THE DAYS WERE HOT but, thanks to her, his nights were even
hotter. He welcomed the mixture of anticipation and desire
that rushed through him as he looked around The Sidewalk
Café. As he looked for her.
Jake Lowell clasped his hand around a chilled glass of ice
water. The condensation left his palm cold and wet, in
stark contrast to the New York City heat and humidity
pulsing around him. In opposition to the inferno raging
inside him. Nothing could extinguish the flame she'd
ignited.
He leaned forward in the wrought-iron seat, shifting,
trying to find a comfortable position for his back against
the hard metal, one that wouldn't put pressure on his left
shoulder and the injury that had finally begun to heal. He
shifted again, and pain shot through his upper body. Damn
fancy chair. Outdoor cafés with sissy drinks weren't his
thing, they were his sister's. But ever since he'd come
here for the first time, ever since he'd taken a look at
the sexy waitress with the compelling gaze, he'd forced
himself to endure.
Jake glanced around, but the woman who starred in his
fantasies was nowhere to be found.
Only a few couples graced the outdoor section of the
restaurant. He looked at his watch. Typical of his sister,
Rina, she was already fifteen minutes late. After a
childhood of sharing one bathroom with a teenage girl,
he'd become used to waiting for her; he'd be shocked if
she showed up on time. But with the guy who shot Jake
wandering the street, Rina's lateness — typical or not —
made him wary.
He took in the empty street once more, then turned toward
the inside of the nearly empty restaurant and bar,
reminding himself that the scum was now living a so-called
clean life and that his sister was safe. He headed inside,
figuring he'd wait for Rina in front of the television set
and a good Yankee game.
That was when he saw her — his vision in white jeans and a
black tank top with an apron tied around her waist. She
stood by the bar, a bottle of water in hand. Her auburn
hair had been pulled back in a ponytail while stray
strands resisted confinement and curled around a face with
delicate, angelic features. More than lust or desire, it
was the purity in her expression and the smile on her lips
that lured him back to this place, to her, over and over
again.
After reading an order off her pad, she shoved it into her
pocket, and the bartender got busy mixing drinks. Jake
rose from his seat and walked to the open sliding glass
door that led to the inside of the restaurant. She leaned
against the wall and glanced around — looking for what, he
didn't know. Then she tipped her head backward and ran the
bottle over her forehead, down one cheek and then the
next, until she finally eased it over her long neck.
As the bottle moved over her skin, he swallowed a groan.
Her back arched and her breasts pushed against the black
tank. Taut nipples teased both the fabric and his
restraint. He ought to feel like a voyeur, yet her every
sensual, seductive movement seemed as if it had been
choreographed for his eyes only.
Though she was a stranger, he felt as if he knew her
intimately, yet not intimately enough. Eyes shut tight,
her shoulders dropped and her muscles relaxed. As the cold
plastic touched bare skin, her long sigh echoed inside
him. Whether aware or not, she'd aroused both his
curiosity and his imagination.
What would she taste like? he wondered. Would he find her
lips moist, her mouth flavored with mint? Or would she
taste sweet, like the coffee drinks served here? And in
the throes of passion would she meet his gaze or shut her
eyes in expectation and pleasure? Just imagining making
love to her had his body strung tight with need and his
soul on fire. He took neither lightly.
Little had piqued his interest other than the incident
that had sidelined him and taken down Frank Dickinson, his
best friend and fellow detective, causing Jake to rethink
his direction in life. But desire licked at him now,
hotter and with more force than the bullet that had seared
his skin.
Neon lights over the bar reflected off the droplets of
water on her flesh. He wanted to taste her damp heat, to
absorb it with his body. He broke into a sweat that had
nothing to do with the heat wave outside. His hand had
turned wet from the condensation on the glass, and he
wiped his palm on jeans that had grown too tight.
She straightened and placed her bottle on the bar before
glancing around the confines of the small restaurant. He
held his breath, but she didn't look in his direction.
Then she grabbed a napkin and blotted the glistening skin
on her chest, patting downward to where droplets had
probably dripped into the V of her cleavage, nestling
between her full breasts.
Without warning, she turned and glanced his way. Her gaze
met his and her eyes grew wide, not with horror but with
surprise. Just as he thought, she hadn't known anyone was
watching. But when the surprise wore off, she stared at
him with more than a hint of interest in her expression.
It was an interest he recognized because she captivated
him, too. The mutual attraction had been strong from the
first. And over the past few weeks, the sizzling awareness
had only grown stronger.
His sister had fed his interest, meeting him here in the
evenings so he could get his fill. And she'd always been
here, always waiting on tables in stations other than his.
He didn't know why she hadn't approached him, only why
he'd maintained the distance. Fantasy, he'd learned,
always surpassed gritty reality.
But never had the current between them been as charged as
it was tonight. Their connection was electric, so all-
encompassing that his body throbbed with need and his mind
soared with myriad possibilities — none of which he
intended to act upon.
She still held his gaze, as if waiting for him to make the
next move. Without breaking eye contact, he lifted his
glass in silent acknowledgment. He expected her to turn
away, to rebuff his subtle advance. She did neither.
Instead she held his stare with a searing heat and bold
curiosity he hadn't expected — until the bartender's
arrival with her order severed the connection.
She glanced back at him once more before she crumpled the
napkin and tossed it into the trash. Then she returned to
business, taking orders and serving drinks. But the flush
in her cheeks remained, testament to what had passed
between them.
"Oh my God, Jake, I'm sorry." His sister's voice calling
him brought him out of the sensual haze, though the
sizzling in his veins remained.
Relieved Rina had showed up unharmed, he headed back to
his table and settled himself into the uncomfortable seat.
Though distracted, he tried to focus as she slid into the
chair across from him. Her skin glistened from the
humidity and her dark hair clung to her cheeks. She was no
different from most rushed and overheated New Yorkers, yet
her outfit distinguished her from the other mostly jean-
wearing patrons of the café. All elegance, she appeared
out of place in the casual atmosphere, but Rina being
Rina, she failed to notice.
"I know I'm late. But Norton hates the heat," she said,
talking about her Chinese sharpei. He was all wrinkles
with a black tongue, a dog no self-respecting person would
take out in public, but Jake had developed a soft spot for
the pedigreed pooch.
He shook his head and laughed. "Money really has changed
you, Ri." They'd grown up with a half-breed mutt that had
wandered through the dirt and grime of the South Bronx.
The dog had taken a nap one day by the front of their
building and had stayed.
When Rina, a legal secretary, had met and married her
boss, Jake had had his doubts about the man and the
marriage. Who wouldn't question a guy who had his
fingernails polished weekly? But he'd turned out to be the
best thing ever to happen to his kid sister. But then he'd
died, leaving Rina alone. She was too young to be a widow,
but Jake found comfort in knowing she'd had happiness for
a little while.
A union of opposites had worked well for Rina, but not for
Jake. His marriage had ended in a bitter divorce because
his wife hadn't realized that marrying a cop meant living
on a cop's salary and adjusting to erratic hours. His wife
hadn't just given up being married to a cop; she'd given
up on Jake. And, after five years, it still hurt. Not
because he still loved his wife but because he thought
he'd given that kind of life his best shot. Still, Rina's
marriage had flourished, and for that Jake was grateful.
"Money hasn't changed me." She sniffed, raising her chin
in the air, pretending to take offense. "Well, not much,
anyway. At least I walk him myself. I could pay someone to
do it for me, but they'd quit after one day."
"High-maintenance breed?" Jake asked, watching the sexy
waitress out of the corner of his eye.
"You could say that," Rina said.
He barely heard. She worked the inside restaurant, where
the thickening crowd chose to sit. She impressed him with
things that went beyond the superficial. Nothing fazed
her — not the overwhelming heat, not the picky customer.
She served with a thousand-watt smile, one he could watch
all night. Especially since, every so often, she sent a
covert look his way — to make sure he hadn't left? He
liked to think so.
Because he sure as hell was aware of her. Jake couldn't
recall the last time he'd been so sexually and emotionally
conscious of a woman he didn't know. He hadn't been
celibate since his marriage, but he hadn't gotten
seriously involved, either. And none of the women in his
far or recent past had piqued his interest in quite the
same way she had. The sensual game they played intrigued
him. He wasn't ready to end it by meeting her and
destroying the fantasy. No woman could be as fresh and
unjaded as she seemed to be. His marriage had taught him
that.
Appearances, Jake knew now, were too often deceiving;
women weren't always what they seemed. The sexy waitress
attracted him more strongly than his ex ever had, and if
that wasn't enough of a warning to steer clear, he had his
current case to focus upon. He couldn't risk the
distraction.
Rina waved a hand in front of his eyes and grinned.
Obviously she knew his mind had been not on her words, but
on the waitress who fascinated him. Considering he'd
insisted on meeting at this place, at this hour, on the
same night for the past few weeks, Jake figured his
thoughts were pretty much transparent.
"As I was saying," she reminded him, "I had to walk Norton
before meeting you, and he didn't want to go. I mean, he's
trained to go on command, but you have to get him out onto
the street, first. The poor thing hates the hot concrete
on the pads of his paws. There I was, literally dragging
him down ParkAvenue, while he was trying to drag me back
home. Can you imagine the sight?"
Jake shook his head. "The dog's a wuss," he muttered. He
glanced over her shoulder, looking for the woman of his
fantasies, but in the moment he'd re-focused on Rina, she
had disappeared. Disappointment gripped him as hard as the
desire had earlier.
Rina patted his hand. "She'll be back. And Norton's not a
wuss, he's just particular about what he likes, who he
likes…"
"And who he doesn't," Jake said, recalling the puddle that
had ruined his new sneakers on their first meeting.
"Well, regardless, he was Robert's dog, and I'm all he has
left now."
Jake leaned forward in his seat. "So how are you, really?"
Rina had decided not to accompany her husband on a
business trip, and he'd died in a car accident while
rushing home to avoid an overnight stay. She'd been
consumed with guilt and grief, and Jake had made it a
priority to keep her spirits up. That included meeting her
for dinner or drinks a few times a week. Almost a year had
passed — a year in which Jake had kept up the routine
because he enjoyed it, too. Rina was stronger now. Even
the jokes had come more freely to her of late. Jake's
mission had been a success. It had also recently led to
his obsession with a woman he didn't know.