Silk, Lace & Videotape

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 after her horrid day.

He scrubbed a hand along his square jaw and frowned. “Actually, would you mind stopping by the precinct tomorrow to answer a few more questions? Say around eleven?”

“More questions?” Not that she was in a position to argue, but what more could she tell him about Victor? Apparently she hadn’t known him at all.

Besides, she’d have to face the allure of that chiseled jaw and sinful smile all over again.

“I always think of a few more things after the case settles in my mind for a day.” He shrugged as if in apology. “I could send a car over to your father’s studio if it would help.”

“That’s not necessary.” Now there was an image—New York’s Finest descending on Clyde Matthews’s showroom. What if some bigwig crime boss had scheduled a fitting with her father or something? Social awkwardness at its height. Besides, Amanda wasn’t sure how she would explain her run-in with the police to her father in the first place. “I’ll drop by at eleven.”

Once she put some clothes on, conversing with Duke wouldn’t be nearly as…provocative.

She hoped.

“Great.” He strode toward the door and opened it for her. “I’ll see you then.”

Freedom beckoned. Escape loomed so near.

Yet Duke halted her before she could take step into the hallway. “You’ll twist an ankle in that shoe unless you tie it.” He allowed the door to swing closed as his gaze lingered on her foot.

The pink ribbons meant to tie her foot into the shoe had completely unraveled. As with her merry widow, Amanda hadn’t double knotted any portion of her outfit. Now if she bent over to adjust her shoe, her merry widow was history.

If she left her pink high heel untied, she’d hobble right out of it before she reached the elevator.

An untied shoe seemed like a little thing in comparison to finding out her boyfriend had been cheating on her, that her judgment in men led her into a relationship with a criminal.

But it threatened to be more than she could bear in light of everything else. She bit one “Passion Flower Pink” nail and tried to decide what to do next.

She suspected the moment had turned awkward when Duke’s brows lifted in unison.

He jabbed a thumb in the general direction of her foot. “Want me to tie it for you?”

A flood of gratitude had her head bobbing agreement and her mind making mental notes to buy a whole table full of tickets for the Policemen’s Ball this year. “Would you mind?”

He didn’t move for a long moment. Perhaps he was surprised she’d taken him up on his offer.

She wanted to offer an excuse for her odd behavior—perhaps that she’d been afflicted with a debilitating spine condition that inhibited her mobility. Or that she’d sprained her index finger last week and she found it difficult to manage the ties.

But she’d never been any good at lying.

Finally, he reached for her arms. Amanda might have stepped back, but she would have stepped out of her shoe. Or out of her merry widow.

“Why don’t you have a seat for just a minute?” he prompted, guiding her to the arm of the wingback.

She nodded like a complacent five-year-old, having her shoe tied before running out to the bus. Only Duke’s touch didn’t make her feel a bit like a five-year-old.

He kneeled at her feet, anchoring her shoe with his thigh and gently steering her foot into position on the sole. For a moment, his thumb and forefinger ringed her ankle, imprisoning her leg and putting her senses on alert. Then his broad hands glided over the silky finish of her stockings, the rough pads of his thumbs catching the material ever so slightly to send shocks of pleasure up her calf, to her thigh, and beyond….

Her eyes fluttered closed at the unaccustomed sensation. What a shock he would get if he followed that trail with his hands.

In an instant, his hands turned brusque and professional again, tying her shoe with a firm tug on both ends of the knot.

She opened her eyes to find him staring up at her, his gaze broadcasting even more heat than his hands. She made a small sound—a little hiss of breath like a kettle releasing excess steam.

He practically jumped up from the floor. “Are you going to be okay?” His voice scratched along her nerves, low and gruff.

She nodded, remembering her haste to make an exit. “Yes. I am…um…sorry.”

“You’ve had a hell of a day.” He extended his hand as if to shake hers.

Amanda accepted it, regretting those few seconds where she would only have one hand to secure the trench coat. “Thank you, Duke.”

Their palms clasped briefly, though Duke snatched his hand back almost as quickly as she did. With her father’s reputation as a friend of the mob, she’d grown used to men running from her. Still, she couldn’t help but think Duke’s retreat didn’t have anything to do with fear of being a mob target.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he reminded her.

If Amanda hadn’t just been unceremoniously dumped by her boyfriend today, she might have actually looked forward to seeing Duke again. God knew she was attracted. Too attracted. Maybe that was part of the problem.

Her judgment in men was more faulty than San Andreas if today’s fiasco was any indication. She wasn’t about to get burned by a flashy police detective who seemed to know where her on switch was located.

“Bye.” Amanda tossed the word over her shoulder as she left the apartment. She trotted to the elevator as fast as her pink heels would allow her. In less than sixty seconds, she was out the door and in a cab headed back uptown, safe from Duke’s knowing eyes and tempting grin.

Only then did Amanda allow herself to relax. The cabdriver was too busy swearing at traffic and the participants on his talk radio program to notice her furtive attempts to retie her merry widow, shielding her chest with her lapels.

She could hardly believe she’d escaped Victor’s apartment without anyone noticing she wore next to nothing beneath her coat. Relief slowly drifted over her, easing the aching muscles in a body that had been rigid for too many hours.

She’d made it out with her dignity and her secret weapon in tact. Amanda patted her coat pocket to reassure herself it still rested there.

She found nothing.

Ohmigod. Horrified, she patted her other pocket.