Silk Confessions (6 page)

Her avid gaze fell to the hard-on that could have been a circus attraction. Eyes going wide, she yanked her attention up to his face, cheeks flushed.

“I don’t really hire naked models,” she informed him, breathless. Coming to her feet, she tucked strand after strand of brown hair behind her ear.

“It’s okay, I don’t charge.” He found himself stepping closer, incapable of exerting the effort required to keep his distance any longer. The circus erection had only gotten larger when those honey-brown eyes of hers caressed him.

Perhaps the size of his member should have alerted him to the fact that blood was no longer flowing to his brain. But then, his thinking was seriously impaired.

“Speaking strictly from a creative standpoint, I’m impressed.” The single pearl she wore around her neck rose and fell with every rapid breath.

“What about from a personal standpoint?” He stopped an inch away from her, breathing in her scent, which he’d begun to recognize as almond.

He wouldn’t step any closer without some sort of invitation. A sign.

“Personally speaking?” Now that her hair had been firmly tucked behind her ear, she pulled a strand forward and twisted it around her finger. “I might need more information before I can form an opinion.”

“Ask away.” He didn’t mean to lean forward, but he must have—or she must have—because the soft fabric of her long, cotton dress brushed his chest.

His eyes crossed at the contact, her lush breasts tempting him beyond reason.

Still, she held back. She bit her lip as she seemed to struggle with her thoughts, her face a picture of sensual distress.

When she finally opened her mouth to speak, she murmured a quiet, “What the hell?” before she moved closer. Her hands landed on his waist to skim around his back. “Maybe I just need to feel for myself.”

Heat flashed through him like a thunderbolt. His arms banded around her, dragging her into him. Her mouth
opened beneath his, soft and warm and so damn inviting. He cupped her head to find the perfect angle, fingers stroking through her thick curls until he found the vulnerable stretch of her neck.

She arched into him, generous curves pressing against him. He wanted his hands everywhere at once, hungry to know the feel of her. Her dress swirled around his calves, clinging to the fabric of his jeans. A blend of soft textures assailed his senses—her hair, her skin, that dress of hers all begged to be touched. Everything about Tempest drew him closer, invited him to linger.

“Wes.”

The sound of his name reached his ears, the only discernible word amid breathy sighs and the gentle smack of their lips.

Easing back, he peered down at her in the halo of light emitted by the computer screen, her apartment grown dark in late afternoon thanks to the short winter day.

“Too fast?” He hadn’t meant to spin the kiss out, make it so important. But his good intentions had fled when she stared at him with those dark, hungry eyes of hers, and then once he’d kissed her—his body seemed to remember exactly how long it had been since he’d kissed anyone like he meant it.

“No.” Shaking her head, her curls bounced restlessly. “Yes. Maybe. I just—”

Prying himself further away, he skimmed his hands up to the safer terrain of her shoulders. “You tasted so good, and it’s been a long time for me. Sorry if I rushed you.”

“It’s not that.” Her fingers alighted on his chest briefly, then skittered away again. “I welcomed the kiss and the ah—view.”

He resisted a juvenile urge to flex for her. “My pleasure.”

“But I don’t think you realize what you’d be getting yourself into if we…continue in that vein.”

“On the contrary, I think I know exactly what I’d be getting myself into, and after the fireworks of one kiss, I can say with some assurance that anything more than that would rock my whole damn universe.” No sense denying the obvious—he wanted her.

“I don’t mean that.” She reached to flick on a desk lamp, bathing them in dim light. “I know that part would be great, but getting involved with me could be messy.”

“I’ve already learned not to tattoo names on my wrist. What more do I need to know?”

“Every relationship I’ve ever had has been splashed all over the newspapers. Even taking in a movie with the coffee shop guy turned into a major ordeal, and you found out from him firsthand that it meant less than nothing.” Huffing out a sigh, she blew a curl away from her eyes. “I just needed to warn you that hanging out with me will probably only lead to a big headache.”

“We could keep things quiet.” He traced the golden chain around her neck with his finger. “Private.”

“Trust me, I’ve tried it. I couldn’t even keep the results of my college final exams secret. My scores are still available on the Internet if you’re interested, by the way.”

Finally, Wes’s brain began thinking again. Reason returned as he thought about his privacy vanishing the moment he started something with Tempest.

Could he afford to have his life served up for public consumption? Especially when he had a killer to catch?

“So you’re willing to back away just because of the potential for a media splash?” Maybe she’d been thinking of him and trying to protect his private life. But what if she didn’t want her well-known name linked with average Joe police detective?

He’d be willing to bet he wasn’t the kind of man the Boucher family had envisioned for their daughter, even for something short-term. They were megamillionaires with a bona fide fortune to oversee and connections around the globe.

And he was…trying to make the city safer, one crook at a time. Or at least he had been until he’d been forced to face facts that Steve was dead three months ago. He’d been in denial for a long time that his partner had really died, and once his body was found, Wes had been re thinking his job. But whether he decided to remain with the NYPD or move into something with a little less potential for shifting loyalties and career burnout, Wes knew he would never be the kind of man a socialite-turned-corporate-executive needed.

He wasn’t sure if he was backing away now for himself or because he sensed she had her own agenda for putting up barriers between them. Either way, he needed to regroup before they made a move that could hurt them both.

“I think it’s only fair to forewarn you of the consequences. Think what you want about me or Mating Game, but I’d never purposely mislead anyone.”

“Understood. And I appreciate the heads-up.” He gathered a few papers he’d printed from the computer, hoping if he got some distance from her, he could make a decision without her almond scent fogging his brain.

Besides, he’d been serious about loyalty and honesty. They were a hell of a lot more important to him than creativity or access to millions of dollars. “I’ll keep it in mind next time I get the urge to rip off my clothes around you.”

Retrieving his shirt and the coat that he’d tossed over the chair, Wes jammed his arms through the holes and
backed toward the door. They were from different worlds, damn it. Walking away from her shouldn’t be so tough.

After exchanging quick goodbyes, he was out of her apartment and back on the street.

C
OULD THE MAN
have sprinted off any faster?

Tempest decided even a hopeless optimist would have to agree that Wes couldn’t wait to make tracks out of her apartment. He’d vanished as soon as she mentioned the possibility of media involvement, a surefire libido killer to most men.

Had she chased him away on purpose? Or had he been grateful for the excuse to reclaim a few more boundaries? She didn’t know anymore, couldn’t tell what had happened with her heart thumping like a pottery wheel overloaded with an uneven lump of clay. Why hadn’t she paid better attention to what happened between them?

Whistling to Eloise, she gave the dog free run of the apartment again as she mindlessly clicked through some of the screens on the MatingGame site. If today had been a scene on her soap opera, she would have been damn certain Wes would return the following week to confuse her with more moral-melting kisses.

But this was real life, and she wasn’t so sure he’d be back at all.

As regret stole over her, she found herself staring at a new, blank application form for MatingGame’s Blind Date service. Who had opened that file? Tapping her finger idly on the mouse, she stared at the questions and found herself mentally penning her answers.

What are your turn-ons? Ignoring the
Playboy
cen
terfold feel of the short interview section, Tempest started typing the first response that popped into her head. “Men who don’t care what I do for a living. Men who are comfortable in their own skin. Men who know what they want and aren’t afraid to go after it.”

In your face, Wes Shaw.

If he couldn’t be the kind of man she needed—and really, what business did she have dating the cop investigating MatingGame?—maybe she should go out and find someone else. Spending time in Wes’s arms had made her realize how long it had been since she’d indulged in slow, deep, hot kisses.

So what if she couldn’t imagine anyone else’s kisses tasting so good, or firing her up half as much as the ones she’d experienced this afternoon? Maybe just this once she’d take her dating fate into her own hands by meeting someone outside her small circle of friends and business associates. Someone completely different from the handful of guys she’d dated in the past.

Through Blind Date, she could remain anonymous, which suited her needs perfectly. Now, any guy who chose her profile wouldn’t be dating her for her family connections. Too often in her sparse dating history, men had only been interested in her for one thing and—disappointingly enough—it wasn’t even sex.

This way she could find out for herself if the Inter net dating business worked legitimately. In her gut, she knew it did, damn it. Still, wouldn’t it be nice to have proof firsthand to wave in front of Wes Shaw’s hand some face?

Filling out the rest of the form, Tempest submitted her application for her first ever Blind Date before she gave herself time to change her mind. Didn’t the old saying preach that what was good for the goose was good for the gander?

With a little luck, maybe she’d find someone else to quench the slow burn Wes had started deep inside her.

D
AYDREAMING HER WAY
through a board meeting Monday morning, however, Tempest had to admit some things were easier said than done.

Put Wes out of her mind? She must have been engaged in some serious wishful thinking over the week end if she thought she’d forget about the hottest kisses on the planet. After a day and a half of catching herself remembering Wes’s touch, she had to admit that no stray guy she found through a dating service would match up to the red-hot detective investigating her intruder. Entering her profile in the Blind Date system had been a rash act she had no intention of actually following through on.

At this moment, fantasizing about Wes held far more appeal than listening to her board bicker about who to appoint as the next CEO of Boucher Enterprises, so she allowed her imagination to run free. She’d learned that being a good manager involved a fair amount of listening to other people’s concerns. Or at least, allowing other people to vent their frustrations even if she wasn’t listening quite as closely as she should.

Hands smoothing over the napkin beside her cooling cup of darjeeling, Tempest’s gaze dropped to the expanse of shiny mahogany conference table while Kelly Kline, VP of global development, found one excuse after another for why Boucher should look internally for a CEO.

The general consensus among the board was that Kelly wanted the top slot for herself—a feat that wouldn’t happen as long as Tempest had any input. Kelly thrived at her job as a public relations guru who spoke three languages and made frequent trips abroad. But she seemed a little too calculating for Tempest’s tastes. Kelly had proven to be
a corporate shark and a bit of a tyrant in her department, yet extremely effective.

Allowing the woman to have her say, Tempest’s thoughts ran to having Wes Shaw at her mercy on the mahogany conference table. She could envision the dark, strong wood as a perfect backdrop for the detective’s lean, sculpted muscles.

The private conference room was her stronghold, the one place in the world where she reigned supreme. Because even if Tempest didn’t enjoy her stressful job all the time, at least her personal meeting space was familiar terrain and she could be in control here. The sensation was a welcome one after she’d felt so helpless during the weekend with her apartment trashed and her sculptures destroyed. Wes had practically taken over the place with his big, I’m-in-charge presence and his knowledge of catching criminals.

If he set foot in this facet of her world, he would see a very different woman. And next time, Tempest wouldn’t give him the upper hand over her again. She might lick every delicious inch of that primo male form of his, but she’d be damn sure to remain in control of the situation.

Remembering his horror at holding the broken clay penis in his hand, Tempest wondered how her artwork measured up to the man. Was he as impressive as her fanciful imaginings? Judging by the eyeful she’d got ten Saturday evening, she’d have to answer with a re sounding yes. And if she ever had the man at her disposal on the conference table, she would damn well find out for sure. If he started getting naked with her again, she would make certain he finished the job.

“Tempest?”

Kelly’s voice intruded in her fantasies, an unwanted female in the middle of a very hot daydream.

Frowning, Tempest blinked. Remembered she was supposed to be listening sympathetically to Kelly’s reasons for why the board shouldn’t interview the latest CEO candidate someone had suggested.

“I think we need to come up with a solution before the month is out,” Tempest offered, deciding the time had come to put her foot down. The longer she allowed the board to waffle, the longer the company stayed in limbo. And seeing all her artwork destroyed this week end had made her realize where her real priorities lay. She should be working on her statues and honing her craft instead of operating in survival mode at Boucher. “I’d like to take a private ballot one month from today for who we should interview and I’ll pull three candidates from the pool. We’re long overdue settling this.”

Amid a flurry of protests, Tempest ended the meeting, feeling more sure of herself than she had in a long time. She should have set a deadline and stuck to it months ago. Perhaps her weekend intruder had done her a little bit of a favor in spite of the threat and the ram pant wreckage. At least the incident had strengthened her resolve to get her life in order.

The board members filed out while she dumped her cup of tea in the sink at a wet bar. For a minute she thought she’d given herself a shock when a sizzle of electricity shot through her with a definite jolt.

“Knock, knock.” The unanticipated masculine voice behind her made her realize that the shock had been of the sexual variety.

Turning, she found Wes framed in the doorway between her office and private conference room. A dark khaki trench coat hugged his shoulders, the stiff fabric dotted with raindrops. The overcoat appealed to her day
dreaming mind, making her realize how much she’d like to play cloak and dagger with this man.

Not just any man, curse his hide.

Only Wes.

How had she ever thought she could work up the nerve to accept a blind date with anyone else when Wes seemed to be the only man appealing to her unexpectedly ravenous libido?

“Isn’t my assistant out front?” She fumbled with her teacup, spilling a few last drops on her thumb.

“That’s a hell of a welcome.” He stepped inside the room, taking the long way around the oversize conference table to peer around the meeting space. He took in the long windows looking out over the city, the sky scraper climbing higher than any of the buildings around it so that her window didn’t look into another office, the way that so much Manhattan real estate did.

He ran his hand along the conference table as he approached, whistling appreciatively under his breath. “Nice place you have here.”

His hand on the mahogany surface called forth images from her bold fantasies. The daydreams taunted her now, sending a rush of desire through her. Funny how she could picture being brash and brazen with Wes so much more easily when he wasn’t actually in the room with her.

Coward.

Her conscience railing at her, she washed the tea off her hands and steadied herself. He was just a man, after all.

Just a sexy, appealing man who could kiss her into a near-orgasmic state.

“Thanks.” She tugged at the silk scarf around her neck, feeling a bit warm. “I’m just surprised to see you here since Rebecca usually fields all my appointments for me.”

“I arrived bearing doughnuts and coffee. Maybe she forgot.” He flashed her a disarming smile that would surely fluster the most dedicated of assistants.

Or maybe Rebecca simply thought she’d be doing Tempest a favor by providing her with a mouthwatering diversion to chase away the Monday morning doldrums.

“Can I get you anything?” Tempest opened the door of the minirefrigerator under the wet bar to reveal a wealth of soft drinks and flavored spring water. She might as well be civil, even if he had made it clear the other night that he wouldn’t get involved with someone commanding such a prominent public profile. “I’ve got tea, if you like.”

“No, thanks. That’s not what I’m here for.” Shrugging out of his coat, he folded the garment over one chair and then made himself comfortable in a large swivel seat at the head of the conference table.

Her seat.

“No?” She curbed her annoyance along with her lust, determined not to let either one show. Dropping into a chair midway down the table, she peered into her office and noticed the outer door had been shut, sealing them in complete privacy.

Had that been Rebecca’s way of offering Tempest a few moments alone with Wes? Or had the gesture been Wes’s attempt to sneak another kiss when he had no intention of giving her anything more substantial?

Neither answer soothed the increased tempo of her heart. She settled for simply casting him a level look and giving him her most businesslike boardroom face. “Then how about you tell me what brings you here.”

A
N OVERWHELMING DESIRE
to get you naked?

Somehow Wes didn’t think she’d appreciate the answer after the way he’d lit out of her apartment Saturday night. Thankfully, he had another reason for showing up in her penthouse office this morning.

“I wanted to make sure you were having additional security installed in the Chelsea apartment. Whoever broke into your apartment used some finesse to pick your lock in a way that didn’t damage the door at all. You need something more sophisticated to keep out to day’s crooks.” It was a legitimate reason to see her again, right? He’d mentioned security to her over the weekend, but she’d been jittery on Friday and he hadn’t trusted that she fully comprehended the importance of the message.

Then by Saturday he’d had more on his mind than safety, a professional error he wouldn’t be making again. He’d even taken the liberty of locking her office door behind him on the way in. Not that he really anticipated anyone coming after her on the most elite floor of corporate offices in the building, but it couldn’t hurt to be safe.

Private.

Ah, hell, who was he kidding? He’d bolted the door in case she had the urge to take up where they’d left off on Saturday. He might not like the idea of her high-profile career and status as a social figure putting him in the public eye, but he didn’t stand a chance at getting her out of his head. By Sunday night he’d realized he just needed to find more creative solutions to their problem of too much publicity because he wanted her too much to concern himself with the inconvenience of his mug in the paper on occasion.

Locking doors behind them seemed like a good place to start today.

“I called a security company this morning. They’re going to come by tomorrow to install something.” She shifted in her seat just enough to make the leather chair squeak.

And remind Wes of the restless way she’d brushed up against him when they sat at her computer together over the weekend. His body revved at the memory of her scent. Her nearness. He couldn’t deny he wanted that again along with a whole lot more.

“They couldn’t come out today?” He’d driven by her building twice last night, uneasy with the idea of her alone in apartment 35, guarded only by Eloise. And if he’d entertained a few fantasies involving Ms. Boucher while he was at it, that was his business.

“They already juggled around their schedule just to get out tomorrow.” Sitting straighter, she folded her hands together as if to keep herself still. “Is there any thing else I can help you with, Detective? I have a busy schedule today.”

Her tone verged on frosty, but not nearly chilly enough to cool him off. Memories of their shared kiss had him in a state of perpetual simmer ever since he’d walked out of her apartment.

She looked different today in her executive suite than she had in her Chelsea apartment. She wore a vivid blue suit with a yellow silk scarf tucked into the neckline of her buttoned jacket. Tailored and sophisticated, the suit screamed high-powered exec, but Wes’s eyes kept straying to the scarf as he speculated about what she wore beneath the jacket.