In Hot Pursuit (13 page)

“So he still hasn't stopped by?” Amanda asked for what seemed like the tenth time as she rifled around the loft for hangers.

“He's called to check on me.” Lexi sidestepped the question to avoid seeming pathetic. “Wow, Amanda, you didn't have to bring over stuff from your new fall collection.” She held up a pencil-thin mermaid gown with aqua-colored sequins curling up the front like undulating seaweed.

Amanda's cheeks went just a little pink. “Um, that's sort of self-serving, actually, because I'm hoping you'll opt to wear it for the Dance for Children.”

“Of course I will wear it!” Lexi hopped off the couch to hug her best friend. “I would be honored to wear one of your designs. If anything, I try hard not to brag on you too much in my column.”

“You are wonderfully diplomatic.” Amanda pulled a black scarf out of the suitcase and tied it around Lexi's neck, falling into the dress-up games they'd been playing together ever since boarding school. “And I figured this way, you don't even need to mention me in your column. Just the dress on your body will make the pages of six different publications and flood my phone with orders for a month.” She adjusted the knot in Lexi's scarf and nodded her satisfaction.

“You shrewd businessperson, you.” Lexi peered in a three-panel mirror Amanda kept stashed behind a sewing machine. Inspired by the fifties look of the scarf, she pulled a rubber band out of her purse and tied her hair in a ponytail.

“Flattery will not make me forget what we were discussing, however.” Amanda started filling one of the loft's umpteen rolling racks with a temporary wardrobe for Lexi. “Why hasn't Josh been over here?
After that kiss I saw him giving you last week, I assumed you two were pretty hot and heavy.”

“I lured him home for a one-night stand that turned into a two-night stand, but we're mature enough to know that's where it ends.”

“You brought him to
your
home?” Amanda gaped at her, a pink satin bustier dangling in midair from her fingers.

Leave it to Amanda to cue in on that unusual fact.

“His house was being painted.” Lexi continued to hand her clothes to try to nudge her off the subject.

“You told me once that you would never bring any guy but the ‘right' guy into your private sanctuary.”

Had she said that? “I guess I underestimated the sexual appeal of men like Josh Winger.”

“Uh-huh.” Amanda went back to work, hanging two Chanel suits. “And what makes you think you're not meant to be together?”

Knowing Amanda wouldn't give up this line of questioning anytime soon, Lexi offered the abbreviated version. “Josh doesn't want to be a part of my lifestyle. I'm too public for him because of his job or something.”

“It's as simple as that?”

Lexi shrugged, toying with the tiny buttons on a green silk nightgown with the tags still attached. “He would hate my kind of publicity, anyway. You know I still get lots of jibes about my total lack of blue blood. He might resent being lumped with me as the mule in thoroughbred finery, you know? I don't give a flying fig what people say about me, but I wouldn't want anyone to slander Josh.”

Amanda tossed a suitcase full of shoes on the floor and sat down on the sofa next to Lexi. “Do you love him?”

“I only just met him.”

“Question still stands.”

Lexi tried to consider the idea rationally. Was there a rational side of her left where Josh was concerned?

“Maybe. Probably. But how do I know?” She stared down at the green nightgown and tried to picture Josh's reaction to it. Very, very enticing. “We spent two amazing nights together. I'm probably just horribly naive to think I'm in love with him.”

“You'll know for sure when it happens.” Amanda looked out the windows of the loft, surely remembering another time, another declaration of love.

Lexi envied her, envied that moment.

“But in the meantime, it's my duty as a friend to remind you that anyone and everyone in the public eye has had negative publicity. Maybe you receive more than your share, but that's just because you are flamboyant.”

“You still think that crocheted dress I wore to your store's grand opening was over the top, don't you.”

Amanda couldn't hide her grin. She opened a train case to reveal a pile of gloves, pins, hair accessories and little purses. “I wouldn't have worn a miniature tablecloth in public, but that's just me. Face it, Lex, you thrive on controversy in your public life. It gets you more ink and more attention for your causes.”

“True. But Josh would have hated that.” Those strong, silent types didn't understand the subtle rises
and falls of media figures. Josh would think it was petty and superficial.

Amanda dug a silk flower out of the train case and tucked the red bloom behind Lexi's ear. “No, he would admire you for the way you manipulate money from deep pockets into charitable hands, the same way all your friends do. Regardless of where you came from or what you choose to wear to any grand opening, you'll always have more class in your little finger than Simone Bertrand has in her whole lipo-sucked body.”

The doorbell rang before Lexi had the chance to bawl her eyes out at Amanda's generous words. She patted the red flower in her hair as she walked to the door.

“I hope you're right, Amanda, that my claim to class resides in my little finger and not this hair.” As she opened the front door, she tugged at the long mane she'd tied up in a ponytail.

Amanda frowned as the team of stylists in white salon uniforms strode into the loft's living area. “What do you mean? Or should I be afraid to ask?”

“You know the old song about washing that man right out of your hair? I'm going to cut mine right out of my hair and donate the whole black mess to those places that make wigs for kids who've undergone chemo.” Lexi allowed the lead stylist, a hair-dresser named Bruno, to guide her into a chair near one of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“That's so sweet!” Amanda straightened a pair of metal-studded pumps beneath a rolling rack, then joined the styling team as they circled Lexi's chair.
She wheeled the three-panel mirror over so Lexi could keep tabs on the situation.

“I'm going to give the hair to the people at Dance for Children tonight.” She hoped she liked shoulder-length hair. Her curls had hit her waist for as long as she could remember. “You think it'll work to make me forget Josh?”

Amanda walked around behind Lexi's chair, clamped her hands on her friend's shoulders and leaned forward until both their faces were visible in the mirror. “Not a chance.”

No kidding. Lexi was probably just as apt to forget to breathe.

J
OSH STRAIGHTENED HIS TIE
in the alley behind Club Blue, New York's hot spot of the month located in a long-neglected storefront in midtown. Limousines mobbed the street in front of the club, but a red carpet entrance wasn't exactly Josh's style. He flashed a badge at the security guy guarding the back door and quietly slipped inside Lexi's gala Dance for Children event.

He hadn't meant to come here tonight. He could think of ten reasons he ought to stay away from Lexi. Hell, he'd been reciting those reasons all week in an effort not to darken her doorstep at the loft.

But he couldn't leave her security to the plainclothes guy who'd been assigned to watch her. Not in this crowd. Besides, having been hunted down by Lexi at a club like this the week before, Josh knew firsthand that the woman moved like quicksilver through a crowd. He was willing to bet she could elude a rookie without lifting a manicured nail to try.

“Can I get you a drink, sir?” A waitress emerged from the black-tie crowd. Unlike the waitresses at last week's club who had worn slinky togas, the wait resses at Club Blue wore elegant dresses the color of
the sea. The impatient woman in front of him twitched from foot to foot in hers. “Well?”

Josh scanned the scene for glimpses of Lexi, but came up blank. “I'd like to send a mai tai to Lexi Mansfield, the event hostess. Do you know who I mean?”

The woman's mouth gaped with insult, sort of like Lexi's fish, Bubblegum. “Every woman in New York knows Lexi Mansfield.” The waitress narrowed her eyes. “Do you know her?”

Josh flipped a bill on the woman's drink tray. “She asked to meet me here. Could you point her out before you deliver the drink? I'm having a hell of a time locating anyone in this crowd.”

He was also having a hell of a time waiting to see Lexi. The week had crawled by like a never-damn-ending eternity, given that he was dreaming about her every night and fantasizing about her every day.

The waitress pocketed the tip and pointed to a stately older guy in a tuxedo and a sexy sylph in turquoise sequins who were waltzing their way across the dance floor to a disco beat.

Josh recognized Jeeves—or was it James?—the classy butler from Simone Bertrand's Long Island mansion. But while the butler's dance partner was certainly recognizable, she was also missing two feet of wild black hair.

Lexi had cut off her hair? Josh gaped in surprise, not because she didn't look gorgeous, but because most women who grew their hair as long as Lexi's usually seemed pretty attached to their manes.

He indulged the urge to stare at her unseen in the
shadows of the club. She danced the same way she moved through life, in constant, effortless motion. Her shorter hair just brushed her shoulders, leaving an enticing expanse of skin bared to his gaze.

Damn lucky for Jeeves that he wasn't touching any of that bare skin. Not so damn lucky for the plainclothes guy who was supposed to be protecting Lexi. Josh didn't see the cop anywhere in sight.

He barreled through the crowd to get to her, telling himself he was in such a hurry because she could be in danger, knowing the real reason probably had more to do with the fact that he hadn't touched her in almost a week.

Reaching the dance floor in record time, Josh tapped the butler on the shoulder. He forced a polite “May I?” out of his mouth, although the Neanderthal in him screamed something more along the line of “Out of my way, she's taken.”

But even Josh couldn't snarl at a guy who snapped an old-school bow to Lexi and kissed her hand like he was Cary Grant.

After the butler disappeared into the well-heeled crush, nothing impeded Josh's view of Lexi. And what a view.

She smiled that wicked grin. The one that made him remember every illicit moment they'd spent together in vivid detail.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Only then did Josh realize he was single-handedly creating a scene, standing there ogling her in the middle of the packed dance floor.

“Maybe my tongue is just conserving its strength
for later.” He took her arm and tugged her off the dance floor, seized by uncharacteristic impulsiveness.

Her skin was so smooth, so cool. Josh wondered how fast he could take her temperature up a few degrees if he could find someplace private.

“Maybe your tongue would be better off for the exercise,” Lexi grumbled, although she quickly assumed a smile for the waitress who brought her mai tai. Lexi sipped at it steadily as she followed him across the bar to the cloakroom.

Josh flashed his badge at the attendant and tipped her generously, but he secured the room and some time alone for a few minutes at least. Jackets, capes and shawls of all kinds lined the walls and were piled high on a table in the middle of the small space. A mixture of perfume scents wafted from the coats, surrounding them in a fog of flowers, musk and maybe some Chanel Number Five.

He yanked down the screen over the counter to enhance their privacy, but the thumping music from the club still rocked the walls.

“Are you complaining about how I use my tongue, Lexi?” He knew he had no right to touch her, but his hands found their way to her hips anyhow. Sequins bit into his palms, but his fingers rested on the satiny skin of her back.

She stared up at him with dark, gypsy eyes, her exotic scent wrapping around him, distinguishing itself from the hundred other perfumes in the room.

“I'm limiting my complaints to your conversational skills.” Her voice was breathy, but she slid herself out of his grip, anyway, stationing herself near
a rack of lightweight overcoats and delicate shawls. “But they really do need improvement. Care to tell me why you're here, after you specifically turned down the offer to be my guest?”

“I'm doing my job.”

“Your job involves titillating conversation and a clandestine rendezvous in the coatroom?” She cocked her head to one side, her hands planted on her hips.

Her nails shone opalescent in the dim light: pink nails decorated with silver fish.

Damn, but she was a trip. A sexy-as-hell, take-no-lip trip.

“No, Lex. My job involves checking up on my rookie cops who don't know better than to leave you to your own devices in this building full of sharks. I don't know who's supposed to be watching you, but I am so going to kick his ass.”

She unfolded her arms and paced the tiny space, her shorter hair bouncing behind her in a dance of spiral curls. “Maybe your job ought to involve telling these guys that if they're going to watch me on my turf, they need to wear a tie to a black-tie event. I sent Otis off on a mission to pick up something more suitable.”

Otis had left her by herself? Josh's buddy from the gym was going to get treated to a one-on-one boxing lesson next week.

“The guy's a cop, not a clotheshorse, Lexi. What were you thinking?” He moved closer to her, needing to impress his message on her somehow. “Do you realize how vulnerable you are here? Especially given the fact that it's probably one of your uptown fashion
friends who is burning down apartments and turning wayward kids into bonafide criminals?”

Lexi reached up to smooth his tie. The simple gesture—a domestic staple that probably wouldn't mean much to a guy who'd grown up among family—touched him in a way he didn't even begin to understand.

“Too bad other cops aren't like you, Josh. The average detective doesn't know how to navigate the waters of New York society.”

“That's ludicrous, Lexi. You know I have no idea what I'm doing around these people. Hell, I can't even talk to you in front of all those highbrows, so I just spent half my paycheck to buy off the coat-check girl.”

“See? You got what you wanted without offending the social matrons by kissing me senseless on the dance floor. You manage to fit even where you don't fit.” She slid her fingers down the lapels of his jacket, raked her eyes over his chest. “We're sort of alike in that way.”

“Lady, if you think I've got what I want, you're sadly mistaken.” Still, he had to admit he sort of liked her analogy. No one had ever accused him of fitting into polite society.

His bread and butter as an undercover cop had been to blend in with the worst possible segment of society. But Lexi saw something better in him, something semi-noble.

“I can't have what I want, either, Josh, but assuming you didn't come here to tell me you changed your mind and want to claim me as your own, I'm just
going to head on back to the party before I'm missed.”

He cuffed her wrist with his fingers, the gesture bringing back out-of-control memories about last weekend's handcuff adventures. “I have questions to ask you first.”

She waited, her body resting very still, only a fraction of an inch away from his. Her perfume teased his nose, fired his senses. He wanted to touch her, taste her, keep her captive, with his hands as her only bonds this time.

Then again, maybe he really wished he didn't have to hold her to make her stay.

 

“Q
UESTIONS
?” Lexi's brain was fuzzy—make that sexually scrambled—by Josh's presence. She forced herself to remember this kind of interlude was all Josh wanted from her—private, anonymous, physical.

He didn't want to take on all of her. For that matter, he didn't even know all of her. He still saw her as the wild child, the bad girl who knew how to cause a scene and stir up trouble.

She stepped away from him, right into a wall of coats, to prevent herself from getting sucked in by sheer animal magnetism. “What questions?”

Josh let go of her wrist, his jaw working overtime as he clenched his teeth in obvious sexual frustration that mirrored her own. “My case against the Bertrands is nonexistent.”

Her mind struggled to shake off the steam they generated just by standing next to one another. “I called your office last week and told them Simone
definitely purchased one of Valentino's red cashmere sweaters. Didn't you get my message?”

“The lab is still testing the fibers.”

Indignation fired her steps in his direction, until she stood toe to toe with the man. He hadn't once bothered to comment on her new haircut—but he could question her knowledge of fabric? “You think I don't know cashmere from acrylic?”

He might have responded, but Lexi cut him off.

“I didn't get to be where I am today by not knowing every flipping thing there is to know about clothes, Josh. You may think my job is some sort of superficial B.S., but it entertains a lot of people, and I gain a lot of social leverage for other causes through what I do.” Call her defensive, but hadn't Amanda promised that people saw beyond the outward trappings of Lexi's glamorous lifestyle?

“I know.”

“It's not global economics, maybe, but it's— You do?” Had she heard him correctly? She backed up a step in an already confined space.

He followed, stalking her. “I know your work is important.” He fingered one shoulder-length curl of her hair. “You accomplish big things by wielding a mighty pen and providing a living example of unselfishness. You don't ever need to defend yourself to me.”

No man had ever spoken such sweet words to her. Certainly her family never had. She considered throwing herself in his arms and taking whatever relationship he could offer her, but he swiftly changed the subject.

“I trust your gut about the fibers, Lexi, but until I get more scientific proof that Simone has a sweater made of that fabric, I can't get a warrant to search her place, and I don't have much to go on.” He let go of the curl he'd been holding so that it sprang back into place beside her cheek. “I need something more concrete.”

Although Lexi still felt the warmth of Josh's professed admiration, his conversation reminded her that he wasn't here to sneak a quickie in the cloakroom or to boost her ego. He was a committed police detective, a man dedicated to protecting hapless fashion critics and anyone else who might find themselves the target of criminal activity.

She admired his work, too, respected him for his noble ideals. But that didn't help close the gap between them.

“And you think you might somehow find the evidence you need tonight?” Lexi eased away from him, staring at the wall of coats to distract herself from the too tempting detective. “Simone is here, if she's still a suspect.”

“She and her brother are both suspects, along with several other guests tonight.”

That snagged her attention. “You think Anton is behind some of this?” She found it hard to reconcile her playground savior with an arsonist.

He went utterly still. “You have reason to think he wouldn't be?”

The sudden chill in the room made Lexi long to wrap herself in one of the warm shawls tossed across
a back counter. Although even cashmere made a poor substitute for Josh's arms.

“Only that I thought we were friends. But I guess it makes sense he wouldn't want me to pan Simone's designs in my column if he is the driving force behind her business.” She thought through the verbiage of the anonymous letters, the vague pleas for her to quit running her mouth. “The letter writer obviously wants me to shut up about something, but I've never been able to pinpoint exactly what.”

Josh tensed, leaned forward. “But you have criticized Simone's designs on more than one occasion?”

“I prefer ‘critique' to ‘criticize,' but yes, I've nixed several of Simone's designs in my column.”

“I see.” Josh nodded, his gaze remote, the wheels in his detective mind visibly spinning.

She waved a hand in front of his face. “Does that mean, ‘I see, Anton is guilty as sin' or ‘I see, Simone has been behind this all along'?”

Josh caught her hand in midair and held it captive in front of his face. Lexi startled at the sudden shift in his mood. His gaze cleared, focused solely on her.

“It means, I see I have more work to do.” He brought the heel of her hand closer to his mouth. “I see I can't think straight around you.” He bent her finger back ever so slightly and ran his tongue around the hollow of her arched palm. “And I see I don't stand a chance in hell of not touching you once I get within fifteen—maybe twenty-five—feet of you.”