With no answer to give Nikhil, I left his apartment troubled that I caused him distress on what should have been a happy day. A week or so earlier I would have called Rossi and asked him to resolve the situation. But not now. Too bad. Still, Nikhil had already proven he was capable of doing the right thing, and I was confident that after a little reflection he would again. Armed with that thought I went back to my neglected shop and spent the afternoon paying bills and chatting with a few tourists who stopped in looking for baubles to bring back home.
At five I closed up and drove to Surfside. I wanted a full hour to shower and do my hair and makeup with extra care.
Who was I kidding? What I really wanted was to be a knockout in purple jersey. For in my schizophrenic little heart, I was hoping Rossi would show up even if I couldn’t hold him.
Then
what
?
Half-dressed, I sank onto the edge of my bed and the truth ripped into me. I had dismissed Rossi from my life. Whether for my reason or for his, I was no longer certain. But either way, playing games in purple dresses was ridiculous. The break had been clean and swift even if, as Rossi claimed, my motives were wrong. Whatever the reason, losing him hurt. It hurt like hell. Goodbyes bit into you with fangs of steel. When Jack died, they’d gouged deep. That had been enough for a lifetime. Now this...shredded again. But whose fault was that?
My shoulders slumped. Self-pity? Disgusted, I forced myself to sit up straight. I’d made a decision believing it was the right thing to do. So why this nagging doubt? For the simple reason that if I were wrong and Rossi really meant adoption was fine with him, then I’d made the worse mistake of my life.
Rays from the late afternoon sun shone through the bedroom sliders and fingered the purple fabric.
I stared at the dress and sighed. Now that I’d bought it, I might as well wear it. Besides, Rossi probably wouldn’t show anyway.
Wrong. He showed all right. And if I hoped to be the party knockout, I was wrong there too.
He
was the knockout. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Freshly shaven and barbered, he was a sartorial sensation in a navy blazer, tan slacks, starched white shirt and maroon-and-navy striped tie. No Hawaiians, not even the one he usually wore on weekends with the Flying Fortress zooming over Oahu. I hadn’t seen him as dressed up since Lee and Paulo’s wedding day. He was so drop-dead gorgeous, he took my breath away.
So did the drop-dead blonde on his arm. How dare she wear purple tonight? The bitch.
With this Mother Teresa thought pumping blood through my system, I stomped over to the bar without stopping to speak to him. Or her.
“Scotch,” I said to the bartender. “A double.” I hated the stuff but loved what it did to me.
The party wasn’t crowded or noisy yet, but it soon would be. To put everybody at ease, Chip had hired bartenders and a catering service, vowing he would stay out of the kitchen and go nowhere near the food or drink. Wise of him, but sad too. He was a masterful chef and needed to get back to his cooking without worrying that people were afraid to eat his food. Rossi needed to get back to work too. With the murder still unsolved, what was he doing out on a date anyway?
Glass in hand, I strolled over to congratulate the newlyweds. This was the first time I’d seen Chip at a party without his chef’s apron. Tonight he wore a white ruffled dress shirt and black pants. AudreyAnn dazzled in a strapless white wedding dress with a foot long train, smiling by her new husband’s side, a happy woman for once. It was good to see. I hugged them both without sloshing my drink and took a sip.
An expensive drift of musk and sandalwood floated around me. “So you still like scotch?” a deep voice asked. “I remember giving you some Dewars the day we met.”
“Hello, Simon,” I said turning around to face him. He drew in a quick breath.
The
neckline
.
“You’re stunning,” he said. “Positively stunning. But then you always have been. Lieutenant Rossi is a lucky man.”
“He might agree with you,” I said, taking a gulp of my Dewars and trying not to shudder at the acrid taste. “We broke up.”
Though skilled at courtroom maneuvering, Simon couldn’t quite conceal the spark that leaped into his eyes.
I took another slug and didn’t shudder a bit. “May I ask you something, Simon?”
“Anything,” he said, struggling to keep his eyes higher than my neckline.
“Do you want to have children?”
In the act of swallowing, he choked a little and sputtered. “Not particularly.”
“Did you want any with Cynthia?”
“Never had a chance to find out. She told me she was a solo act, take it or leave it.”
“Really? You married her anyway?”
He studied the dregs in his glass. “Back then I was so enamored of her nothing else mattered.”
“Do you regret not having a family?”
“Not at all. I enjoy my freedom.” He glanced up, right into my eyes with no detour along the way. “Why the cross examination?”
I shrugged and glanced across the room, which was pretty crowded by now. Most of the people I didn’t know. The athletic looking types were probably Pilates instructors who worked with AudreyAnn, and I guessed some of the men were restaurateur friends of Chip’s. I searched through the throng for another glimpse of Rossi, finally spotting him in a corner, deep in conversation with the blonde. He looked like he was having the time of his life. He must have seen me come in—nothing ever escaped Rossi—but he’d made no attempt to speak to me. I guess we couldn’t even be friends.
One of the caterers circling the room with a tray of canapés approached Rossi and his date. Rossi took one look at the endive leaves topped with chutney and squash blossoms and shook his head. I had to smile. His favorite
hors
d’oeuvre
was pepperoni pizza cut into bite-sized triangles. The blonde took one. Why would Rossi go out with somebody who liked squash blossoms? Obviously they had nothing in common.
“Well?” Simon asked. “You haven’t answered me. Why all the questions?”
I’d forgotten Simon was still standing there. “Oh, I don’t know. Curiosity I guess. Forgive me.”
“Always.” His resonant courtroom voice pulsed with warmth. His glance slid over me then jerked back up, a guilty little boy eyeing the cookie jar but not quite daring to reach out and grab one.
Whoever had designed this dress was diabolically clever. But was this my new career? Being a teaser? Causing reactions in men I had no interest in? The answer was so painful I chugged down the rest of the Dewars and plunked the empty glass on the bar top. I held out a hand. “Nice to talk to you, Simon, but I have to go.”
His face fell. “You just got here.”
“I know. Had to pay my respects to the newlyweds, but I do have another appointment.” I faked a glance at my watch. “I’m late.”
“A date?” From his tone, I could tell he was hoping I’d say no.
“Yes,” I lied. Let him think so and forget about me.
He nodded. “I understand.” Ever gallant, ever the soul of courtesy and civility, well dressed at all times—not just once or twice a year—why on earth couldn’t I warm up to him? To top everything else off, he was brilliantly educated, rich and handsome. What the hell was the matter with me? I silently stormed as I wove my way toward the door between groups of noisy, laughing people. I’d make my excuses tomorrow to Chip and the bride. Tell them I was sick or something and simply had to leave early.
Truth be told, I was sick. Heartsick. To deny it would be lying to myself as I had just lied to Simon.
I had no sooner turned the key in my condo lock when Rossi murmured, “Deva.”
My heart leaped into my throat. “Go away,” I said without turning around. In that moment, I couldn’t bear to look at him.
“No.” He stepped closer. Lingering hints of his aftershave hung in the air. I definitely caught a trace of musk but no pricey sandalwood. His warm breath feathering my nape, he put a hand on my arm. A flash of red hot longing tore through me, and I gasped.
Infuriated at my own weakness, I yanked my arm free and whirled around.
“That’s quite a dress,” he said with a smile that I felt like slapping off his face.
“Simon liked it.”
“Every man on your radar screen liked it. Wasn’t that your intent?”
Some things never changed. Rossi always understood my motives.
I upped my chin. “What are you doing out here anyway? Your date must be looking for you.”
A wall-to-wall grin split his face wide open. I wanted to kill him.
“What date?”
“The blonde you were having a
tête
-
à
-
tête
with. That date.”
“Ah.” He raised a hand, examining his fingertips as if he were admiring a fancy manicure. “You must mean
Mrs
. Michael Bennett. She’s with her husband at the moment.” He glanced up from his hand, piercing me with those dark, diabolical eyes. “Jealous?”
He was toying with me. I’d be damned if I’d put up with that. “Go away, Rossi. Nothing’s changed.”
I opened the condo door and stepped inside. Before I could push it closed, he strode in behind me and slammed it shut.
“You’re right, nothing has changed. When I touched you, you gasped. I remember those gasps. Every one.”
I remembered them too but would die before admitting it. “You weren’t invited in. I don’t want you here.”
“You’re a liar. You’re hoping I’ll rip your clothes off and take you on the floor.”
“How dare you?” Hands on hips, legs apart, I squared off ready to...what? Fight?
“And don’t wear that dress again.” He pointed a finger at my chest. “Look at you. You’re hanging out of it.”
“Oooh!” I rushed for him, ready to scratch out his eyes. He caught me to him, pinning my arms to my sides, and kissed me, his mouth a hard, unrelenting line.
Imprisoned in his embrace, his body pressed to mine, I refused to give in. I would not open to him. But then...but then...with a will of their own, my lips betrayed me. Yielding to his demand, they parted. Seizing that nanosecond of weakness, his mouth eased its pressure. His lips softened, and his kiss created the magic I had longed for all the nights I’d lain awake listening to the hoot of the owls.
A groan floated up between us. Whether from Rossi or from me, there was no telling.
His lips left mine to brush my cheek. “You think you can do without this?” he asked. Not giving me time to answer, he found my mouth again, and teased it until I was ready to give him anything. Everything.
Weak kneed, I leaned against the foyer wall, my resolve to cut him loose, to be noble, to be self-sacrificing, exposed for the sham it had been all along.
Would he forgive me? As if in answer, his hands moved on my body, caressing me gently. His lips left my mouth to nuzzle my cleavage.
A moment later, he glanced up, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “That is the reason for the neckline, right?”
I laughed. Reaching down, he raised my skirt and pulled my panties over my hips. “Kick them off,” he ordered, his voice hoarse.
He fumbled with his own clothes, then, yanking the dress back up, he lifted me off my feet. I wrapped my legs around him, and with no restraint, no pause, savage and quick, we came together, in our eagerness stripping away every shred of pretense. All that remained was the depth of our need for each other.
Then with a final shuddering breath, he withdrew and a moment later lowered me to the floor, his pulse beating as hard as if he’d climbed a mountain. I stood before him, clutched to his chest, my heart pounding in unison with his. When our pulses returned to something like normal, he tugged my dress down and took a step back.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice soft, another caress.
All I could do was nod.
He took my hand, and together we went into the dimly lit living room. The sofa lamps on the floor beside the couch sent narrow arcs of light beaming up toward the ceiling. Two steps into the room, Rossi came to an abrupt stop and glanced around.
His eyes wide, he turned to me. “What happened in here? Where’s your furniture?”
“I sold it.”
“Why? You loved those things.” He was clearly astonished at the sight of the half empty room, and no wonder. How many times had I told him how much I loved Jack’s furniture, that they were beautiful old pieces? And though I never said it, Rossi knew they were also silent reminders of a life I had lost.
Still wobbly kneed, I sank onto the couch. Rossi settled beside me and took my hand again. “So? Why did you get rid of Jack’s things?” A superb investigator, he would wait patiently for my explanation no matter how long it took.
“Well,” I began, folding pleats into the purple fabric with my free hand. “I had mixed motives.”
He nodded, his eyes full of questions.
“I was so damned mad at Jack, I wanted to get rid of everything that reminded me of him.”
Rossi pointed to the light-colored rectangle on the living room wall. “His photograph too?”
