyebrows and a grin that Della was helpless to resist.
She was more than willing to play.
“Sure. Why not?”
He leaned in closer. “This is a delicate undercover project. You’ll do whatever I need you to do,” he teased mischievously.
Della almost giggled.
“Well, nothing that could put me on a no-fly list.”
“That leaves a lot we could do,” he said, and though she knew he was only flirting, having some fun, there was a look in his eye that threw her off. Like he was enjoying this as much as she was.
“Well, it’s only been three weeks. And I’ve been out of town for most of that time. I’m not sure we’ve had sex yet,” she said primly.
He chuckled and leaned in. “Oh, honey, we had sex the first night, and almost every night after. We can’t keep our hands off each other. It’s the most amazing sex of your life,” he said, gloating.
Della’s pulse raced at the thought. “You’re pretty confident. And apparently I’m very...easy.”
He nodded. “See? We’re like peanut butter and jelly.”
Again, he made her laugh. Unsure what to say, she resorted to reaching into her bag for a deck of cards she always carried with her.
“Play cards?” she asked.
“What game?”
“Solitaire.”
“How about poker? Maybe we could make it interesting, if you’re a girl who likes to gamble.”
“No gambling for me,” she said with a shake of her head.
“Addiction?” he asked, very seriously.
“No, I’m just...really good.” She glanced at him from under her lashes, hoping he bought it. “I always win.”
One brow raised. “Lots of college poker parties?”
“Something like that.”
The truth was that she won because she couldn’t help but count the cards and mentally calculate odds. It had almost gotten her into hot water at a casino once.
“Well, now you’ve made me curious. No stakes, but let’s see if you’re as good as you say you are.”
She smiled, taking out the cards and shuffling them quite expertly, which drew another impressed glance from her sexy neighbor.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He was toast.
Della took the majority of the hands over the course of the flight, but she admired how Gabe didn’t give up. She also liked that he wasn’t a sore loser. In fact, he seemed to have a lot of fun with her, unlike other men she’d played cards with. They never liked a woman winning all the time.
If there had been stakes, she would have cleaned him out.
Gabe managed to win a few hands. He was a clever player, and though he wasn’t counting cards, he was a shrewd observer and had a great poker face.
He won the last hand as the captain announced their imminent arrival, his grin wide.
“Too bad I didn’t bet a kiss on that last hand.”
“I, um, er,” she mumbled as she almost dropped the cards while putting them back in the box.
He caught them, sliding his hand over hers as he did so.
She held her breath as they started their descent. Gabe didn’t release her hand, but squeezed it reassuringly.
If she was going to die in an airplane, this was definitely the way to go.
Except that she hoped that maybe...would he want to see her after they landed? Should she perhaps suggest dinner? Or maybe just a drink? Would he think she was asking for more?
Was she?
It took so much time to work up her nerve that she didn’t even realize they were already speeding down the runway, then rolling to the gate.
She swallowed—this was the time. Now or never.
What was the worst he could say? No? He was definitely flirting with her, so there was a chance, right?
But as she released her held breath, he freed her hand, standing quickly as people jockeyed for position to leave the plane. He stepped back, gesturing for her to exit in front of him.
“Ladies first.”
Della was overly aware of his big body behind her, crowding her slightly as she reached up and grabbed her bag, his front bumping up against her back, especially when he reached forward to get his own bag, leaning over her.
Ask him. Now.
Then they were moving forward, out of the plane, up the jet bridge, pushed along by the momentum of the people around them, all hurrying to exit.
She turned, and Gabe was looking at his watch, frowning, his expression suddenly distant.
“Gabe, I—”
“Della, it was great to meet you. Thanks for the company and the cards,” he said quickly, obviously distracted. “Sorry, I have to run.” He offered a smile before he turned in the opposite direction, walking off.
She waved, though he wasn’t looking anymore.
Della blinked, her cheeks burning as she started walking away, disappointed and embarrassed. In a flash, she was back in the hallway of her junior high, younger than the other kids in her class, with a crush on a cute boy who laughed when she waved and said hi and then kept on walking. Then, like now, it felt like everyone had seen her make a fool of herself—that they were all looking at her—though that wasn’t so, of course.
Back in school, the boys liked to flirt with her so she would help them with their math, but when it came to parties and dances, she was never included. She knew why, but at least when she helped them with their studies, they talked to her. Her parents had warned her constantly to keep to herself, that people would always want to use her for something. That she couldn’t be gullible and trusting. That she was meant for more important things than boys and parties.
Their advice had been true often enough. Gabe had only been looking for some amusement on the flight, nothing more. She shouldn’t have made more of it, knowing better.
Swallowing her letdown, she refocused her thoughts on work as she rode into the city, alone. As usual.
* * *
GABRIEL ROSS—AT LEAST, that was the name he was using for the moment—made it to his hotel still thinking about the woman on the plane. His lips kicked up into a smile as he thought about her, but he killed it. This was work. She was work.
Still, he was human. And male. Sitting so closely on the plane, he’d had more than one fantasy about how easy it would be to pick her up and do any number of arousing things to her, she was so petite. If he released her strawberry-blond hair from its sharply pulled back ponytail, how would it frame her heart-shaped face? How would she like to be kissed? How would she taste?
He’d love to find out what else made her blush. Watching her tightly rounded rear end as she walked ahead of him on the jet bridge had driven him crazy. He’d been close to asking her to dinner. Maybe for more than dinner.
It wasn’t often anyone—man or woman—beat him at poker. But of course, it would be tough to beat someone with her card-counting skills. She might be able to fool the average person, but Gabe was trained to notice such things. Once he’d figured out her game, he was able to take a few hands. It hadn’t been easy, though. He’d enjoyed the challenge.
But she also wasn’t a random person he’d met at the airport. She was his target. Or one of them. Dr. Olive Delilah Clark—Della, as she’d been called since she was young—was someone he needed to get close to.
Someone had been leaking sensitive data about the development of a vaccine for biological weapons at a NYC-based biotech firm, and it was Gabe’s job to find out who it was. They’d only gotten part of the research, and would no doubt be making an attempt to get more. So DHS planted dummy research, hoping the culprits went for the bait.
However, the perpetrator clearly had an inside contact, or a back-door in, to access the company’s research computers, which were offline. Gabe needed to get inside and find out who that contact was, and how the spies were accomplishing their task.
He’d be going in as a DHS investigator doing routine security checks on the staff members who worked on military contracts. In reality, he’d be running deep surveillance and peeking under the covers to see what secrets the lab’s employees might be hiding.
Anyone who was particularly interesting would merit deeper investigation. It meant digging into people’s lives—their private lives—and doing whatever it took to stop the leak.
Della had worked for the company as a contractor in the past, on the vaccine project, though the details were above her civilian security clearance. She finished her work in the early stages of the project, but that didn’t mean she escaped suspicion. She was an outlier, a random element, but that made her particularly interesting. She might be completely innocent, but it was also possible she had been turned or was being compelled by foreign agents. She was also smart—so he had to be smarter.
Gabe grabbed the computer bag he’d taken from the plane and slung it up on the wide table in front of the couch. He took pictures with his phone as he opened it, so he could replicate the case when he put it back together. An e-reader in a bright purple plastic skin appeared, and several foreign-language tapes tumbled out onto the floor.
Della’s bag. He’d done his homework, bringing along a similar bag of his own and taking hers “by mistake.”
The tapes were for learning Italian, but what he was most interested in was the laptop. There were no other papers of consequence in the case. He fired up his own machine, which had been waiting for him in the car, and started the password-breaking software he needed to get into Della’s computer.
While it ran, he filtered through her other belongings. Opening the laptop, he raised an eyebrow at the spreadsheet labeled “potentials” and found a list of names—male names—with comments and traits listed. Then he saw the links to online profiles—not spies, but online dating profiles.
Della was trying to find men online? That surprised him, and he went through the profiles, checking out each one in detail. In the process of doing so, he became irritated at the idea of Della actually dating any of these losers. She was better than this.
A beep signaled him that the password had been found, and he turned his attention to her laptop, allowing him to skim her files and download everything to his computer. There were several locked folders, and those he would need more time to investigate. He put the case back together exactly as he’d found it and checked his watch.
How long would it be before she noticed that she had the wrong bag and contacted him? It was imperative that she initiate their next contact. It would make her feel in control.
He couldn’t deny that he was looking forward to seeing her again. The opportunity to get closer to Dr. Clark was a tempting one, and while part of the job, he didn’t usually feel this keen a sense of anticipation at the prospect. What he’d found so far, unless there was more in the files, required only a general surveillance. He wanted to learn more.
For better or worse.
It was a rationalization, of course. He also wanted to have sex with her; he could be honest with himself about that much.
Sitting back, he pulled the laptop toward him, starting to study the files, and waited for the phone to ring. He had no doubt that it would.
2 (#u9d070d6a-ab9b-55f9-a6fa-2ab25b280f67)
DELLA SLOWED HER PACE as she approached the restaurant where she was meeting Gabe Ross. She’d been shocked when she’d opened her bag and realized it wasn’t hers. Especially when she’d discovered the stack of papers with the Homeland Security letterhead and his badge inside. She’d closed it as quickly as possible, calling him immediately.
She’d been so flustered on the plane that she’d clearly grabbed the wrong bag.
Still, she thought with a smile playing around her lips, it had resulted in her seeing Gabe again. It had taken every ounce of nerve to call him after discovering the mistake and finding his contact information on the luggage tag.
As she approached the small cafГ© with tables on the sidewalk under a charming dark red canopy, she heard her name called and looked up to see Gabe standing by the door.
Della walked quickly toward him, seeing that he had her case as well.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, grimacing. “I could have had this sent to you, instead of dragging you all the way up here.”
He smiled, taking his case as he handed her hers. “This is much better. I wouldn’t have wanted the case in unfamiliar hands.”
“Oh, yes, I—” she said, dropping her eyes down, then meeting his again. “I didn’t look through your things, of course, but I did open it and saw you work for the government. I promise I only saw the letterhead and your badge and then closed it right away.”
“I appreciate that,” he said. “Your things should be intact. I didn’t know we’d switched until you called.”
Then one of the waiters, Gianni, appeared, smiling in her direction.
“Ciao, Gianni. Come stai? Avete una tavola libera?”
“Ho sempre una tavolo per voi, bella,” Gianni said fondly, grabbing menus and leading them to a table on the patio.
Gabe looked at her. “You speak Italian, too?”
“Not as well as I’d like to. I have a chance to go to Italy as a visiting lecturer this fall, but I haven’t made up my mind yet. So I practice when I can.”
“Grazie, Gianni,” she said, smiling at the older man. “This is Gabe.”
“Nice to meet you, Gabe,” the waiter said, and Della almost had to chuckle at how Gianni smiled, but his eyes narrowed on Gabe as he took their drink orders.
“A close friend?” Gabe inquired when Gianni disappeared back inside.
“I tutored his youngest daughter so she could improve her math scores for college, and I wrote her a recommendation. I spent several evenings at their home, and here at the restaurant, teaching her, so I did get to be friends with the family. They are a lovely group.”
“Did she end up getting into the school she wanted?”
“She did. Full scholarship to Cornell in veterinary science.” Della smiled, proud of her friend, and that she could help.
“Did you grow up here, in the city?” Gabe asked.
“No, I was born in Connecticut, and I spent a good deal of my teenage years in Boston.”
She stopped there, not elaborating that she had spent her teenage years in Massachusetts because she had been admitted to Harvard when she was fifteen. She’d finished her first PhD by the time she was twenty, and then a second at twenty-four.
“When did you start working at Columbia?”
“About eight years ago. New York is home now. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”
“But you travel a lot?”
“I do. I do work as a consultant on several government and private-sector projects in addition to teaching, and I visit universities in different countries. It’s a great excuse to travel.” She paused as Gianni delivered their wine and took their orders, then turned the discussion away from herself. “So, you work for DHS? That has to be exciting.”
“Actually, most of my work is at my desk. I do a lot of strategic analysis, that kind of thing. Writing analyst reports and giving advice on operations.”
“Oh, I love logisitics!” Della said enthusiastically, and then bit her lip.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Oh, I know I can get geeky about things like that, you know, it can put people off.”
To her surprise, he frowned, and then reached over to touch her hand, which rested on the table by her wineglass.
“You shouldn’t hold back when you’re excited about something,” he said, staring into her eyes so intently that she couldn’t look away.
She also wondered for a second if he knew how excited she was about being here with him—and how he was touching her hand.
Then she chastised herself for making the same mistake she’d made on the plane, being too hopeful. This was just a dinner, and he was only being nice. He wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for the bag switch.
“Thank you,” she said, gently disentangling her hand from his—or trying. When she pulled away, he curled his fingers around hers, and squeezed. Then he let go.
Oh my.
“Besides, it’s not every day someone finds my work interesting, either. They imagine feds are always busting down doors or hauling in bad guys, but for me, it’s a lot of paperwork. Which is fine. I had enough action in the army.”
“You served?”
“Ten years, four tours to Iraq and Afghanistan.”
Della watched his features change as he talked, how his smile faded and his eyes became shadowed.
“And you came home and joined DHS?”
“I actually went back to college first, something I hadn’t had the time to do back before I joined the military. But school wasn’t my thing—never really was. My military experience was more valuable, for DHS, anyway. So I talked to some contacts, and that was where I ended up five years ago.”
“What were you studying in school? Where did you go?”
“Virginia Tech. I thought I’d do something with IT, but it wasn’t where my strengths were.”
“So you live in Virginia?”
“Well, D.C. now.”
She sighed, fighting the well of admiration and sheer lust that his story aroused in her. He was military, he served his country and he continued to do that. A hero.
A handsome, sexy, amazing hero. Here at dinner, with her.
Their dinners arrived, which was a good thing, before Della made a fool out of herself fawning all over him. As much as she loved the food here, Della barely tasted anything as she ate her chicken piccata.
And as she lifted a tender bite of meat to her lips, she met his eyes and realized he was watching her, his own dinner untouched as he observed her with an intense, hot look.
“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head as if to break the trance, but his gaze found its way back to her mouth again as she took the bite. “I just...you’re very beautiful. I guess I shouldn’t say things like that. For all I know, you’re married, or with someone else.”
The words made her catch her breath and she coughed.
Gabe was around the table in a second, his arms around her, lifting her from the chair, but her breath came back before any action was needed.
“I’m okay...it’s gone,” she said.
He didn’t remove his arms, at least not right away. Della straightened, but that only brought their bodies closer together. It seemed natural to place her hand on his at her waist.
“Thank you, but to answer your question, there’s no one at the moment.”
Gabe leaned his face down into her neck, breathing in, and then he spoke low by her ear.
“I’m glad to hear that. Tell me if I’m overstepping, but do you think Gianni would wrap this up so we could take it back to your place?”
Her heart slammed in her chest. Was he asking what she thought he was asking? She wasn’t sure what to say...but Della knew what she wanted, and went for it.
“I think he’d do that, yes,” she whispered, lifting her face toward his so she spoke close to his mouth, just a breath away from a kiss.
“Good.”
The way he said the word, with so much sensual promise, made her skin ripple with pinpricks of sensation.
“Though I’m not really that hungry,” she added as she met his eyes when he stepped away.
“I am. Starving,” he said against her ear, and she shivered, knowing he didn’t mean he wanted their leftovers.
Della’s mind spun; this was a first in her life, for sure. Gianni knew to put dinner on her tab, and so she took Gabe’s hand and they walked quickly down the walk, less busy now after dark had fallen.
As they passed into the shadow of a streetlight under a huge tree, Gabe grabbed her hand, stopping her from moving forward. Stepping back under the tree, he pulled her up close and looked down into her face.
“I’ve wanted to do this ever since I saw you on the plane.”
He kissed her, and Della’s world turned upside down. She was pretty sure she had never been kissed before, certainly not like this.
Gabe took control, keeping her tight against him, sliding his tongue between her lips, urging her to open, which she did, so willingly she should have been embarrassed.
But she wasn’t.
Instead, she pressed in close, wound her arms around his neck and made a few forays of her own, nipping at his bottom lip and then licking the spot, making him groan in approval.
She was close enough that she could feel the hard ridge of his arousal against her belly, and that triggered her own libido, too. Still, somewhere in the back of her mind, all she could think was, is this really happening?
“Yes, it really is,” he whispered against her mouth. “As long as you want it to.”
She closed her eyes, her cheeks aflame. Good thing it was so dark. “I can’t believe I said that out loud.”
“I was thinking it, too,” he reassured her, dipping in for another kiss. “You’re delicious.”
His compliment made her blush and laugh softly against his mouth. No one had ever told her she was delicious.
“Let’s go,” she said, echoing his sentiment from the restaurant.
He grabbed her hand, and they hurried from their hiding spot under the sprawl of the tree, and within minutes she was opening the door and holding her breath, nerves assaulting her again.
She ignored her doubts and inner demons, turning to Gabe and taking matters into her own hands. She pressed up against him, flattening him to the wall of the entryway—he went willingly—and tugged him down by his shirt collar for more kissing.
Merely kissing Gabe was already better than any sex she’d ever had before. Della couldn’t wait to see what would come next.
“I like a woman who knows what she wants,” he managed to say in between deep, wet kisses that she could easily find addicting.
She pulled back and, remembering the moment on the plane when she’d first seen him, she reached up and pushed the recalcitrant shock of hair, which always fell forward, back in place.
He smiled at that and captured her hand with his, bringing it to his lips.
“Upstairs, then?”
Della nodded and turned toward the stairs, but was swamped with sudden doubt. She’d never done this before, meeting a man she barely knew and taking him home to bed. Taking him to her room, her sanctuary, was too intimate, crazy as that seemed considering what they were about to do, and she faltered as she crossed the entry.
His hands cupped her shoulders, rubbing lightly.
“Everything okay?”
Was it?
What if she disappointed him? He was clearly more experienced and more at ease. What if...?
“I can leave. It’s okay, Della” he said reassuringly.
She took a deep breath and turned to face him.
“I’m sorry. Cold feet, I guess. Do you mind if we...stay downstairs?”
“Sure. Listen, let’s sit, have a glass of wine and talk. There’s no pressure. I’ve enjoyed your company, and whether this goes further or not, that doesn’t change.”
The sincerity in his voice did her in. That was sexier than anything, and Della was quite sure she wasn’t going to let him leave until after they had both gotten naked. But a glass of wine sounded good, too.
“Thank you. I do have a nice white wine that I haven’t opened yet. If you want to go in and sit, I can get it from the fridge.”
“Sounds perfect,” he said, leaning in to kiss the side of her neck, sending sparks dancing over her skin.
Della hurried with the wine, hoping Gabe didn’t change his mind, and she almost heaved a sigh of relief when she found him settled comfortably on the sofa, looking at an architectural magazine from her coffee table.
He looked so...right, sitting there. Relaxed and at home, incredibly masculine. And for the moment, all hers.
What was she worried about?
She’d uncorked the wine in the kitchen and brought two glasses with her, setting them on the table, noting he’d pulled the curtains. She filled one of the glasses and turned to him.
He put down the magazine, offering a curious look at the single glass.
She bit her lip, jumping in and convincing herself to take this chance to explore some fantasies, perhaps.
Handing him the glass, she didn’t sit next to him, but instead lowered down over his lap, straddling his strong thighs and enjoying the flicker of surprise—and approval—in his expression.
Della took the glass from his hand, dipped her finger into the bright, golden wine and traced it over his lips.
Heat sparked in his eyes, and she was relieved again that she hadn’t spoiled the evening. Leaning down to lick it from his mouth, she was surprised to feel him catch his breath.
So she did it again, though this time he caught her finger in between his lips and sucked the taste from her skin, and it was her turn to gasp at the incredible sensation.
She knew that fingertips were one of the most concentrated nerve centers in the body, but she’d never really considered them an erogenous zone before—until Gabe sucked in her finger a second time, sending a shock of pleasure down between her thighs, which tightened and squeezed his.
Gabe noticed. “Do it again.”
She did, dipping her fingers into the wine and then to his mouth, and the same sensation made her shudder, her eyes closing.
“It’s, um, been a while,” she managed, breathless. “I guess I’m extra sensitive.”
“Well, that makes this even more fun,” he said, taking the wineglass from her and setting it on the table next to the magazines.
He didn’t take his eyes from hers as he slid his fingers up under her tank top, lifting it up over her head. Then he removed her bra and gazed at her breasts with raw hunger in his eyes.
“Gorgeous,” he said roughly and took the glass of wine again, now wetting his fingers with the Riesling and tracing the wet, cold wine around one nipple, making her whimper. He licked it off and then he did the same to her other breast.
“Oh, yes,” she panted, tightening her thighs on his.
“More?”
“Please.”
He repeated the process until Della was so close to the edge of orgasm that she could only brace herself on his shoulders and focus on all of the sensations, but it wasn’t quite enough.
Until he put the wine down, and while still kissing her breasts he began to gently rub the heel of his hand between her legs.
Seconds later, she was crying out in a voice that didn’t sound like herself at all, the quick rush of satisfaction both offering some relief, but also making her hungrier.
Gabe pulled back, his eyes bright, his jaw taut with arousal. Looking down, Della saw more evidence of that, and smiled, pride surging through her.
She’d done that. To a man like Gabe.
What else could she do?
She drew her tongue along the strong cords of his neck and let one hand slip down to investigate that prominent evidence of his own excitement.
He growled, or groaned, a purely masculine expression of desire as she touched him, pressing her fingers over him through the fabric of his slacks. He turned his head, taking her mouth in a hot kiss that threw fuel on the fire inside of her. This time, touching wouldn’t be enough.
“You need to get those pants off.” Her voice sounded strange to her, breathless and urgent, saying those words so boldly.
“I agree,” Gabe said as she moved off of him, finding her knees slightly shaky as she stood in the middle of her apartment. It was surreal, watching him undress. He peeled off his clothes without preamble or self-consciousness, throwing them on the plush floral rug, and his shirt landed over a chair across from her. Taking her cue from him, Della peeled off her skirt and panties, and then they were both standing there naked in her living room.
It went far beyond any fantasy she’d had on the plane, or, well, ever. This moment with Gabe, looking at his strong, lean form, the impressive erection that jutted out from his thighs and the intensity in his face as he studied her—it was a memory meant for a lifetime.
He closed the distance between them in two easy steps, pulling her up close, flush against him. She was more than a foot shorter than him, so her face cradled against his pectorals, his shaft at her waist. She turned her head, rubbing her skin against the light sprinkling of hair, and darted her tongue out to taste him.
“Della,” he said, his tone a mix of protest and a need so thick in his voice that he didn’t sound quite the same, either. “Wait,” he said, letting her go so he could retrieve an item from his wallet, quickly covering himself. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him, watching and absorbing every erotic detail.
She raised her eyes to his and he smiled.
“There are other things I want to do to you, lovely Della, so many things. But for now, I think we both need this,” he whispered as he lifted her in his arms as if she weighed nothing. “I fantasized about you like this, being inside of you, all of that time on the plane,” he added as she wrapped her arms and legs around him.
“Really?” she squeaked as he put his hands on her backside, holding her in place.
“Really.”
The way he was holding her, she felt him, the thick weight of him against her inner thigh, then prodding against her entrance.
“Okay?”
“Oh yes,” she said softly against his ear, then nipped the lobe.
Her arms tightened around his neck as he pressed slowly inside, letting her take him bit by bit. Her forehead fell to his shoulder as he filled her. The delightful pressure drew a sigh from her as she closed her eyes, trying to feel it all. The sensation was overwhelming, and she wanted to simply bask in it, until he spoke, his voice rough.
“Kiss me, Della.”
She fluttered light touches over his mouth with hers, and then settled in, slower, deeper. Sucking his tongue between her lips, she enjoyed his taste. He started moving, bracing her in his hands as he thrust lightly. She moaned, her head falling back.
“Keep kissing me, don’t stop.”
Della wasn’t sure she could do it, the increasing friction and pace of his thrusts blanking her mind and taking her higher, but she did keep kissing him.
She framed his face with her hands, drawing back from the kisses as pleasure spiked. She couldn’t do anything but look in his eyes as her entire body was taken over, the pleasure rippling through every nerve ending, leaving her helpless to do anything but ride it out.
Seconds later, he took her mouth in a wet, hot kiss and groaned so deeply that she could feel the vibrations of the sound all through her. Her arms latched around him as he gave in to his own release, and miraculously triggered another intense, quick climax for her, too.
As his movements slowed, only their ragged breathing and gasps filled the space. Della was still holding on, though they were both slick with sweat, their bodies still clinging, still connected.
“Oh my,” she breathed against his skin, unsure she could stand on her own if he let her go.
He knew, and took her to the sofa, setting her down slowly, and then he sat, too, pulling her alongside him, cuddled against his chest.
“You are...incredible.”
“Me? I just hung on. You were the incredible one,” she said, smiling against his side.
“It’s like I told you on the plane. We’re great together. I had a feeling we would be. I’m glad we had the chance to find out.”
Della paused, her mind clearing somewhat.
“That sounds like a goodbye,” she said.
He tipped her chin up with his fingers, looking down at her. “Not yet. The night is young, and like I said, there are a lot of things I want to do to you, Della.”
Happiness surged and she bit her lip, flirting up at him from beneath her lashes.
“There are a few things I’d like to do to you, too.”
“I can’t wait to find out. But maybe a shower first?”
She nodded, her imagination swimming with the possibilities of what they could do to each other under the hot water.
“That sounds like fun,” she responded with a smile, standing and holding out her hand to him.
He followed her down the hall, and Della smiled secretly to herself, thinking that this was what she had been looking for. The blow-your-mind kind of sex that everyone talked about. She had finally experienced it, and now she was about to experience some more of it.
In fact, she wanted to enjoy as much sex with Gabe as humanly possible before he left, because she had a feeling this was going to be a one-night thing.
Taking his hand as she pulled him into the shower stall, she turned on the water and sank to her knees before him, fully intending to live every single fantasy she could, while she had the chance.
3 (#u9d070d6a-ab9b-55f9-a6fa-2ab25b280f67)
GABE WASN’T PROUD of himself as he snuck around Della’s house while she slept, but it was a necessary evil. After she passed out, he extricated himself from her arms and went downstairs for a more thorough look through her office and then returned upstairs. She was still asleep in the bed, naked, exhausted and wrapped around the tumbled sheets in such a sexy way that he thought about waking her up again. But he wasn’t done.
He slid his fingers along the edges of the built-in bookcases, a small flashlight held between his teeth as he noticed books on just about everything. A good deal of fiction, but also science, math, art and, more unexpectedly, sex.
Several books on the art of lovemaking and the biology of pleasure, he noted with a raised eyebrow.
Well, from his experience, she’d definitely done her research. She wasn’t terribly experienced, he could tell, but she was eager and imaginative. That was preferable, in his book.
He studied the arrangement of the books, looking for anything odd or out of place, something that had been turned differently or was misplaced, but found nothing. No bugs, nothing that would suggest she had been compromised in any way.
Except by him.
He investigated the lamps, her clock, the vents...anyplace someone might hide a camera or a microphone, but there was nothing.
Gabe was happy about that, for several reasons. He shouldn’t have been happy, but there was undeniable relief that Della appeared to have no involvement in his current investigation.
Though he still had to go through the locked files on her computer.
He understood now why she had balked when he’d asked to be taken upstairs earlier in the evening. This part of her home was clearly her private space. The entire home was lovely, but this was the place where she truly escaped.
A huge four-poster bed, very feminine and wickedly comfortable, dominated the room. It had been tough for him to stay awake, waiting for her to drift off.
The white cotton frills that rimmed the canopy were balanced by plain wool rugs and simple furniture that gave the room a Zen feeling. Built-in bookcases lined one wall, and there was an easel near a pair of French doors that led out to a terrace. A half-finished watercolor—amateurish, but still charming—sat on the perch. She was painting the view from her veranda, it seemed. And what might have been a bird, but it was hard to tell, exactly.
“Gabe?” Her sleepy voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts, and he switched off the flashlight quickly, leaving it on the dresser, where he’d found it as he went back to the bed.
“Did I wake you up? Sorry. I was trying to be quiet.”
“What are you doing?”
As he approached the bed, his cock twitched with interest. Incredible, after the mini-marathon they’d enjoyed. He hadn’t been this interested in a woman for some time.
“Just looking for my clothes.”
“They’re downstairs,” she said on a yawn.
“Oh right,” he feigned, knowing that, but needing to come up with some excuse in case she’d noticed him hunting around her room.
“You’re leaving?”
“I have to. I shouldn’t have stayed this late. Early morning.”
“Oh. Okay,” she said, sounding mildly disappointed, but accepting. “I’ll walk you down.”
“No need for that.”
“I want to. I’m awake anyway.”
She slid out of bed, and he could see the contours of her shape in the sliver of light peeking in through a curtain.
He hardened, and had to keep himself from touching, his mind scrambling to stem his reaction. He usually had much better control over himself than this.
Della switched on a low light and took her robe from the chair near the bookshelves. How could she look even sexier putting something on?
Her mouth was still swollen from their kissing, but her lips turned down slightly at the edges. Her hair was tumbled everywhere around her face from how he’d combed his fingers through it while pressing her down into the mattress. He looked away. Della was far too tempting.
He slid a look as she bent down to pick up something from the floor, the edge of the robe riding up to the edge of her upper thigh. He groaned, crossing to where she stood and sliding his hands over the soft roundness of her backside. He pushed the robe up, nudged his erection against her bottom and heard her catch her breath.
“Maybe I could stay a bit longer,” he said, giving in as she rose and leaned back against him.
She turned to him with a sigh. She planted her hands on his chest and shook her head.
“We can’t. No more protection.”
He was truly disappointed, but slid his arm around the small of her back and tugged her closer, not willing to give up entirely.
Burying his face in the soft skin of her neck, he licked the spot behind her ear and felt her shudder.
She was sensitive all over, loving to be touched. That made him want to do it even more.
“Gabe, we—”
“Have options,” he said with a chuckle, and kissed a path down to her breast, sucking the sweet flesh there in between his lips as his hands delved lower.
She was already hot, wet, and cried out, gripping his shoulders the minute his fingers found her.
He slipped her hand inside his boxers to stoke his erection, showing her the rhythm he liked. And then he turned all of his attention to kissing every soft spot he could find as they stroked and brought each other to another slow, incredible climax. Gabe thought his knees might actually be slightly shaky; he knew hers were as she sagged against him.
“You are one sexy lady, Della Clark,” he said on a breathless chuckle.
She sighed and buried her face in his chest, nuzzling there. He let her, enjoying that moment, but gently disentangled himself a few minutes later.
“I do have to go.”
She looked at him, sleepy and satisfied, and nodded.
“I know.”
After a quick wash in her en suite, which nearly had them all over each other again, they walked downstairs together.
Gabe couldn’t help but feel mildly regretful that he had to leave. He imagined waking up next to Della would be fun. There were so many ways he could rouse her in the morning.
He stopped short for a second. He never had thoughts like that with other women he’d slept with. Never had a problem leaving after the moment had passed. As he plucked his clothes from the floor and the coffee table where he’d thrown them earlier, he realized he didn’t really want to say goodbye. He wanted to see her again.
That didn’t happen often, either. But Della was...different. She leaned on the doorjamb between the living room and the entryway, watching him, looking sleepy, and maybe a bit sad.
Or was Gabe imagining that? Wishful thinking?
Once he was dressed, he planted his hands on his hips, took a breath, his resolve returning.
“I should get some sleep,” she said, clearly trying to avoid the awkward goodbye. “Thank you. I hope you...have a nice stay in the city.”
“Della, wait.”
He walked toward her and drew her into a hug, kissed her hair, then her cheek and her lips, before he backed away.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Her lips parted like she was going to say something, but no words came out, so he walked to the door, stepping out into the early morning darkness. The upper Manhattan streets were quiet. There wasn’t a cab in sight, so Gabe headed to the nearest subway station, refocusing on his task and leaving Della’s welcoming warmth behind.
* * *
DELLA DIDN’T HEAR the conversation going on around her, she was too busy thinking about randomness. The odds of her meeting Gabe were, in the context of the entire world, astronomical. If he hadn’t been seated next to her, would the night before have even happened? Would they have met by some other mechanism? Would she have tripped over his foot in the aisle on her way to the bathrooms, and he might have caught her? Or would they still have mixed up their bags?
No, her analytical mind rebelled. That would suggest fate or determinism. That they were “meant to be.” That was romantic nonsense, according to her mathematician’s mind. It was impossible to know how they ended up sitting next to each other, only that they did. If she had more data, such as when they had bought tickets, how many seats were gone at the time and a swath of other information, she could figure out the probabilities. Then their ending up together would seem far less magical.
But the night they’d spent together had been magic. Chemistry, not physics.
“Della? Della, what do you think? What do you have there?”
Chloe Brown, her colleague and friend, marched across the carpeted floor of the fancy dressing room to pluck a napkin from Della’s fingers that had been under her champagne glass. The ladies she had been chatting with walked back out into the main area of the store, no doubt to retrieve more dresses.
Chloe’s huge blue eyes widened as she glanced at the paper in her hand.
“Math? You’re doing math? I need opinions on this dress, and then we need to get your dress, as well. The wedding is in three weeks, you know.” Chloe sighed. “I must have been out of my mind to agree to such a rushed date, but with Justin’s job moving, we couldn’t wait.”
“I’m sorry. I know I’m supposed to be the one supporting you, but I’m just distracted today,” Della apologized.
She should be focusing more on the dress choices and helping Chloe, but all she seemed to be able to think about was what happened with Gabe last night.
Chloe looked at the napkin more closely.
“Wait a minute...what’s that graph? Who’s Gabe?”
Della had forgotten that she’d labeled her variables with G and D, and reached to snatch the slip of paper from Chloe’s hands.
“Nuh-uh. Come to think of it, you were late this morning, and you’re never late. You have shadows under your eyes, like you didn’t sleep well. And what’s that red mark behind your ear...is that a hickey?”
Della scrunched her shoulders, hiding the mark, and inwardly chastising herself for not wearing a scarf, but it was summer in New York—wearing a scarf would draw even more attention.
“What are you, a detective?” Della grumbled, sticking her tongue out, but having a tough time hiding a smile.
She, Della Clark, had girl talk to share.
How many times had she sat at lunch or out for drinks, listening to friends talk about their dates, man troubles and sex lives, when she had nothing to contribute. Now she did.
But she was finding it hard to talk about her news, surprisingly.
What would Chloe think of her? She was marrying a guy she’d been with for years, since college. And Della had taken a man she met on the plane to her apartment for a night of amazing sex.
And she wished she could do it again. Maybe that was the problem with her dating life. She was looking for Mr. Right instead of Mr. Right Now. If she wanted great sex, did she really need a relationship?
Chloe plopped down in the large, cushiony chair next to Della, the satin and lace of the dress she wore billowing all around her. Della reached out and took one edge of the lovely fabric between her fingers, marveling at how soft it was and how detailed the design of the lace.
“It almost looks like fractals,” Della murmured, studying the design.
Was she really only interested in one-time sex? It satisfied a short-term goal, for sure, but what about longer-term goals? What about a day when she might get to wear a dress like this? Have children? Grow old with someone?
What if she missed meeting the man she could spend the rest of her life with when she was pursuing simple pleasure? Not that any of her dating profile responses today looked any more promising than before on either score.
“Della, honey, tell me what happened,” Chloe said, breaking into her thoughts and taking Della’s hand with a friendly squeeze.
“I don’t know if I made a mistake. But it’s made me rethink everything,” Della said. “I’m a little confused.”
Once she started telling Chloe about Gabe, and what had happened, it all poured out much more easily than she thought it would. Chloe listened, and when Della was finally finished explaining as much as she could—without certain details, of course—she saw her friend was smiling.
“Well. Good for you, Della. It’s about time.”
Della sat back in the chair, surprised. “You don’t think I’m a...well, a slut?”
Chloe burst out laughing. “No, not at all. It sounds to me like you met a great guy and had a good time. No harm in that. I slept with Justin the first night we met, too. And had fun with quite a few men I knew before him. There’s nothing wrong with sex for fun.”
“Really?”
“Really. Who knows, a one-night stand could be your wedding-dress guy someday. Stranger things happen. People meet in all kinds of ways.”
“I just wish... I’d really like to see him again. Gabe. I feel like last night was kind of a dream, and believe me, the odds of me finding another man like him are not high.”
“Well, why don’t you see him again?”
“Our meeting was totally random and totally random things are not repeatable,” Della said, and then saw that look on her friend’s face.
“This has nothing to do with math, Della. What’s really going on?”
“He made it clear it was just a one-night thing. He’s only here for a short time, works with the government, something with Homeland Security. When he left, he didn’t say he wanted to see me again. Or what if I did, and it wasn’t as good? Maybe last night was just a fluke.”
Chloe paused, sitting back in her chair. “There’s only one way to find out. You contacted him once about your bags, just contact him again. You don’t have to wait for him to ask, Della. You can ask for what you want, and you should.”
Della frowned. “I don’t know, I feel weird calling him again. Especially for, um, you know for—”
“For sex. Believe me, he won’t mind,” Chloe said with a chuckle. “The worst that can happen is that he says no, or doesn’t pick up the call. Then you have your answer.”
Della shook her head. “And if he says yes, what if I miss my chance at someone else really great?”
“By the looks of the responses you have on your dating profile, I don’t think you have to worry about that anytime soon. If you want to see this guy again, you need to go for it.”
Della was tempted, but not convinced. She’d worked with men her entire life, and she was used to being the only woman in the room many times when it came to lectures or think tanks, but this was different. She would feel so foolish if he said no, and that would put a pall on the entire experience. Wouldn’t it be better just to enjoy the memory?
No, she was just making excuses.
“Think of it this way. It’s practice, right? You haven’t had a lot of chances to be with men who really know what they’re doing, and now you met one. Enjoy it, work off some steam and get some mad skills in bed for when you do meet Mr. Forever.”
Della brightened slightly. “That’s true.”
“And if he’s working for DHS, he has to be pretty trustworthy, right? What kind of work does he do for them? Is there some kind of problem in the city? Some new threat?”
Chloe looked slightly worried suddenly.
“Oh no, nothing like that,” Della reassured. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be hooking up with me if it was anything that serious. But we didn’t really talk about work that much.”
“If you must calculate odds, the best bet is that if you meet him again, you’ll have a great time. A guy that good in bed doesn’t lose his skills overnight, so take advantage while you can. Anything else, you can’t know for sure, no matter how many algorithms you apply.”
Della realized Chloe was right. It was her downfall that she often made things more complicated rather than simplifying them. Divide, instead of multiply. Just call Gabe and see what happened, and no matter what happened, she would have made a decision. It was better than drowning in what-ifs.
“You’re right. I feel so much better. I’ll call him after we’re done here,” she said, excitement making her bounce in her seat.
“Great! Maybe we could even do a double date, or if he’s here for a while, he could be your wedding date, perhaps?”
“Let’s see if he even talks to me. I don’t want to count on anything.”
Chloe smiled. “Now you’re learning. Just enjoy the moment. But still, if there’s a chance, I’d love to meet him. He sounds like quite a guy.”
Della smiled in return. “That would be nice. Thanks, Chloe.”
“You’re welcome. Now, what do you think of this dress? It’s the one I keep coming back to, but the cost is through the roof.”
Chloe stood, and Della, having made her decision to call Gabe and take control of her destiny—or at least of her sex life—was able to focus on the task at hand. She followed her friend to the mirror, studying how lovely Chloe looked in the gown. The special moment settled in, and tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she blinked them away.
“I love it. It’s perfect. You only get married once, Chloe, and you should have the dress you dream about.”
Chloe looked like she was blinking away tears as well, and nodded.
“You have a romantic streak, Della. And it’s so good to have you here. I know we’ve known each other for less than a year, and this wedding was sort of a rush, but you’ve been such a good friend. And with none of my own family around, you’ve really become more like a sister.”
Now Della did get teary, as she had no siblings, either. To think that Chloe felt that way about her was very moving.
“Thank you. I feel exactly the same. I’m so honored that you asked me to be your maid of honor, even though you know I have no clue what I’m doing.”
They laughed, and Chloe grinned. “How are the dance lessons coming along?”
Della made a face. “I suck.”
Chloe laughed again. “You’re being too hard on yourself. You haven’t had much time to learn. And you need a good partner. Maybe Gabe can help you out,” she added with a hint of mischief.
Della bit her lip, wondering. She hadn’t considered that, or that perhaps Gabe would be her date to some wedding events, if he was around. Justin’s best man was married, so Della had resigned herself to going solo, but maybe...?
Don’t go there, she reminded herself. That way lay disappointment. Just enjoy whatever happens, if anything does happen.
“So, now that we know what I’m wearing to this event, we need to try on your selections.”
“Selections? I haven’t made any selections yet.”
“I did,” Chloe said mischievously.
Della rolled her eyes, but submitted as Chloe signaled to the saleslady to bring in some of the dresses she had set aside for Della.
Chloe was always chiding her about her bland style, wearing mostly black and grey, wool and cotton, and relatively modest clothes. The skirt and tank top she’d worn out with Gabe the night before had been obtained on a shopping trip with Chloe, who had given in on the black tank top, but convinced her to buy the form-fitting denim skirt.
Gabe had clearly approved, and so Della decided maybe Chloe had a point.
The saleslady brought in three dresses, and all of them made Della gasp.
“Gorgeous, aren’t they?” Chloe cooed. “C’mon, try them on.”
Della was led away by the saleswoman, along with the gowns. The assortment ranged among shades of rose, which was Chloe’s choice, of course, and all three were as daring as they were...sensual.
The first one was a Grecian, off-the-shoulder style of sheer, draped material that caught at the waist with a silver pin. It moved around her in the most wonderful froth of fabric Della had ever imagined. When she walked, it was if she were floating.
“Oh, that one is superb. It would drive any man crazy,” Chloe said approvingly.
“It’s very comfortable, too. I like it.”
“Try the next, anyway. We need to see all of them.”
Grudgingly, she did so. The second one had a neckline so deep Della was pretty sure she could probably step out of the dress through the front. Chloe liked it, but commented that Della would probably have to tape her breasts in place, so as not to have a fashion faux pas. Della nixed that dress immediately.
The third was more modestly cut, but fit like a glove, and because of that, was even more revealing than the others.
“I like it,” Della said, studying her image in the mirror with Chloe. She looked so sleek, and the dress seemed to compress all of her curves into a very nice shape. “But it doesn’t feel as nice as the first one, and it would be difficult to dance in this one. I really like the Grecian style, and I would rather move comfortably.”
“Agreed. And the first is a very romantic dress, while still being sexy. It also looked the best with your hair color and figure. I was worried that rose color, with your strawberry, would be a clash, but that shade works. I think because it’s muted, and the off-the-shoulder style takes the color away from your neckline, so it shows off that amazing skin of yours, rather than clashing with your hair.”
Della smirked. “You really think a lot about these kinds of things. Good thing one of us does.”
Chloe chuckled. “You have basically good instincts. You just need to be a bit more daring.”
“So this is decided?”
“Yes. Do you want to go get a coffee to celebrate?”
“I can’t,” Della said, looking at her watch. “I wanted to drop some paperwork off downtown, and I have an appointment after that.”
“And you have to call lover boy.”
Della felt her cheeks warm. “Yes, and that.”
“Speaking of that, maybe you should buy some sexy extras while you’re here. They have some beautiful things out front.”
“Oh, I don’t know—”
“Don’t second-guess, Della. You’re having a fling with a sexy stranger. Make the most of it.”
Della took a deep breath and agreed with a nod. Returning to the dressing room, she took the dress off, and then waited for the store’s seamstress to take her measurements so that it could be altered appropriately.
Then, she and Chloe bought several more pieces of lingerie than Della thought she would ever need, but they were fun to pick out. She wondered if Gabe would be surprised. Last night, all she had been wearing were her usual, plain cotton bikinis and he hadn’t seemed to mind at all.
Leaving the shop, she and Chloe parted ways, and Della’s attention turned to the evening ahead. She was too distracted to think about work, and it wasn’t anything that couldn’t wait.
Chloe was right—she had to go for it with Gabe. She had everything to gain, and very little to lose. But she balked at calling him and suggesting he come to her house. Should they meet somewhere else?
If she asked him out for a drink, and then things happened more naturally, she was far more comfortable with that.
But that was also boring.
Della was tired of being boring. Gabe was a federal agent, and a man who had experienced a lot more of life than she had. What made her think he would want to see her again? She wanted to stand out in his memory like he did in hers. To make herself desirable, more mysterious.
Maybe if she did something more creative than just calling him—she could make it a game of sorts.
Excitement tingled underneath her skin as an idea formed, and before she could talk herself out of it, she took out her phone and opened the GPS application. Some quick calculations, and she’d sent off a message to Gabe that hopefully would be much more intriguing than a phone call would have been.
Putting her phone away, she hurried down the sidewalk, smiling. She had more plans to make.
4 (#u9d070d6a-ab9b-55f9-a6fa-2ab25b280f67)
GABE FINISHED HIS second drink, looking at the door of the Wall Street bar where he’d agreed to meet Della. Well, he assumed that was what this was about. All he’d received from her was a message that included GPS coordinates that led to this location. At first he’d been suspicious—what if it wasn’t her? Or why wouldn’t she just call him directly?
Gabe became increasingly antsy and curious the longer he sat, waiting.
What was Della up to?
He wasn’t sure he should be here, or if he should have made any plans to see her again at all. He’d combed through her locked files and found nothing of too much interest. Her work on the vaccine project had been mostly related to risk analysis, very compartmentalized and early in the project. There were no other red flags in her life. Her emails and academic work were all straightforward. He was running background checks on her friends, colleagues, just in case, but there’d been nothing overtly alarming.
He shouldn’t have come here, but the strange message had intrigued him. If it wasn’t from Della, then he needed to know what was going on.
Right.
The truth was that he liked her, and he wanted to see her again, in spite of the situation.
You lied to her, so what? It’s the job. Lives depend on what you do. His mind replayed all the usual things he told himself so he could sleep at night. It wasn’t that they weren’t true, but they were getting harder and harder to believe.
Like today, which he’d spent interrogating a twenty-five-year-old junior scientist about the details of her private life until she was in tears. Tears never really bothered him; Gabe knew they could be a ploy. There had been enough cracks in the young employee’s interview to push her harder, and questions about her background, as well. Natalie Petroski could be the leak. He’d asked for surveillance to be installed in her home before she returned there.
Until they were satisfied that she was clean, he would review audio and video of everything she did, every aspect of her personal life, and with whom she did it. Especially with whom. They’d have to get some mobile surveillance on her as well, know where she went and who she saw.
It was legal—he had authorization—but it made Gabe feel dirty. And undeserving, he supposed, of spending time with someone like Della. What would she think if she knew?
He shook his head in disgust; he was getting soft. He never would have thought this way before.
Before what? Before deceiving too many people, losing too many friends and spending too many lonely nights thinking about it? Before he let himself love someone, thinking there was a future in it, only to find out differently? Before he let someone count more than the job, and it cost him his life? Or theirs?
He couldn’t deny it; since Janet had died, he’d started having doubts. He told himself it was grief, or a broken heart, but those things passed.
His doubts remained.
Maybe Della was a mistake for a whole different set of reasons. He had to focus on his work, and she was a distraction. A sexy distraction, but one he couldn’t afford. He’d often wondered on sleepless nights, if doubts about him, or about her choices, had been what distracted Janet. If they had created enough of a crack that she missed the shooter who hadn’t missed her. Had she thought of him in the end?
He shook his head as if trying to ward off the bad memories. He walked to the door, intending to leave as he saw a guy on a bike race to a stop in front. The man hopped off of the bike and then came through the door. He looked right at Gabe.
“This is for you.”
The guy handed him a small white box, wrapped with a black bow.
“Who sent it?”
Gabe was hardwired against receiving any mysterious packages, and automatically backed up as he assessed the situation around him.
“A really hot redhead,” the kid said with a large grin. “Lucky you.”
Gabe released a breath, the tension easing from his shoulders as he took the box and tipped the delivery guy, who sped off, leaving him standing there in the doorway to the bar, staring at the box.
Even knowing it was probably from Della, and all was probably fine, he had to fight every instinct in his mind to actually pull the ribbon and open the box. This didn’t seem like something the woman he’d met would do—she wasn’t the type.
His eyes widened as he lifted a sheer stocking from the box. Attached to the stocking was a piece of paper.
“What the...?”
Detaching the paper, he put the stocking back in the box and studied the numbers on the sheet of paper. It was definitely Della’s handwriting. He recognized it from all of the papers he’d gone through in her computer bag.
He took a seat at the bar, studying the sheet.
What was she up to?
After a minute or two, he saw the start of the pattern, discerning the code. His heartbeat sped up a little—Della was luring him to her with a system of clues.
Or was it some kind of trap?
Grabbing a pen from his pocket, he worked out the clues in a matter of minutes. The numbers were a subway line, an address and a time signature—he should be at the location indicated by eight.
That gave him about a half hour to make it all the way uptown. Apparently, this train would get him there on time.
Booking it to the closest subway platform, he boarded the train, which he had nearly missed.
What was Della up to? Where was she leading him?
Sitting down on an empty bench, he opened the box again and touched the soft material of the stocking, his blood instantly warming.
The idea of being with Della again was intoxicating, and this game was making it even more so.
Apparently there was more to Dr. Clark than he’d assumed. If she was trying to draw him in, it was working. Though Gabe still kept his guard up—he couldn’t be sure this was really Della or that there wasn’t something else going on.
Eventually, he emerged onto the street, and the signs near the subway platform told him he was near the American Museum of Natural History.
He stood there for a while, looking for another clue and checking his watch. Eight on the dot, but no Della in sight.
Then he saw it—a napkin from the Italian restaurant they’d eaten at the night they met, tacked to the telephone pole at the corner.
He quickly took it from the pole and saw Della’s script again. She’d written only I’m waiting for you under the stars
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/samantha-hunter/hot-in-the-city/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Если текст книги отсутствует, перейдите по ссылке
Возможные причины отсутствия книги:
1. Книга снята с продаж по просьбе правообладателя
2. Книга ещё не поступила в продажу и пока недоступна для чтения