The Throwbacks (33 page)

“That’s a possibility,” David said, but not because he agreed. He knew Rick was going somewhere with this—somewhere he and Dan were not going to like.

“Good. Because I’m under some pressure to wrap this up. More importantly, I have to be at Boston City Hall Plaza tomorrow to make a speech in the governor’s absence. No choice, and it’s not something Nick can stand in for me on,” he said.

“We don’t have enough on the soccer player to charge him with Lester’s murder or the attempt on Nick,” Dan said. “Without more information, all we have him on for sure is attempted burglary—although I’m anticipating that I.C.E. might have enough to charge him with smuggling,”

“There is a distinct possibility,” David said, “that ICE will want him to go free so they can get his ‘cohorts,’ as you term it, for the whole enchilada, especially since they know there’ve been numerous murders involved in the operation. So you should consider this all carefully before you decide to stand up on a platform at City Hall Plaza.”

“They want the trinkets—not me,” Rick said.

“We’ll make sure the loft is watched closely while you’re out,” Dan said.

“This could be another opportunity for a sting,” David suggested. “Where’s your fiancée going to be?”

“With me at City Hall Plaza with you guarding both of us,” Rick said.

“Okay, then it’ll be the same drill as tonight. Hopefully not another exercise in futility,” David said. “We cover you and make sure the loft doesn’t look covered.” He’d have to take Grace with him too, he realized, and since he didn’t have three arms, he’d have to do something.

“Nick, what are you doing tomorrow morning?” he asked without looking at the man.

“I’m with you on an undercover assignment.” He turned to them with a smile and a gesture as if he were actually waiting on them. “I was just thinking how much I enjoyed dressing up. What disguise should I wear tomorrow?”

“Let’s keep it simple. Why don’t you wear dark glasses, a fake bald head and dark suit and stuff your shirt to show a paunch. Throw in an earpiece and everyone will assume you’re FBI,” David said with a straight face. Nick stifled a laugh and gave him a nod.

Grace walked over to them and David turned to her.

“I don’t suppose you could possibly look inconspicuous?”

“You are so sweet!” she said and she stepped closer to him. He held his ground but raised one brow, and it magically stopped her. He gave an inward sigh and regretted what his world was coming to when he was driven to stop a gorgeous woman from showing her appreciation.

But a short time later as they all left the restaurant, he knew he had the night alone with her in their suite to look forward to. He struggled in silence while she drove them with amazing concentration and speed back to the Parker House Hotel. He had no idea if he would allow her to fall into his arms tonight for one night of bliss, or if he’d hold her at bay so that he could look at himself in the mirror in the morning.

Grace had the worst case of butterflies she’d ever had in her life. Her gut was all over the place, but mostly in her throat. Every nerve ending was piano-wire taut and playing a bad tune. She could see nothing in front of her except a picture of her and David in each other’s arms as she drove through the streets of Boston as fast as she possibly could and still preserve their lives. She couldn’t possibly talk, and luckily David wasn’t inclined to shoot the breeze either. But then, he had the case on his mind, and all she could think about was how to seduce him and not regret it. She tried not to let the unthinkable creep into her head—what if he were to turn her away in a typically noble gesture?

He’d been holding himself back for sure, but his reasons for doing so caused her pain to contemplate. He didn’t want to have a meaningful relationship with her. He thought he was too old or she was too young. What she really didn’t want to contemplate was the possibility that there was something more substantial getting in his way—like his late wife.

She needed to concentrate on what she could do something about. Though she couldn’t make him younger, she could behave older. That, and seduce him into bed and drive him wild—and herself too. She couldn’t stand to pass up the chance to show him how she felt—even if it was the only chance she’d ever have. Or maybe
because
it might be the only chance she’d ever have. But what if seducing him to win him over wasn’t the right thing to do?

She turned the corner onto School Street and pulled up next to the entrance, where the valet took the car. They walked into the lobby while the doorman held open the door, and she could think of nothing but David’s possessive touch on the small of her back as he escorted her through to the elevators. He pressed the up button, and they stood and looked at each other.

“David…” was all she could manage to say. It came out almost in a squeak. Raw nerves had her voice pitched like a sick cat.

“Don’t worry about a thing,” he said, as if he knew everything that was on her mind. And his voice sounded perfectly calm, even serene. She couldn’t help her sigh, and as they stepped onto the elevator, some of her tension left her. She stood close to him in the space they had, and he smiled at her and pressed his arm around her. She had no idea what he was thinking and it was killing her.

They got to their room and went in. She felt every step as if she were walking the plank and she had no idea what was at the end of it.

They reached the middle of the room with the couch in front of them and their respective bedroom doors on either side of the space. He stood close, touching her in his spot. She smelled his cologne—it was like a smoother, more powerful version of Old Spice, but she had no idea what it was. She felt like the air vibrated around them, emanating from their taut cores. Or maybe it was her imagination.

She dared to look up into his eyes, and the air was shocked out of her lungs as if she were squeezed. His look blazed with powerful, yet controlled wanting. She looked back with the same wanting, and he got her message.

He covered her lips with his, and she felt his powerful passion build as his cool lips turned hot. She gave into him and followed with a mindless response to the place where the universe had shrunk to only their kiss. That was all she felt, all she heard, all she smelled and tasted: him. He smelled and tasted like a velvety dark night, and he kissed her with a force that commanded all she had. The feeling of being part of him was so strong and heady that if he hadn’t been holding her, she might have melted to the floor. She leaned against the solidness of him and breathed in that reassuring scent.

“Is this what you want?” he asked.

His raspy words caused her to stumble upright, and she blinked up at him. She felt like he’d turned into a mirage and reminded herself that her image of him probably
was
a mirage—he wasn’t really Batman after all, was he? He was flesh and bones and not a brick wall to lean against. She pressed her hands against him, with a shakiness inside. Her excitement from the kiss confused her, but not as much as trying to understand this man.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘this’?”

He chuckled softly in response and said, “If it’s complicated enough to require explanation, then I have my answer.”

“It is a complicated question. I have all kinds of feelings and I don’t know if yours are the same.”

“Neither do I.” He stepped back, but he kept the same indulgent smile on his face, the one that was warm and blank at the same time so she couldn’t possibly know what he felt.

She shivered and rubbed her arms. He gave her a knowing nod. That was enough for her.

“Doesn’t Batman ever get into romantic entanglements? Or is it against the rules?”

“Strictly against the crime-fighting code of behavior. I concede that it’s a different code than the one for decorators.”

“Is that a diss on decorators?”

“A diss?”

“Yeah, you know—a knock. I forgot you were old-fashioned.” She couldn’t help giving him an arched-brow smile with her comment.

“Is that a diss on middle-aged men?” His grin was back to wide and confident with no need to hide a thing. At least she knew his cool sureness was genuine. And she knew she wanted it, wanted to be part of his secure circle and share in his world. She wondered if he’d ever let her in—it was not because they wouldn’t be perfect together. She knew he wasn’t letting her in because he believed he knew what was best for her—that crime-fighting code.

“You think I’m a fluff ball, don’t you?”

“What? Where did you…?”

“I’ll admit, decorating isn’t the heavyweight business of crime-fighting, but I’ve handled my share of problems in this world.”

“I know you have.” His voice was unbearably gentle. He stepped back. “More than you ever should have.”

She could see that her words backfired and threw up her hands. She’d have to prove it. She turned on her spike heel and stomped to her room. Too bad the sound of her heels was muffled by the plush carpeting. She slammed the door extra hard to let him know she wasn’t that fluffy.

He called out his goodnight, but she didn’t want to acknowledge the stifled laugh that she heard on the other side of that door. Then she’d have to go back out there and do something. She had no idea what she could do right now and plopped down onto the plush bed, alone, in her posh hotel room feeling a bit like Scarlett O’Hara.

Somehow tomorrow would be better.

The morning sunshine streamed in as she stepped into the suite’s living room, dressed and ready for the day. When she pulled her bedroom door closed behind her, she looked up and saw him. He’d emerged from his room at the same moment she did—as if he’d planned it. Her mind went blank as she watched him fasten his cuff links and stride into the room with his usual gallant smile and conqueror-of-the-world air.

She smiled back and squared her shoulders, wondering if she was maybe too easy to conquer. Today would be different after all—she would put up a fight. Before either of them had a chance to murmur more than a polite greeting, room service arrived with coffee and breakfast service and set them up at their small dining table.

After the waiter left, they both stood rooted nowhere near the table. She thought he should make the first move, although he was suddenly not moving anywhere, most likely measuring his words. She gave him back a cool, appraising look and was pleased that she chose this outfit because no matter how cool he appeared on the outside, he had to be at least a little heated up on the inside. The bright blue wool cable knit dress was classy and elegant and showed off her curves with a bright paisley matching scarf cinching her waist. The hemline hit at her knees, and along with the matching electric-blue high-heeled pumps, showed off her legs. She was a designer after all, and she approached her own adornment with the same skill and eye for fashion as she would someone’s home—maximizing the assets and showing off the personality without being overstated or garish, even while being bold. That was the goal, anyway.

Then he spoke. “Before we eat—or before I try to eat and end up with what Oscar would call ‘agita’—I have to apologize for last night. I was an unqualified cad, playing games and allowing myself liberties, running hot and cold like a confused teenager. No excuse. I’m hoping you’ll forgive me. I’m clear-headed about it all now. It would mean a lot to me if you could put aside my behavior and resume our friendship as professional partners—in crime solving and decorating both.” He stood where he was and waited with his hands at his sides. Not an awkward movement or insecure breath came from him.