he been admiring her stockings or contemplating indecent exposure charges?
“When you did discuss business, what sorts of things would come up?”
“Victor is not on the creative side of my business, so there wasn’t really much for us to discuss. He’d encourage me to find out what kinds of fabric I thought my father might want for his next collection ahead of time so that Victor could be first in line to give him good prices on it.”
The pen stopped seesawing. “Did you?”
His intent look made her wonder if she should have called a lawyer. But then, what did she have to hide?
Besides the obvious.
“Would it be a crime if I did?” She would brazen this out.
“No, Amanda.”
Why had she asked him to call her that? Her name on his lips had a way of slithering over her like a slow caress. As if in response, the ties on her merry widow began to unravel from their loose knot, threatening to leave Amanda as unbound and jiggling as that hussy Victor had been sleeping with. She sucked in her belly, hoping to ease off any extra pressure from the garment.
This particular article of clothing was not designed to wear for more than five minutes anyway. It was intended to drive a man wild in thirty seconds flat. No wonder she was springing out of it. “Well, I have never been able to anticipate my father’s creative direction, so I never supplied Victor with any inside information. He found out what Clyde Matthews wanted when the rest of us did.”
Her father thrived on the aesthetic of a successful artist—the lunches in trendy cafés, the shows in Paris and Milan, the endless parade of up-and-coming designers, artists and models that peopled his studio at all hours. It didn’t seem to bother him that his artistic immersion had never left time in his life for anything else, including his only child.
Duke Rawlins cleared his throat and set aside his hyperactive pen. “So how long have you known Gallagher?”
Something in his demeanor, the way he leaned forward slightly, made the question sound personal.
The silk lining of her coat teased the tops of her breasts with every breath she took. The fabric would be teasing a whole lot more if her merry widow sprung loose and wound up around her ankles. “For almost a year.”
And Victor had never given her more than a good-night kiss in all that time. Obviously, he’d had a more pleasing partner to fulfill his other needs.
The dog.
“Has he ever offered you illegal drugs?”
“I beg your pardon?” Righteous indignation fired through her.
“You know, methamphetamines, crack, ecstasy, any number of lab-created specialties—”
“He most certainly did not!” Just who did Duke Rawlins think she was? Amanda might not be wearing anything but lace and satin beneath her coat, but she was not that kind of girl.
Trying to coerce her boyfriend into an intimate relationship ranked as her biggest moral transgression to date.
“I have to ask, Amanda.” At least the detective had the decency to flash her a semi-apologetic smile. “If it makes you feel any better, you don’t seem to fit my profile of a drug user anyway.”
Before Amanda could splutter a retort, a uniformed police officer approached.
“Excuse me, Detective.” The young woman lifted a shopping bag to show Duke Rawlins. “We are finished here. I checked and rechecked all the labels and the evidence-gathering procedures. We dug up a few bills of sale for fabric, a list that might be potential drug buyers. Everything is in order.”
Amanda eyed the tall female officer labeled R. Patterson as the woman spoke with Amanda’s interrogator. Ms. Patterson didn’t look like the type to ever wind up half-naked in a police interrogation. Amanda would also lay odds that R. Patterson would kick her boyfriend’s butt if he dared to treat her the way Victor had treated Amanda.
Amanda had that kind of confidence in her professional world, but on a personal level, she couldn’t seem to get her act together. She’d let her father take advantage of her half her life, and now she’d obviously allowed Victor to do the same thing.
“Thanks, Patterson,” Duke Rawlins called over his shoulder as the woman left with the last remaining uniformed officer.
Leaving Amanda alone with a very sexy detective.
The quiet of Victor’s apartment seemed to intensify after the door shut behind the departing officers. Amanda became aware of the clock ticking on the wall, the hum of the overhead light in the kitchen.
And she became keenly aware of Duke Rawlins’s intensely blue eyes upon her.
How could she feel such tangible lust for a man she’d just met? A man who’d arrested her boyfriend, witnessed the biggest humiliation of her life and held her captive with his interrogation while an even bigger humiliation threatened in the form of a renegade merry widow.
What a disaster.
“I guess that’s it, Amanda.” Detective Rawlins tucked his notepad inside his leather jacket pocket, but made no move to stand. “Would you do me a favor?”
For a moment, she lost herself in the depths of his blue eyes. The color matched the fluorescent blue on several of his necktie stars.
She found herself saying, “I will if I can.”
His crooked grin sent a thrill through her, far more potent than the silk lining on her bare skin. “Call me if you think of anything else about your boyfriend that might help me.”
She took his card and read over it absently. “He’s not my boyfriend anymore, Detective,” she clarified.
Amanda sensed the heat of a blush start on her neck and spread to her cheeks. Why had she felt the need to tell him that?
“Can’t say I blame you after today,” he returned, slowly rising to his feet. “And please, call me Duke.”
Amanda scrambled to follow him, ready to flee the apartment and those intense eyes as fast as possible.
Too late she remembered her merry widow.
It slid about two inches south, the bra cups rolling like window shades under the curve of each breast. Amanda would give anything to untie and retie her entire ensemble before she walked out the door, but not while the tempting detective remained in the apartment with her.
She folded her arms over her chest. “Thank you, Duke.”
The words sounded throaty and breathless and very flirtatious when in fact, fear for her costume merely edged Amanda a bit closer to hyperventilating.
She inched toward the door, praying she could escape without flashing Duke. Even her shoes were coming untied, but she refused to bend over to secure them.
“Well, if that’s all then…?” she prodded, waiting only for his official nod so she could slink back home
