A Dash of Temptation

“Don’t keep me waiting. It’s mean.”

Tess slipped inside the café and told the scrumptious young man at the counter that she wanted a table for two. She followed his tightly clad butt across the crowded restaurant, past the tables with their gingham cloths and fresh carnations, to a snug booth in the back. Mary shrugged out of her coat, then sat down. “Well?”

“Okay, okay. No need to get all huffy.”

“Tess…”

Tess didn’t smile. She was pretty sure she didn’t look smug. And she kept her voice low, so only Mary would hear. “I have a date with Dash Black.”

Mary screamed so loudly a waiter dropped his tray, all chatter came to an immediate stop, and every eye in the place zeroed in on their booth. Mary finally closed her mouth, then seemed to realize they were the center of attention. She turned to the stunned restaurant patrons. “She has a date with Dash Black.”

Tess couldn’t hold back her grin as she saw utter understanding come over the mostly female crowd. Several women nodded. More than a few stared at her with awe. He was, after all, Dash Black. And he was hers, hers, hers for one whole night.

She felt like she might throw up.

WHEN DASH WALKED INTO HIS brother’s office, Patrick was already studying the glossy photos spread out before him. His expression was serious, his focus sharp. It was time to pick the September centerfold. Dash had made his choice. Although a whole editorial team helped narrow the field, the family—himself, Patrick and their father—had the final word.

Dash headed over to Patrick’s bookshelves and gave them a cursory glance. The only new entries were a James Patterson book, a biography of Napoleon, and the latest bestseller on business communication. Slim pickings.

With nothing to keep him occupied, he gave in and settled himself on one of Patrick’s leather chairs. Sprawled with legs out, he waited for his half brother to look at him, but clearly Patrick wasn’t going to budge until he was damn good and ready.

The office was too similar to his own to be of interest. Lots of square footage decorated in masculine colors, mostly hunter green, with bits and pieces of their various enterprises represented in knickknacks, photographs, logo promotions, and, inevitably, stacks of the magazine.

Noir’s circulation was at an all-time high. Millions of men bought the magazine each month, and some of them probably read the articles. His father had set out to make Noir a household name, and he’d succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. In the old days, Black had been the front man. Suave, sophisticated, charming as hell, he’d been the driving force behind Noir, but he was done now. Tired. He had every right to be. He’d worked his ass off most of his life. Dash had been his ace in the hole. He could hand over the keys to the kingdom with little fear. With every expectation that their success would continue, that the companies would grow. That Dash would be as enthusiastic and tireless as his father.

The flesh was willing, but the mind was weak. Dash stared at his future with a kind of stunned resolve. The world on a string, and he didn’t like yo-yos. He’d better damn well get to like yo-yos. There was no way he was going to spend the next thirty years dissatisfied and resentful.

Actually, that wasn’t fair. It’s not that he hated running the show, he simply wasn’t his father. Dash was a private man thrust into the spotlight. He envied Patrick, with his focus on the real guts of the operation. The money.

Dash jumped a bit when he realized he was staring at Patrick, and that his brother was staring back. “How long have you been watching me?”

Pat shrugged. “Long enough to wonder what’s bothering you.”

Dash waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing a lobotomy wouldn’t fix.”

“Ah, well. We do have that excellent health insurance plan. I’m sure we could work something out.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Come on, Dash. What’s up?”

“I like Marie, what’s her last name? Clymer? The redhead on the second row.”

Patrick looked at his proofs. “Yeah, that’s who I was leaning toward, but don’t change the subject. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Patrick’s right brow arched. “Fine. Have it your way. Why did you come to see me?”

“I’m going to that party in the Hamptons this weekend. I was thinking we should send a photographer out.”

“To the Nicklebys’ place?”

Dash nodded.

“Already taken care of.”

Now it was Dash’s turn to raise his eyebrow. “Efficient little sucker, aren’t you?”

“I strive for excellence in all areas.”

Dash gave him the old raspberry. “Excellence, my ass.”

“No wonder you’re the heir apparent,” Patrick said. “Your maturity and class are a shining example to all.”

Dash stood up, stretched his neck. “Hey, you know the plant lady?”

“Tess?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m taking her.”

“To the party?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because she needs a date, and I’m a goddamn prince of a fellow.” Dash headed for the door.

“Wait a minute. I don’t like it.”

He stopped. “Don’t like what?”

“She’s a nice girl, Dash. And she’s an employee.”

“So?”

“It’s not a good idea, that’s all.”

“What do you mean?”

Patrick shuffled some photos. “You know perfectly well what I mean. She’s not a toy.”

Dash went over to the edge of Patrick’s teak desk. He leaned forward, balancing on his flattened palms. “Are you interested in her?”

Patrick’s gaze shot to his. “No. I’m not. But I like her. She’s bright and ambitious, but she’s also young as hell, and she comes from the middle of nowhere. So don’t set her up for a fall. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I’m taking her to a party, Patrick. Not to a wedding.”

“Yeah, well, women tend to fall in love with you. God knows why.”

“Yeah, I love you, too.” He straightened, fully aware Patrick was dead-on serious. “I’ll be good,” he said. “I promise.”

“Why aren’t I taking comfort from that statement?”

Dash shook his head as if he had no idea.

“Oh, get the hell out of my office. Some of us have to work for a living.”

Dash decided to let Patrick have the last word. He nodded once, then headed in the direction of his own office. His brother didn’t usually stick his nose in Dash’s business. It made Dash all the more intrigued with Tess. She had clearly made an impression on someone who wasn’t that impressionable.

Based on their history, Dash believed Patrick about not being interested in Tess, but still, there was some connection there. The two of them had clearly talked, which made sense. It was Patrick who’d originally hired her to do the plant maintenance in the Midtown offices. What was it about her that made his brother so protective?

Actually, what was it that made Dash so hot to trot? Maybe he shouldn’t have been so flippant with Patrick. Tess was a damsel in distress, and he was playing the role of knight. It wasn’t a good fit. He normally played the rake.

But for one night? Why not. He could be Lochinvar. Hell, most of his public life was all an act anyway. It would be a change of pace, and that was a plus. He remembered her curves, the way her breasts had looked in that T-shirt. Pity. But everything in life wasn’t sex. It only felt that way.

RED, ANKLE LENGTH, NO LABEL, no mars in the luxurious silk, fifty dollars. The dress was a gift from kind gods, and fit her as if designed with her in mind. Fifty dollars. Tess grinned madly as she paid the woman with the bad teeth, then hugged her package close as she made her way out of the small resale shop.

Tomorrow was the big day. Dash Black day. His secretary, Kelly, had called that morning to make all the arrangements. The car, which Tess knew was actually a limousine, would be at her apartment shortly after five. The drive to Amagansett took about three hours, what with the tolls and the traffic.

Three hours alone with him.

What would they talk about? Would they have champagne? Champagne gave her a headache. She’d suffer.

Dammit, she had to calm down. This wasn’t a real date. It was a mercy date, and she’d better remember it. Right. As if she hadn’t been writing, “Mrs. Dashiell Black” and “Mrs. Tess Black” on every napkin from the Brooklyn Deli to Capizio’s Pizza by the Slice. Mature, Tess. Real mature.

She made her way across Christopher Street, blinking into the late afternoon glare. She had major girly stuff to do tonight. Mud mask, fingernails, toenails, plucking, shaving, waxing. The fun never ends. Maybe Mary would come by. Or maybe Tess would just drown herself in her bathtub.

She walked two long blocks, forcing herself to ignore the three shoe store displays, staring, instead, directly in front of her. She didn’t have money for shoes. She’d wear her black strappy heels. So they were almost two years old. Who was going to look at her feet?

God, the dress! It caressed her curves…not her words; the lady with the teeth had been eloquent. But it was a knockout. And she felt pretty in it, which was even more important.

Why was it that she could be so self-assured about her business and her plans, but when it came to her private life her insecurities had insecurities? It didn’t seem fair. She wasn’t the rube from Texas anymore. She’d lived in the big, bad city long enough to have been mugged, evicted and dumped by some very high-class guys. Dash Black should be just another fascinating peek at New York, like the Rainbow Room or the bag ladies outside Central Park.

Uh-huh.

She got bumped twice on her way down the stairs to the subway, and some great galoot nearly crippled her when he stepped on her toe, but she made it to the train, and even got a seat, although she had to sit next to someone who used garlic as aftershave.

The ride was only twenty minutes to her stop, and then she’d have a quick five minute walk. She would stop at the market on the corner and pick up some salad for dinner.

Dash Black.

It had become her mantra. And like women who couldn’t get pregnant and saw babies everywhere, Tess had been deluged with pictures of her dream date.

He’d been on the cover of Esquire wearing the most scrumptious charcoal-gray shirt. The color made his hazel eyes look blue. His smile had been sly, as if he knew a secret, and maybe he’d tell her what it was.

He’d also been in Vogue, Cosmo, Mademoiselle and the National Enquirer. Not that she read that…she’d just been killing time in the checkout line.

Every picture had been beautiful, and she’d pasted each one, except for the tabloid, in a brand new scrap-book she kept hidden under her bed. It might look naive to save his pictures, but she’d be glad in twenty years when she wanted to show her grandchildren that granny had been a hottie.

Besides, she liked looking at him. His wide shoulders and slim hips. His dark hair that fell ever so provocatively across his forehead. That nose! Mary said it was big, and maybe it was, but it was strong and had much more character than one of the waspier models. And then, oh my, there were the lips. The bottom one in particular. Pouty, lush, perfect but not fem. Designed for kissing. The thought of that mouth on hers…

She shivered, and got a glare from Garlic Man.

Ignoring him, she opened her bag and took out her to-do list. Yep, she had everything she’d need. Sunday, she had to go to the flower mart, Monday, she’d start the new account over at Trump Plaza, and Tuesday was Eve’s Apple night, so she had to finish reading The Pearl, which she hadn’t even opened yet, but for tonight, she was good to go. She’d listen to some Linkin Park and maybe some Creed. Throw in a little Joni Mitchell for flavor. She even had that bottle of Merlot Brad had given her after he’d stood her up for the second night in a row. But that was then. This was now and tonight was going to be wonderful as long as she didn’t dwell on tomorrow. As long as her nerves held steady and her tummy didn’t go nuts. As long as she could pretend it was like any other night in a perfectly ordinary universe.

Uh-huh.

3

DASH CLIMBED TO THE second floor of the old brownstone, then looked at his watch. It was four-fifty. He wondered how far along Tess was in getting ready. Experience had shown him that women were genetically predisposed to lateness connected in any way with makeup or hair products. So, he’d wait. He just hoped the limo would be safe downstairs. The neighborhood left something to be desired.

He walked up two more flights of stairs trying to ignore a scent he didn’t want to think about, then down a murky hallway. Three lights had burned out. Tess should ask the landlord to fix them. It wasn’t safe. Anyone could hide in one of the shadowy doorways.

Then he found apartment 42. He knocked, straightened his bow tie, pulled his tux jacket down in back, and with some effort, relaxed. He’d mention the light situation casually, while she was puttering around with her last-minute touches. He wouldn’t say a word about the smell.

When the door swung open, his hello caught as a strange woman smiled at him.

“I’m looking for Tess?”

The woman, thin, attractive with her large eyes and button nose, stepped back to let him in. “Tess is almost ready,” she said. “I’m Mary, her neighbor.”

“Nice to meet you, Mary.” He took her hand in his and kissed the back. Women liked that. Mary’s grin confirmed a direct hit. “I’m Dash Black.”

“Yeah. I kinda figured.”

He smiled, hiding his surprise at her interesting wardrobe choices. A Scooby-Doo T-shirt over a pair of jeans so large she could fit in them twice, held up by red suspenders. Her hair was seminormal, if you considered a streak of purple normal.

“You want something to drink?” Mary shut the door. “There’s some Merlot that’s pretty decent.”

“No, thank you. There’s going to be enough of that at the party.”

Mary led him into a small living room. Really small. Dash hadn’t been in an apartment like this in years. He’d forgotten people actually lived like this. Typical in Manhattan, it would be considered a shoe closet in most other cities. There was room for a love seat, a chair, a lamp and a coffee table of sorts. When he looked closer, he saw it was a tree stump with a glass top.

“Have a seat.” Mary plopped down on the chair, so Dash took the love seat. He sank into it until his knees were above his waist. Getting up wasn’t going to be easy. He prayed Tess was almost ready.

“So, what’s it like being you?”

He looked sharply at the Scooby-Doo woman. “I don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought.”

“Are you happy?”

Who was this strange girl? She looked to be in her mid-twenties, and from what he could see she didn’t have a speck of makeup on her squeaky clean face. “For the most part.”

“Hmm,” she said, sounding too much like a therapist for his taste.

“What?”

“I’ve only seen you smiling. In magazines, and stuff. So I guess I’ve just thought of you as happy all the time.”

“No one’s happy all the time.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Mary, stop bugging the nice man.”

Tess’s voice came from the doorway behind him, and using his hand on the frame for leverage, Dash stood, relieved as hell. He wanted out of here, to be on his own turf. He turned, then stopped dead still. Tess was a vision of luscious womanhood in a red dress that made his throat dry. Her hair looked wild, like she’d just gotten well and lustily laid, and her eyes were luminous with mischief and something else he couldn’t peg. But where he got stuck was her lips.

Red, like the dress, full, like her breasts. He wanted to pull her to him, feel that body from shoulder to knee, and kiss her senseless.

“Please excuse my friend,” Tess said, walking toward him with a sinful sway of hips. “We normally don’t let her speak to strangers unless she’s taken her Prozac.”

He smiled as he caught Mary’s surreptitious one-finger salute. But his attention was on Tess. Only Tess. “You look stunning.”

She lowered her lashes as her cheeks pinked. “Thank you.” Shyly, she looked at him again, her gaze moving down his tuxedo, then back up. “So do you.”

He laughed. “Stunning? I don’t think so.”

Her head tilted to the side. “You are.”

He waved away the compliment, and took hold of her hand. This time, when he kissed the delicate skin on the back, he lingered, inhaling deeply her sweet honey scent. “The coach awaits,” he said, reluctant to let go of her.

“I just need my bag.”

Her hand was lost to him, but in recompense, he got to watch as she walked to the tiny kitchen to collect her purse. The curves were just as impressive from this side.

He tried to remember why he’d decided to keep his hands off Tess. Patrick’s face came to mind. For about two seconds. He took one more look at Tess’s backside and banished his brother for the night.

“Okay, I’m all set,” she said.

He crossed the room in three strides and captured her hand once more. “It’s going to be a great party,” he said as he led her toward the front door. “And I’m going to be the luckiest man there.”

Tess faced him with a frown. “Maybe you should take Mary. You two have a lot in common.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’d understand if you knew her.”

He nodded at the woman still curled up in the chair. “While I’d be delighted to get to know you better, tonight is for Tess.”

“Be good,” Mary said. “And if you can’t be good, be safe. Remember, no glove, no love.”

“Mary?” Tess said sweetly.

“Yes?”

“Remind me to kill you when I get home, okay?”

“I’ll leave you a note.” She waved all five fingers this time. “Have fun, kids.”

Dash got the door, and once he and Tess were in the hallway, his gaze went right to a burned-out bulb. “This isn’t safe,” he said. “You need those lights fixed. You don’t even have a doorman.”

“I know,” she said. “But I’ve come to the conclusion that the super here is a hologram.”

“Then you should contact the landlord.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Promise?”

She nodded. “It’s okay. Honest. Thanks for your concern.”

“Well, it’s dangerous.”

“So is walking in these heels.”

He got the hint and led her down all the stairs to the street. Some kid had his boom box on painful-death-bass, and some other kid was screaming up to his mother on the fifth floor, but the limo was still intact, the engine purring, waiting for them.

Moe, Dash’s driver for over five years, smiled as he opened the back door. Moe was forty-seven, with a shocking thatch of thick black hair and a mustache to match. He didn’t look it, but he was also a bodyguard. His CIA training had been supplemented by years mastering karate.

“Good evening, ma’am. Let me help you into that seat. The step is a little tricky.”

Tess thanked him while Dash went to the other door. A moment later, they were happily settled in the quiet of the car. “Get comfortable,” he said. “It’s three hours.”

“I could run up and get my bunny slippers.”

“Or I could pour you a cocktail.”

“Bunny slippers are highly overrated.”

The limo was well stocked, and after a moment of concentration, Tess decided on an apple martini. Dash got the shaker, the ice and the vodka, but he almost dumped the whole thing in his lap. Inattention. She’d leaned back, taken a deep breath, and he was all thumbs. It wasn’t like him. He disconcerted women, not the other way around. Pulling himself together, he poured her drink, fixed himself a scotch and water, then leaned back next to her. Not close enough.

She sipped, moaned with pleasure, then sighed. He felt inordinately pleased.

“I can see why Mary asked you those questions,” she said softly.

It took him a moment to remember. “About being happy?”

Tess nodded. “It’s tricky when you only see a public image. I don’t know you at all.”

“Why don’t we fix that.”

“Right. Three hours.”

“Ask ’em if you’ve got ’em. If, that is, I get to ask you questions in return.”

“My life’s an open book. I wish I had skeletons in the closet, but so far, it’s only dust bunnies.”

“I see a motif shaping up here. Did you have bunnies as a child? Did you have an issue with a bunny?”

She laughed, throaty, rich. “Nary a bunny crossed my path. It’s Mary’s influence, I’m convinced. Being around her too long would make anyone a little nuts, and she’s my best friend.”

“I’ll wager you have lots of friends.”

She sipped her drink, then put the glass down between them on the leather seat. “I have enough. I grew up in a very small town, and so I had a gang there. Mostly out of self-defense. The boredom factor was daunting. One movie theater. No mall. It wasn’t pretty.”

“And now?”

“New York isn’t exactly the easiest place to make friends, but I have a few. Mary. The woman who brought me into the plant business. My online girlfriends, of course. And Tate.” At the name, her face softened.

“And who would Tate be?”

“He’s a wonderful man who takes me to the theater.”

“Oh?”

“No, it’s not like that. He’d old enough to be my father. He’s someone special, though. I’m glad I know him.”

“What makes him special?”

She shrugged her shoulders, reminding him again of her proximity and his hormones. “He’s incredibly passionate about what he loves, and he shares that with me. There are no compromises in Tate.”

“It’s a lucky man who doesn’t have to compromise.”

“I’m not sure it’s about luck. I think, in his case, he simply was prepared to pay the price.”

Dash brought his glass up to his lips and savored the aged scotch as it heated a trail down his throat. Some compromises were harder than others, that’s all. She didn’t know that yet. She was so young.

Tess felt the change in him, although she had no idea what had caused it. One moment she was dizzy in the focus of Dash’s scrutiny, and then she’d lost him. She’d only been talking about Tate…

Oh, God. Maybe that was it. He’d assumed she’d told him about Tate so he would know the coast was clear. But this wasn’t a real date, and he wasn’t really interested, just polite.

Maybe, if she could pretend to be as smooth and confident as she sounded, she wouldn’t feel like throwing up. She’d had the gift always. No one ever saw her sweat or shake or fumble for words. Which didn’t mean she wasn’t quaking inside.

The black stretch limo, complete with uniformed chauffer, the red dress, Dash…who wouldn’t be a complete wreck? God, but he was gorgeous. The tuxedo was something out of a James Bond movie, and Dash was made to wear it. He was the ultimate playboy, the elegant scoundrel who broke hearts as easily as she broke her nails.

At the thought, she looked down at her hands. The press-on nails were still attached, shiny with red polish to match her dress. No one would guess she really had gardener’s fingernails, so short they didn’t even reach the tip of her fingers.

Her gaze went back to Dash, to his expression. The frown line between his brows had gone, and he looked back at her with real interest. “What?”

“I was just thinking,” he said.

“About?”

“Your business proposal.”

Her stomach clenched and she almost dropped her drink. “Thanks a lot. I’d managed to put that terror on hold for a while.”

“Sorry, although I don’t see what you have to be afraid of. Cullen is going to love you.”

“From your lips…”

He grinned, and she felt it down to her toes. Perfect teeth, that bottom lip. Oh, my.

“Don’t sweat it. I mean it. What had me puzzled was why you didn’t approach me.”

“For what?”

“For the funding.”

“Why would I do that?”

“For the same reason every other entrepreneur in the city does. Because I could help.”

“I work for you. This is separate.”

“It never occurred to you?”

“No. Don’t look at me that way. I’m serious.”