Just One Look

Tabitha stared at the empty case on the middle of her coffee table and tried to remember those last few days in her old house before she’d moved out. Manny had hardly spoken to her. His fury at the scene she’d made had embarrassed him, putting an impenetrable wall between the two of them. So maybe he’d just been too angry to let her know there’d been a break-in, too caught up in his silent grudge to speak to her about anything, but he’d done the right thing and phoned in the missing weapon to the police.

She hoped that’s what happened.

Still, the incident didn’t add up.

Day had turned to evening while she ventured back in time in her mind. The blanket she’d stapled over her newly replaced front window wasn’t attractive, but it provided a thicker barrier than her curtains until she could afford massive drapes that made her feel less on display.

She revealed enough of herself at work without having her whole life visible through her front window. There was only one man she might like to reveal a little more of herself to, and she knew that had the potential to be a big mistake. Besides, Detective Vitalis had seemed mistrustful of her the last time they met. What good could come from an attraction tempered by suspicion?

So it came as a surprise when she heard a bark outside her front door a few moments later, followed by a quick, efficient knock.

“Tabitha?”

Warren’s deep masculine tone penetrated the repaired door easily. And God help her but how did she end up thinking about Warren and penetrated in the same moment?

Her subconscious was working overtime.

She had the vague sense of being caught doing something naughty since she’d just been thinking about what she’d like to do with him if he wasn’t a cop poking through the skeletons in her closet. He seemed safer to fantasize about when he wasn’t close enough for her to actually act on those thoughts.

Confirming that it was indeed Warren who stood on the concrete steps out front, she unfastened the bolt and opened the door.

“Glad to see you’re using the dead bolt now.” He smiled crookedly while Buster dispensed with the formalities and attempted to push his way past her.

She noticed Warren looked over the repairs to the doorframe as he stood on her threshold.

“I figured I didn’t want any more strangers bursting in here with a gun drawn. Come on in.” She stood aside to let both man and dog inside, gesturing toward her assembly of mismatched furniture that was cast in a reddish glow, thanks to a sheer scarf thrown over a table lamp by the window.

Buster hurried right over to the bowl of water she’d left out since his last visit, a sad testament to her cleaning ethic. While the dog slurped briefly and then sniffed his way around her apartment, she closed the door behind them.

“Have a seat.” Her apartment seemed smaller with Warren in it, his presence making her very aware of how much she’d avoided men for the past year.

Maybe she was only attracted to him because she’d been severely orgasm-deprived? Yeah, right. Whatever the man did to keep fit was sure as hell working. He was all lean muscle.

“Tabitha.” He didn’t sit when she did.

“What? Is this about the gun? Did you find out anything?” She rose again, more nervous because of her inappropriate thoughts than because of the conversation about a deadly weapon. How strange was that?

“Not yet.” He came closer now, lowering himself onto the couch as if to make her sit back down, too. “I just wanted to make it clear to you before we got too comfortable that I’m not here on business.”

Oh. Her pulse jumped in response, immediately interested in this new development.

“You’re not?” She dropped back on those couch cushions with no conscious thought, landing too close to the attractive detective who wasn’t paying her a business call.

Oh my.

“No. This is strictly a social call, so feel free to boot us out if you’re busy.” He looked around for Buster, who was already walking in circles near the fireplace as if trying to find that perfect place to sleep.

Would the detective be as quick to make himself comfortable here? Her mouth watered.

“I’m not busy.” The words rushed out of her mouth so fast she probably sounded like exactly what she was—an undersexed divorcée too long deprived.

Why did men have to continue to tempt her after all she’d been through thanks to the penis-bearing half of the species? Damn biology.

“It occurred to me tonight that since there is no official investigation into the bullet through your window—just an incident on file—there was nothing stopping me from asking you to…dinner sometime.”

The way he paused over the invitation made her question what else he had on his mind besides dinner.

Especially since he looked at her for the first time in the man-to-woman way instead of the cop-to-victim way. His eyes lingered, so warm and inviting on her that she had to glance down at herself to be sure she hadn’t accidentally greeted him in her nightie again. But nope. She was respectably dressed in a calf-length plaid skirt and a short white cardigan sweater. Very Park Avenue despite her downtown address.

So it wasn’t her outfit causing any kind of sensation here. Heat unfurled between her hips. She needed to stop this before she did something she regretted.

Like tackle him to the floor and tear his clothes off. It would be fine for a one-night stand, but what if the gunshot incident turned into something more dangerous down the road? She’d hate to compromise her relationship with a man who made her feel far more safe and protected than any of the patrol officers who’d followed up on the call that night.

“Dinner? I hate to be blunt, Detective—”

“Call me Warren.”

“Warren.” She tasted the name on her lips and liked it a little too well.

“And please be blunt. I’m not a man who appreciates false facades.”

The wealth of possible meaning beneath that statement intrigued her. Who had shown Warren a false facade in the past?

“Okay. Warren.” She couldn’t resist the warmth of that name, the intimacy of calling him by it one more time. “Then I’ll be honest with you. I’m not in a good place to consider dinner dates or any kind of normal dating scenario.”

“So that’s a no?” He shifted on the couch, angling slightly closer by turning to face her.

The diamond in his ear caught her eye, making her wonder about the show of sparkle on an otherwise Spartan-looking man. The earring fascinated her, as did the rest of him. Her ex had been all about the dazzle—he probably had more carats than that in the insignia on his money clip, let alone the collection of rings he’d taken to sporting after he’d sealed a deal with a silent partner that moved him into a much higher earning bracket.

And his hair—Manny would have never had the balls to come as close to shaving his head as Warren had. She reached to touch the bristly hair at his temple and caught herself. Stopped herself.

What was she thinking?

“I’m not in a good place in my life for any kind of relationship.” And wasn’t that the God’s honest truth? As much as she’d love to indulge a few fantasies with this man, she wasn’t putting herself in a position to get her heart stomped again. Or her pride. Or any other part of her, damn it.

“So you’re not interested in a relationship. Who says this has to be more than just dinner?” His arm unfolded across the back of the couch until she could feel the heat of his skin close to her shoulders, his hand coming to rest lightly on the back of her head, fingers sifting gently through the ends of her hair until her scalp tingled pleasantly.

And that wasn’t the only tingle.

Her eyelids grew heavy at the hypnotic brush of his fingers through her hair, the solid male presence of him beside her urging her to lean on him, into him, all over him.

Oh, that sounded unwise. And tempting.

“Since when is dinner ever just dinner? I’ve been alone too long to sit through polite small talk.” Since her marriage had fallen apart, she’d given up couching her words in social niceties.

“You think you’ll be bored?” Warren was clearly on another wavelength since that wasn’t at all what she’d been thinking.

She couldn’t help the short bark of laughter that escaped her lips.

“Not likely.” Her gaze locked with his and she felt herself being pulled closer. Willed closer. But she didn’t know who was doing the willing.

“Then what does being alone have to do with you not being able to make it through dinner?” That soft scrub of his fingers shifted from her hair to the back of her neck.

“Besides sending the wrong message about my dating availability?” Maybe she should have taken him up on dinner. “I’m way too impatient to sit through chitchat when all I want—”

She still couldn’t quite put it into words. She trailed off as his fingers sought a path down the curve of her neck to her shoulder. The cardigan sweater that had seemed respectable enough when she answered the door now gave him access to bare skin since she’d left the top button undone.

If she wasn’t careful, she’d be coming undone next.

“What do you want?” he prompted, steering her gently back to the conversation they’d been having, the one in which she’d almost admitted to dark desires for a downtown detective.

Her heart pounded so loudly she couldn’t hear herself think through the noise. No. Admit it, Tabitha. She just wasn’t thinking at all.

“I don’t know about you. But I really only want dessert.” The sordid truth of the matter sat between them for only a moment before her confession ignited something explosive.

She arched up to him, drawn to him and unwilling to pretend she wasn’t. She wanted this man. Badly.

Lips parting, she kissed him. Sensation rippled through her chest, fluttering down to her belly and tingling outward.

For long moments, she simply breathed his air, her mouth hovering lightly against his. He didn’t press her, didn’t touch her anywhere except that feather-light caress of his hand on her shoulder.

He tasted like peppermint. The scent mixed with the vanilla lip gloss she’d put on at some point that day. Courage growing along with the liquid warmth threatening to swallow her, Tabitha couldn’t wait any longer to test the texture of the rest of his mouth. Her tongue came in brief, hot contact with his lips, darting along the fullness of the middle before she wound her arms around his neck and pressed her whole body against him.

He surprised her by breaking the contact, pulling back when she’d been debating another move forward. Had he realized she’d been about to tackle him? The twinge of disappointment startled her as much as the way her heart jumped in nervous rhythm.

“You’re agreeing to dessert then, right?” He relinquished her shoulder to smooth his way up her neck and cup her chin. “I want to make sure we understand each other before we go any further.”

“You want clarification?” Her fingers reached up to touch the open collar of his shirt and she remembered how he mentioned not liking people with false facades. Lucky for him, she was all too glad to be honest about this. “I’m interested in exploring this attraction wherever it leads, but I’m not going down the path of dinner or drinks or a standing Friday-night commitment for all the orgasms in the world.”

“I’ll make sure not to bother you on Fridays.” A hint of a smile twitched his lips before he ventured near again, but now that Tabitha had found her voice, she couldn’t seem to silence it. She had to share one more, very important thing.

“But if we’re going to follow this where it leads, could you do me one small favor?” She pressed her hand to his chest at the last minute and got to experience the solid warmth of him.

Her hand splayed against his heart.

“Name it.” His heart hammered quickly beneath her hand in a way that fascinated her. Flattered her even more.

“Just be careful you don’t touch any more than my lips until we’re ready to take this to its natural conclusion.” She’d always had intimacy problems. Bad timing with her…er, climaxes. “I’m sort of a sexual powder keg after too many nights alone and—” deep, steadying breath “—I think I have a pretty sensitive trigger by now.”

4

A STUNNINGLY BEAUTIFUL WOMAN who was a self-proclaimed sexual powder keg wanted a no-strings relationship with him?

Warren had to check his horoscope to see if all kinds of planets were aligned because this kind of thing did not happen to him. His world was a brutal place, not some red-hot fairy tale with a curvy siren in a starring role.

He studied Tabitha in the crimson glow of the lamp. Was it just the light that suffused her cheeks with color as he leaned closer to align their bodies without touching?

Her eyelids fluttered once, twice, then closed as she tilted her chin to meet his mouth. The need to feel her skin, to hold her steady while he kissed her, rode him hard. He remembered the silky warmth of her when he’d stroked up her neck earlier, and he wanted to indulge the feel of her again. But a good man follows a woman’s rules, right? Even while he did his damnedest to ensure she wouldn’t want to follow them for long.

He just needed to make her touch him, and then all bets were off for the kind of restraint he needed to show today. Lips grazing hers, he sampled the vanilla-tinged flavor of her mouth more deeply, lingering in the places that made her squirm in her seat.

A blessedly easy task.

She sighed in the back of her throat, her hips tilting ever so slightly closer. He could tell because her body radiated heat as surely as she radiated sex appeal and every millimeter closer she got spiked the temperature in the room.

He really shouldn’t take this too far tonight since their conversation had been tinged with the attraction they’d both been feeling. Didn’t he owe her a sort of cooling-off period to make sure this was what she wanted? Not that he could necessarily walk away from her anyhow, but his sense of fair play suggested he should. But next time…he’d take her up on that dessert offer, by God. His blood was slamming through his arteries with excessive force. He couldn’t tell if he was burning from the inside out or the outside in anymore. His swim training didn’t do half the number on him that her kisses could.

Just when he figured he’d have to call uncle and admit defeat, Tabitha busted the “no touch” rule in spectacular fashion by wrapping her arms around him and drawing him down on top of her. Her breasts were suddenly pressed against his chest, the soft swells straining the buttons on her sweater as much as they strained his crumbling reserve. They’d been sitting on the couch, but now they listed to one side in an effort to connect as many square inches of their bodies as possible.

It had been too long for him. He’d hardly dated since a divorce that was a hell of a lot older than hers. Three years. A few women. None of them like Tabitha.

She guided his hand to her cashmere-covered breast and that cooling-off period started to sound like a load of crap. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her, and that blew his mind. Her full breasts pressed against her clothes and toward his touch. Everything about her was soft and warm and he needed to lose himself inside her, surround himself with that kind of warmth. He popped two buttons free on her sweater before diving beneath the fabric for a handful of fragrant feminine flesh.

And she was fragrant. He’d been curious about the scent of her since he’d caught the hint of clean soapiness about her skin on the set. But the hollow between her breasts held another kind of perfume, sweetly exotic and all the more intoxicating because the knowledge seemed secret somehow. He breathed deep, losing his mind to anything but sexual thoughts.

Sprawling on top of her on the couch, he left one leg dragging on the floor, his hips in tight proximity to hers as his hands molded to the shape of her breasts through the feather-thin fabric of her bra. Her fingers raked through his hair and trailed down his back, scoring his shoulders right through the fabric of his shirt. He used his knee to find leverage between her legs, spreading her open to the touches he’d been holding back.

He abandoned her breast to reach under her skirt, stroking up one silken leg. If she had a sensitive trigger, how fair was it to make her wait? The justification made perfect sense and gave him permission to do everything he wanted to do with this woman.

Her taut calf gave way to her knee and the delicate place behind it that made her convulse just a little when he circled the soft skin. Leaving that tender spot for her thigh, he spread his hand wide to cover as much of her skin as possible, savoring the way her flesh felt hotter the nearer he came to the juncture of her legs.

His cell phone blared into his consciousness, shattering the hottest foreplay of his life with some obnoxious mechanical-sounding ring tone one of the guys at the precinct must have programmed for him.

“Damn it.” He said worse things in his mind, but he didn’t want to scare off Tabitha, who looked fairly dazed.

If he could dispatch this call in thirty seconds or less, maybe they could pick right up where they left off.

He reached into his jacket pocket on the second ring and hit the button to answer the call that he could see emanated from the precinct.

Not a good sign for handling this in a hurry.

“Vitalis here.”

He tried to blink through the raw lust for Tabitha enough to concentrate on the phone call from another detective—a woman new to the detective squad who’d made her first big arrest last month. Donata Casale had raised a lot of eyebrows in the department when she came on board since she’d been a gangster’s girlfriend at one time, but she’d clawed her way through police ranks with hardcore determination to change her life.

Warren respected the hell out of her, even if he didn’t appreciate this particular interruption.

“Got a bullet embedded in brick. The guys say they can take it out with little peripheral damage, but I wanted to check with you first to see what you thought. I’ve got a homicide in the VIP room of a club downtown and the embedded bullet is at an odd angle. The victim is apparently a well-known porn star, John de Milo.”

Warren knew Donata’s partner—a seasoned vet—was out of town this week. Detectives with more experience might be apt to just remove the bullet and let Warren work through the ballistics issues in the office, but he could see the benefit to observing the bullet in play if the angle was a concern. A good extraction could be key in a case that had a lot riding on identifying a weapon. Any schmo could figure out what caliber a bullet was, but Warren’s specialty was for matching particular bullets or shell casings with those at other scenes, or even tying them to evidence in cold cases. Knowing that the same firearm had discharged bullets in separate incidents had been critical evidence in plenty of investigations during his tenure with the NYPD.

Besides, Warren had personal reasons for making ballistics his life and they applied whether or not he was on the verge of the best sex of his life.

Not that he didn’t regret it.

“Would you rather I just have the guys remove the bullet?” Donata asked, tipping him off that he’d been thinking too long.

And wishing he didn’t have to walk out of Tabitha’s apartment tonight.

“No. I can be downtown in fifteen minutes. What’s the address?” He wrote the street number on a corner of newspaper on the coffee table and disconnected the call, only to realize Tabitha was already inching her way out from underneath him.

He regretted the need to leave her when she looked so deliciously disheveled with her bra strap falling off one shoulder and her sweater half undone. His heart still slammed hard, his body not quite getting the message that he wouldn’t be able to have dessert tonight.

“Sorry.” He straightened, pulling her up to a sitting position on the couch beside him. “I wouldn’t leave if it wasn’t urgent. There’s a homicide scene I need to check out. I don’t know if I told you before, but I spend most of my time at the precinct as a ballistics analyst.”

Her fingers moved over the buttons on her sweater, closing the gaping fabric. She nodded quickly and he half wondered if she was more relieved than disappointed since things had escalated fast tonight.

“You’re going to a murder scene. Now?” She rubbed her hands along her arms and he suspected his job creeped her out.

To his way of thinking there were two kinds of women—cop groupies and the ones who freaked out over the job. There were few and far between who could actually handle the way of life. Why did it bother him that she couldn’t be one of the few? Hell, he hardly knew the woman beyond a few conversations.

And a peel-the-paint-off-the-walls kiss.

“There’s ballistics evidence lodged in brick. The lead detective was hoping I could oversee the extraction to minimize any damage.” The news would be in the papers by morning so he wasn’t giving away state secrets.

“So the victim was shot.” Her eyes flitted over to her newly replaced living room window and Warren realized why the murder scene visit had her spooked.

Guilt pinched him for wishing she was the kind of woman who wouldn’t freak out over his work. Of course she would be uneasy when she’d had a bullet through her window. No doubt his life had hardened him to normal fears.

“This sounds like something more personal than what happened here. The victim was a porn star who met his end in a nightclub.”

Instead of easing her mind, his words made her spine straighten.

“A porn star?”

He didn’t know why it mattered, then remembered her ex-husband was a producer who’d gotten his start in low budget film that gave a few porn stars a legitimate vehicle. Would Tabitha have come in contact with anyone in adult film?

It seemed worth spilling a little more detail to find out if Tabitha knew anything that could be useful to Donata’s case.

“Yeah. John de Milo.” Warren didn’t admit that he knew who the guy was. Warren hadn’t personally checked out much in the way of X-rated films, but the names of the industry’s stars seemed to come up in men’s magazines.

Besides, he’d been reading an unsolved case file on an adult “reality” filmmaker allegedly based in Manhattan and de Milo’s name had been mentioned in the report as an easygoing guy with wide-ranging industry connections.

“John?”

Her familiarity of the dead guy’s given name disconcerted him.

“You know him?” He needed to leave, to get down to the crime scene. But this could be important to the investigation.

And it was damn well important to him.

“Yes. We moved in the same circles at different points in our careers. He always wanted to be a legitimate actor so we ended up at some of the same casting calls back when I was going that route.” She stood, her long skirt sweeping around her legs with the sudden movement. “And I saw him just a few days ago on the set of a late-night, soft-core movie in the preproduction stages.”

She bent to scratch Buster’s head, waking the dog from a snooze. Immediately alert, the animal lifted himself to a sitting position, his tail swishing back and forth across the hardwood floor.

“What were you doing there? This was a film he was making?” He didn’t know if he asked as a cop or as the man who’d just kissed her and wanted more.

Maybe a little of both.

“I assumed John was on site for the same reason I was. To scope out the body double work. Then again, he might have just been friends with one of the actors. He was there with about ten other people, making a lot of noise while the production crew was framing the shots.”

Warren didn’t know what blew his mind more. That she knew a porn star or that she’d been considering taking soft-core work herself.

“You do work like this…often?” He wasn’t about to make judgments. He’d grown up in a house full of people who’d made some seriously messed-up choices, so he wasn’t the kind of guy to cast stones.