Triple Time (4 page)

“All right, but don't blame me if you're bored. Seems to be a common complaint where I'm concerned.” He wanted to bite back the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.

“Ah, we're back to that again.” She bit her lip, a move only slightly less enticing than licking them. “Look, about that night...”

“You don't have to explain.” He reached for his burger.

“Yeah, I do.” The tone of her voice—low and somehow desperate, almost urgent—stopped him, and he put the sandwich down. “You're not boring, Gabe. And if Holcomb's telling you that, whoever he is, he's a moron.”

“He's my boss. And I'll let him know you feel that way. I'm sure it'll make a big difference.” He didn't feel inclined to mention that his ex-girlfriend was on the Gabe's-a-snoozefest bandwagon, too.

“I'm just trying to help. You don't have to get all snarky on me.” She shot up, her chair scraping against the hardwood floor, and reached for her gigantic shoulder bag.

“Devin, wait.” He half rose and put a hand on her wrist, deciding it was better to risk another sexual lightning bolt than let her leave in a huff, and she hesitated. “I'm sorry. I guess it's a sore spot with me.”

She lowered herself back into the chair, dropping her purse beside her. “Apology accepted. Now what can I do?”

“Nothing.”

She rolled her cornflower-blue eyes, eyes that seemed so at odds with the rest of her coloring. Pale mocha skin. Jet black hair. “That's not what your friend Jack seemed to think.”

“He's not my friend.” And he wasn't exactly thinking with the head on his shoulders.”

“You want your boss to endorse you for something, right?” Devin plowed on as if he hadn't even spoken.

Gabe took another swig of root beer and nodded. “District Attorney when he leaves office.”

“And he won't because he thinks you're too stuffy.”

“In a nutshell.”

“So let's unstuff you.”

“Unstuff?” His voice rose an octave, and several people turned to stare at them. Could this get any more embarrassing? What was it with him and public humiliation lately? Maybe he should avoid restaurants altogether for the foreseeable future.

“Sure.” She got up and walked around the table, surveying him from every angle as if he was a prize steer. He half expected her to pry open his mouth and check his teeth. “You're good raw material. I can work with that. And let's face it, I'm probably the least repressed person you know. By a long shot.”

Raw material? What did she think this was?
Cool Eye for the Uptight Guy?

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

“I'm not taking no for an answer.” She sat back down across from him, pinning him with those blue eyes, now a deeper almost denim. “Consider it payback. For Victor.”

“I haven't found him yet.”

“But you agreed to try. That counts for something.”

“You're Holly's friend.” And, since their kiss, the object of his late-night fantasies. Yet another reason this idea of hers had
train wreck
written all over it. “It's the least I can do. I don't need to be paid back. I'll take my chances at the Feast of San Gennaro.”

She tucked her hair behind the ear with four piercings. “What's the feast got to do with it?”

Damn
. It was like looking at her made his brain shut down, leaving his mouth to run free. “Holcomb wants me to go with him. Prove I can relate to the ‘common man,' whatever that means. Get them to vote for me.”

“That gives us...” She pulled her smartphone from her pants pocket and scrolled through her calendar. “Almost six weeks. Plenty of time.”

“Time?” He pushed his plate away. “For what?”

She whipped out a notepad and pen from the depths of her bottomless handbag and started scribbling. “For me to loosen you up.”

 

4

“Y
OU
WANT
TO
take me where?” Gabe crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. It had been three days since Devin had announced her plan to “unstuff” him, and truth be told he hoped she'd forgotten the whole thing. Then she'd shown up at his Tribeca apartment looking like a cast member from
Hair
and said she was taking him to...

“A rave,” she repeated, adjusting the fringed tube top she'd paired with a denim miniskirt and white gogo boots. The movement did wonderful things for her breasts. “It's an all-night dance party.”

“I know what a rave is.” Gabe smirked. “I crawl out from under my rock once in a while.” Plus, he had a case a couple of years ago involving a rave.

“Well, come on, then. We're burning midnight.”

He looked down at his polo shirt and khakis. Another ten minutes and she would have caught him bare chested and in sweatpants, his usual bedtime attire. “Don't you think I'm a little underdressed?”

She shook her head, her long, dark hair, held off her face by a floral band, rippling. “Anything goes at these things.”

He grimaced, remembering his case. Teenagers, illegal substances and slam dancing were a lethal combination. “So I've heard.”

“If you're talking about drugs and sex...”

He raised an eyebrow.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you really think I'm so stupid I'd put your job at risk?”

“No, I don't think you're stupid at all.” She might not have an Ivy League education like most of his colleagues, but he'd pit her street smarts against their book learning any day.

“Not all raves are dens of iniquity. True rave culture is about peace, unity and respect. It's about expressing yourself in any way you feel comfortable, in a place where you feel no fear, just love and joy from everyone around you.”

He snorted. “You sound like a greeting card.”

“Very funny. You need to loosen up, and this will get you out of your comfort zone and in touch with younger voters.” She tapped one patent-leather toe on the linoleum. “Now quit stalling and let's go.”

Busted.

He picked up his keys and wallet from the hall table, stuffed them in his pockets and closed the door. He wasn't pleased that Holcomb seemed to think he needed fixing, but Devin was front and center, ready, willing and able to help him “express himself.” Might as well get it over with. “Where exactly are we going?”

She started down the corridor. “A vacant warehouse in the meat-packing district.”

He trailed after her, admiring the way the skintight skirt cupped her ample bottom. Why did the bad girls always look so good?

They stopped at the elevator and he pressed the down button. “How do you find out about these events? Is there some sort of website or something?”

“There are message boards and forums.” With a ding, the elevator door slid open and she got in. “But I found out about this one from some friends. That's how I know it's okay.”

He followed her inside and hit the button for the ground floor. “So my job's safe. I still don't understand how going to a rave is supposed to get Holcomb to endorse me.”

“Your boss wants you to be more relaxed, more spontaneous, right?” She did a little shimmy, bringing her backside dangerously close to his groin. “There's nothing more freeing than dance.”

Oh, yeah, that was freeing, all right. Any more freeing and he'd take her right there in the damned elevator.

He stabbed at the button again, as if that would speed their trip. This night was going be torture. In more ways than one.

Ding.

The elevator opened and Gabe hightailed it out of there. Maybe outside the cramped car he stood a chance of resisting her.

Right. And maybe he stood a chance of serving on the United States Supreme Court.
She bent down to pull up one of her boots, simultaneously lifting her skirt and lowering her tube top, and he swore under his breath. Like she wasn't showing enough skin already.

“I'll get us a cab.” Without so much as a backward glance, he strode across the lobby, through the door and to the curb, his arm raised. The sooner this evening started, the sooner it would end.

“Not so fast.” Devin yanked his arm down and dragged him toward Canal Street. “Tonight we're slumming it.”

She pointed down the block toward the subway station.

“You consider the subway slumming it?”

“No. But I figured you would.”

“I take the subway. On occasion.”

“Oh, yeah?” She paused at the top of the subway stairs and faced him. “When was the last time?”

He lowered his chin. “Okay, so it's been a while. But only because I started biking to work when the weather got warm.”

Her eyes traveled the length of his body and her tongue darted out to lick her lips. “It shows.”

She brushed past him and headed down the stairs, giving him another view of her spectacular ass. He stood for a minute, his mouth open. Christ, she was bold. He'd never had a woman check him out so blatantly. He wasn't sure if he liked it.

Okay, that was a lie. He liked it. A lot.

“Are you coming or not?” Devin called from the bottom of the stairs.

Not yet. But maybe later...

He bounded down the steps, shaking off that thought as quickly as it had sprung up. Figuratively and literally. “Right behind you.”

The subway ride was uneventful. If Devin singing with a street drummer and helping a guy dressed as Spiderman find his cell phone could be called uneventful. All in only three stops. When they got off, she led Gabe a few blocks to a large brick building.

“This is it?” He looked around. Quiet. Deserted.

“Just wait.” She knocked on the heavy metal door.

“Dev!” The burly, bald-headed man who opened it greeted her with a bear hug. “Where you been, girl?”

“Here and there.” She hugged him back. “Got room for two more?”

“For you, of course.” He opened the door wider and eyed Gabe. “Who's your friend?”

“Carlos, this is Gabe. He's a virgin,” she said with a wink.

“A what?” Gabe choked.

“She means it's your first rave.” Carlos ushered them in and closed the door. “Don't worry. Devin's a real pro. She'll take care of you.”

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Gabe muttered.

Carlos showed them down a long hall and then a flight of stairs. As they descended, the insistent beat of techno music grew stronger, vibrating through the soles of Gabe's loafers and up his body.

He bent his head so his mouth was at Devin's ear. “This might be a good time to confess I'm not much of a dancer.”

“Don't worry. I'll lead.” She grabbed his hand. “Just stick close and follow me.”

“Have fun, kids.” The music was deafening now, and Carlos had to yell to be heard as he swung open the door at the bottom of the stairs.

Gabe nodded in acknowledgment, not even bothering to try to shout over the noise, and he and Devin stepped into what seemed like another dimension.

The big open space was wall-to-wall people of all ages, from college kids to baby boomers. Some were dressed in street clothes like him. Others wore all manner of costumes: tutus, hot pants, sequined bras, fluorescent wigs, outrageous hats and glasses. Gabe could have sworn one woman's dress was made entirely of duct tape.

A huge stage filled the far end of the room, showcasing a DJ behind a wall of electronic equipment. Giant screens displayed images from an elaborate laser light show.

“Come on,” Devin said, drawing him into the crowd. “Let's dance.” Or at least that's what he thought she said. They didn't teach lip-reading at Columbia. Or Officer Development School.

The crush of bodies on what Gabe supposed could be considered a dance floor pressed them together, chest to chest, hip to hip. Laughing, Devin threw her head back and raised her arms. Then she started moving, swaying, undulating against him and he thought his cock would burst through his khakis.

“What are you doing?” he mouthed.

She smiled and looped an arm around his neck, tugging him impossibly closer. He tensed, certain she could feel his erection straining against his zipper.

Christ.
What had happened to his legendary self-control? The guys at work called him Mr. Spock, and it wasn't because he had pointy ears.

Gabe gritted his teeth and focused on a spot somewhere just above Devin's left shoulder. Anything to distract him from the seductive way her breasts shimmied under her tiny tube top.

With her free hand, she grabbed his waist. “Move those hips,” she shouted. “You're as stiff as a freaking statue.”

Oh, he was stiff all right. But not in the way she meant. “I told you, I can't dance.”

She rose up on her toes to speak into his ear. “Just think of it as sex standing up. With your clothes on. In public.” She gave him a wicked grin. “You can do that right?”

He smiled back. “I can try.”

“Good.”

She started swaying again, using the hand at his waist to make him move with her. After a minute, he relaxed and gave in to the rhythm of the music and the soft but insistent pressure of her hand. With each step, each brush of her chest against his, his pulse quickened and his breath grew more ragged.

Gabe dragged his gaze from Devin's and scanned the crowd. It was either that or go from the simulated sex she called dancing to getting down and dirty for real right there in the middle of the floor.

A few gyrating bodies away, a man in a leather vest and pants was doing his best impression of moonwalking. He turned, and his eyes locked on Gabe. A slow, sardonic smile spread across his face as he held out his thumb and index finger in the shape of a gun. He pointed it at Gabe, then shifted his aim to Devin before pulling the imaginary trigger.

Fuck.
Gabe knew that ugly mug. Had seen it in court every day for three months, felt those eyes boring into the back of his head from the gallery when the jury announced its guilty verdict and the judge pronounced sentence—life in prison without parole.

“We've got to get out of here,” he yelled, unwrapping Devin's arm from around his neck. “Now.”

“What—”

“No time for questions.” He pulled her farther into the fray, away from both the mock gunman. And, unfortunately, the door they'd come in. “Is there another exit?”

“This way,” she hollered back, taking the lead and pushing through the crowd toward the stage. “Like Carlos said, I'll take care of you.”

* * *

“W
HAT
THE
HELL
was that all about?” Devin asked when they were finally outside the building and she didn't have to scream her lungs out to be heard. One minute she was sure Gabe had been about to let go, to give in to the music and the crazy, crazy lust swirling between them. The next, he'd bolted for the door, colder than a flat frog on the Cross Bronx Expressway.

“Not yet.” His eyes flicked from left to right, settling on an alley alongside the warehouse. “Come on. We can hide down here for a few minutes. I want to make sure we're not being followed.”

“Followed?” She struggled to keep up with him despite her long legs. “What is this,
CSI
?”

“No.” He ducked into the alley, grabbing her arm and pulling her into the shadows with him. “This is real.”

The tone of his voice made goose bumps rise on her arms.

“What happened back there?” she whispered.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Then why am I cowering in an alley at one in the morning?”

He put a hand against the brick wall and let out a long, slow breath. “Let's just say I ran into someone I'd rather not see.”

She surveyed the overflowing dumpster, the abandoned refrigerator, the puddle of something a little too close to her left boot that didn't look or smell like water. Mr. Clean had to be desperate to drag her into this cesspool. “You must really hate this guy. What'd he do to you?”

“It's what I did to him.” Gabe gave her a sidelong glance. “I put his younger brother in prison.”

“Oh.” She nodded. “I can see how that'd piss him off.”

“The guy was guilty.”

“I believe you. But I'm guessing big bro was harder to convince.” She wrinkled her nose. “How long do we have to hide down here? It smells like a sewer. And I think there's something moving in that pile of newspapers.”

“Just a few more minutes.” He poked his head around the corner then pulled it back again. “Until I'm sure the coast is clear.”

She flexed her tired toes in her boots and looked for someplace to sit down. Her choices were a plastic milk crate with a hole through the bottom, an overturned five-gallon bucket that looked like it hadn't been washed since Obama took office or the suspicious newspapers. She gave up and leaned against the wall next to Gabe. “Not exactly what I had planned for tonight. But at least it's out of your comfort zone.”

“I think it's safe to say this entire evening's been out of my comfort zone.”

She turned her head to study him and found his eyes on her. Something in his stare made her breath catch, and it was a second before she could form a coherent sentence. “I don't know. I thought you were doing pretty good in there. A few more minutes and you'd have been glow-sticking with the best of them.”

Or I'd have been dry humping you in the middle of the dance floor.

She tried to tell herself what she felt for him was purely physical. Gabe was a certified hottie. She'd have to be six feet under not to want him. That must be why her knees were wobbly and her heart was practically pounding out of her chest. Well, that or their sprint to the alley.