Heat of the Night Read online

  She looked at him, then burst out laughing.

  "What did I say that was so funny?"

  That he looked more than a little hurt at her reaction to his offer only made her laugh harder. "I'm sorry." She managed to get herself under control, but her grin remained. "It's just that I spent the better part of today trying to figure out how to get you into my apartment and failed." Her mouth quirked. "Miserably I might add."

  He had to smile. "Amazing how things work out, isn't it?"

  "I should have figured it would be much easier if it were about business." Suddenly both of their smiles faded.

  Brady might still be in her life, for the moment anyway. But he hadn't come here to take her to bed. She smiled lightly, hoping it reached her eyes. "I'm leaving all my feminine wiles on the doorstep, okay?"

  His wry grin and nod should have been reassuring. "Whatever wiles I might have will be left there, too."

  She decided there was something really pathetic about having the man you intended to seduce come up to your apartment anyway for what amounted to a friend-to-friend chat. She supposed she should be thankful. Brady would be a good friend to have.

  Only as he guided her into the elevator and turned to push the button, her gaze was drawn to the way his hair curled against his collar, the way his shoulders stretched the width of his jacket, even the way he punched the floor number with that strong, thick finger of his. Pathetic didn't even begin to cover it. Because, smart or otherwise, she still wanted to be a whole lot more than friends with Detective Brady O'Keefe.

  10

  It shouldn't have surprised Brady to discover that Erin's taste in decor was so sensual. She was, after all, a woman clearly comfortable with her own sensuality. Or at least, she certainly gave all appearances of it.

  He followed her through the foyer into the living room. Deep jewel tones dominated throughout. One wall was painted a rich emerald green. The carpeting was a lush pale gold. It set off the oak furnishings as well as the green, heavily stuffed couch. Plump pillows of ruby, midnight blue and gold had been tossed in piles at both ends.

  He looked around, realizing there was nothing lavish or even particularly expensive about the place. It was about par for someone up and coming in the world of business. And yet, he'd have described it as sumptuous. Even decadent. She'd made the most of what she had…and hadn't held herself back at all. This was definitely all Erin Mahoney here.

  "Very nice place," he said.

  She had just kicked off her heels and punched the button to get her phone messages. She looked at him in surprise. "Thanks." She shrugged a bit self-consciously. "It's not very big, but it suits me."

  He nodded and left her to retrieve her messages while he glanced around. Tall bookshelves, crammed full of all kinds of books, both fiction and nonfiction, filled one wall. Watercolors of the city dotted one wall. Another was filled with a scattering of odd-size, framed photos of Erin, Gina and some of their more illustrious clients to date. He wandered around, smiling at the variety of her clientele. He doubted her job was ever boring.

  The bar that separated the small kitchen from the living area held more photos, this time family and, he supposed, other friends of hers. He noticed a small stereo system tucked away in the corner with a few CDs scattered on top of it, gathering dust. However, the other corner was dominated by a large-screen, state-of-the-art television. He grinned. She could give or take music, but the lady liked her sports big, bright and in Dolby surround sound.

  She was still listening to messages, frowning now. He looked past her to the small dining nook. The kitchen was wedged between the nook and where he stood now. Which meant the other two doors likely led to a bathroom…and a bedroom.

  I'm leaving all my feminine wiles on the doorstep.

  Her words echoed through his mind. A mind that was going to stay firmly on business. He doggedly returned his attention to the living room just as Erin was hanging up the phone and stabbing the rewind button on the answering machine. Her expression said it all.

  "Gina heard, huh?"

  Swearing softly, Erin nodded. "Lovely end to a lovely day." She bent down to pick up her shoes. "Just lovely."

  "You need to call her? I don't mind waiting. Just show me where the coffeemaker is and I'll be glad to make a pot."

  Erin shot him a brief look of mock astonishment. "Cop coffee? Thanks, but I don't think I want you near my beans."

  He smiled. "Hey, give me good beans, I can make good coffee. I can't help it if the station house buys Jim's Beans."

  "Jim's Beans? Never heard of them."

  "Jim means generic."

  "Ah. Well, I was thinking more along the lines of an adult beverage. I have some white wine chilling in the fridge."

  Brady made a face. "Girly drink."

  Amused, Erin arched an eyebrow. "I see. Big bad cop like you definitely needs something more macho. Well, the beer is in the fridge, too." She motioned behind her. "Right through that door." Her tone shifted to that deeper, drier voice he so enjoyed. "And it's not Jim's Beer, either."

  He grinned. "Lucky me."

  She passed by him, close enough for him to get another whiff of the scent he'd been enjoying during their brief elevator ride. Spicy, earthy. Just like the woman wearing it. He watched her cross the room to the door he knew led to the bedroom. Where she would probably stand in front of her closet and strip just as he'd imagined earlier today, and was trying even harder not to think about now.

  Too late.

  It wasn't his fault. Not really. Women were all hung up on the boxers versus briefs thing, so a man couldn't be condemned for wondering panty hose…or just hose. And, therefore, garters…and garter belts. The question had simply popped into his mind. Perfectly normal thing to wonder about. And could he help it if the visual simply followed before he could stop it? No, of course not.

  But could he stop thinking about it now that he'd realized where his mind was leading him?

  No, of course not. He sighed and headed for the kitchen.

  Maybe this had been a really bad idea after all. He'd heard about her ending her business relationship with the mayor. Actually, he'd heard it the other way around and that's why he'd come over. He'd dropped by her office first and it had been locked up and dark. So he'd come here and waited. She hadn't asked how he'd known where she lived, but being a cop, it hadn't been all that hard to find out. She'd probably figured that out, too. At least she hadn't been upset with him.

  She also hadn't been spitting mad, which was how he'd expected to find her. One look at her face and he'd realized that the story coming out of the mayor's office had only emerged after someone had tinkered with it first.

  Why did you come here?

  Her question played through his mind again. He would have sworn it was simply the cop instinct, wondering if something had gone wrong and if it affected his investigation. And even if he wasn't totally buying that, he had somehow made himself believe he might have also come as a friend.

  A friend who'd realized he now had no reason to ever see her again since he'd stupidly tossed the release-valve plan back in her face. Not that he was here to see if she was still interested. No way. Once he'd realized she had controlled the end of the business liaison with Henley, he'd been fully prepared to leave her alone.

  Bull hockey.

  He ignored that. No, he'd only stayed because of that remark she'd made about Todd Fletcher having had her followed. And truthfully, he did have every intention of finding out what the hell that was all about.

  He pulled a bottle of imported beer out of the fridge, nodding in respect for her taste. He spied the white wine and pulled that out as well. He opened a cabinet or two, didn't see any glassware and decided to stop and wait for her. And while he was at it, he might as well stop lying to himself, too. Sure, he was concerned about his investigation. And sure, he wanted to be Erin's friend.

  But now that he was standing in her apartment, knowing full well she was less than twenty yards and one clos
ed door away from him, skimming her silky hose down those dear-God-could-they-be-any-longer legs of hers… Well, he knew as well as he could ever know anything that there were issues a whole lot deeper than a police investigation and simple friendship that had him sipping beer and staring like a starved man at her bedroom door.

  The only question that remained was how he was going to deal with that reality.

  "Down the beer and run like hell," he muttered. Instead, he found himself picking up the remote off the end table. "You could run a space station with this thing." He pushed buttons until her Jumbotron of a television sizzled to life. The ESPN SportsCenter commentators blared into the living room. He tried to swallow the smile and couldn't. He found the flashback button and pressed that. ESPN2. Big surprise. He pushed it again and his eyes widened. Well, well. He'd expected Home Team Sports or CNN. But this was no sports or news channel. He found the menu button and skimmed down the list until he found the channel number. "The Romance Channel?"

  His gaze darted to the closed door between them. "Who'd have thought it from Terror Mahoney?" Romance? Hearts and flowers and happy endings? Naw. Sure, she talked a good game of wanting to settle down and all. But that was future talk. Right now she was a woman who boldly talked about needing a release and searching for a valve—namely him. He'd have figured her interests for something hotter, like the female equivalent of the Playboy Channel. Did they have a Playgirl Channel?

  He flicked the screen off. He was beginning to see firsthand just what a bundle of interesting contradictions she truly was. "None of which you'll be unraveling," he admonished himself. It wasn't up to him to reconcile her confident in-your-face sexy public persona with the far more private personal self that was underneath all the flash. Or the sports fanatic with a sentimental happily-ever-after streak running through her. That last part alone should have had him running for the nearest door. Only the door he kept looking at led to her bedroom.

  Just then it opened and he swore he almost whined in disappointment when she emerged wearing faded jeans and a big baggy sweatshirt. What had he been hoping for? He silently snorted. What every red-blooded male hopes for, of course. Naughty lingerie.

  And yet, as she moved toward him, he found himself just as turned on as if she'd been wearing a French corset. Maybe it was her bare feet, looking so cute and somehow vulnerable. Maybe it was the fresh face scrubbed clean of her professional warpaint, or the way her soft clothes still managed to showcase her long, lean curves.

  Or maybe it was just her. Period. Dangerous ground here, O'Keefe. Step lightly.

  "Sorry I took so long," she said. "I wanted to call Gina and set her straight."

  "Is she okay?" His voice was a little hoarse. All that visualizing he'd been doing, most likely. He covered it with a long pull on his beer.

  Erin was distracted enough that she didn't seem to notice. "She's not happy, but she understood. It's a good thing she won't be anywhere near Todd Fletcher in the near future." Her amusement didn't reach her eyes. "As much as I'd like to be ringside at that bout."

  She looked tired, more tired than he'd realized, despite her protestations in the garage. Suddenly he felt very intrusive. Why did you come here? Good question. "I, uh, looked for some glasses, for your wine." He tried a smile. "I stopped just short of snooping, promise."

  Her thoughts were a million miles away and it took her a moment to focus on him. Well, he thought wryly, no need to worry that she's having any problem keeping her mind off their earlier conversation. "Listen, it's late. Maybe we should put this off after all. I really didn't mean to barge my way in."

  Her attention swung more fully to him. "Oh, you absolutely meant to barge your way in." Her dry smile resurfaced as she skirted past him and went into the small kitchen.

  He wisely stayed on the other side of the bar in the living room. "Yeah, well, comes with the job, I guess."

  "I guess," she agreed, setting a slender wineglass on the counter between them. "Although I can hardly point fingers. My job has been known to require a bit of barginess." She took a sip of her wine and Brady felt some part of himself tighten in response to watching her slender throat work.

  "Can I get you another beer?" she asked, oblivious to his struggle.

  He set his empty bottle on the counter. "No." The last thing he needed was any help impairing his already apparently impaired judgment. Perhaps if he got the conversation back to the reason he'd come up here in the first place. "So explain this thing about Fletcher having you followed. Why would he do that?"

  He hated making her scowl, bringing the tension lines back to her forehead. But he had to know what was going on.

  "Who knows why Todd does what he does? Information is power to someone like him and he likes to have as much of both as he can amass." She took another sip of wine and came around the counter, gesturing with her glass toward the couch as she continued. "I told you he was miffed that I was brought in to handle the Sanderson situation. More than miffed, actually."

  "He thought he should have handled it? But he's the campaign guy, right? Henley doesn't want to mix with that."

  She nodded and took a seat at one end of the couch. "Well, Todd saw this whole thing as a campaign issue, nothing more. I think Henley realized it was more than just a reelection situation, something that could potentially tarnish everything. Sanderson had been linked with him both personally and professionally for some time."

  Brady debated remaining standing, but he felt bad enough for all but interrogating her in own home. He didn't need to loom over her while he did it. Friends didn't loom. So he sat. As far away as possible. "So he followed you for what purpose? Hoping to find some kind of dirt on you? I don't get it."

  "He's been the one keeping Henley from taking my advice, but he came up short on getting Henley to fire me altogether. I think the commissioner was instrumental in that. His influence on the mayor is strong."

  "And vice versa," Brady muttered, but waved her on when she looked at him expectantly.

  "Anyway, I guess he was trying to prove I wasn't doing my job. He knew you and I had dinner together and snagged me going into the meeting tonight on what I had found out about the investigation. He insinuated I had to get you in bed to get the information I needed."

  Brady's laugh was immediate. "Yeah, right. He really doesn't know you very well."

  Erin grinned. "Why, thank you. I think that's the nicest compliment I've received today."

  "I assume you, ah, corrected his erroneous assumption?"

  "I did manage to drive that point home, yes. Rather emphatically."

  Brady chuckled. "I can imagine."

  She nodded in appreciation of his support. See, being a friend wasn't so hard. He could do this.

  She went on. "As soon as I got in the office, I tried to get Henley to arrange some time one-on-one to go over my ideas, away from Todd's endless interruptions, but it didn't happen. Todd intervened, and Henley made it obvious he was going to go with Todd's advice over mine, even perhaps over his own instincts. That's when I realized it was time to cut bait and fish in other waters. I'm not much for catching sharks."

  "Fishing metaphors? Don't tell me you like to throw out a line, too? Between that and your personal home-theater system over there, I might have to rethink my entire position on marriage."

  "You teased me with that once before, I believe," she said with a laugh. "But to set the record straight, no, I don't fish." She shuddered. "Too scaly. And they eat worms. Gross."

  "Ah, so there's a girly-girl lurking beneath that tomboy exterior somewhere."

  Now she looked shocked. "You think my exterior is tomboyish?" She laughed. "And just moments ago you seemed perfectly aware of my feminine allure."

  "You are a multifaceted woman, Ms. Mahoney," he responded, amused. "I'll safely leave it at that."

  She grinned. "Smart man. And I like that. Multifaceted. Who said all cops were crude and uncouth?"

  She reached for her glass but bumped it instead, wobbling it da
ngerously close to the edge. Brady lunged for it just as she did and they both slipped off the couch onto their knees…and watched the glass hit the carpet, soaking a circle of it with wine.

  "Dammit!" She reached for the glass at the same time he did.

  "I've got the glass," he said. "Got anything to mop this up with?"

  They both looked from the spill to each other and simultaneously realized just how close their faces were to one another.

  He managed to put the glass on the coffee table without taking his eyes off hers.

  The silence deepened as neither of them moved.

  "Brady, I—"

  "Do you have any idea how green your eyes look in this room?" he asked in a hushed voice. He'd no intention of speaking, the words had just tumbled from his brain directly to his tongue, his mind too muddled to stop them.

  "Uh. No," she said, her own voice a bit husky as well. "I didn't."

  He very slowly lifted his hand and brushed a few loose tendrils off her face. "Spicy."

  "What?" she asked a bit breathlessly.

  "Your scent. It's very…dark." He let his finger run down the side of her face. "And erotic."

  Her pupils shot wide and her throat worked. "It's, um— Thanks."

  "It suits you. Part of you anyway."

  "Part of me?"

  He lifted his other hand to her hair, willing himself not to think about the fact that he'd promised himself this was precisely what he wasn't going to do here.

  "Yeah," he said gruffly. "Part of you is spicy and erotic." He toyed with her hair. He wrapped the curl around his finger and rubbed it along her cheekbone. At her audible gasp, he smiled. "And part of you is private, soft."

  She opened her mouth and he was certain she was going to object. He didn't want to let her. He didn't want her to rationalize or debate what was happening. In fact, he didn't want her to do any thinking at all. So he stopped her the best way he knew how. He kissed her.

  11