Текст книги "Heated"

Автор книги: J. Kenner

Соавторы: J. Kenner
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

“I’d appreciate it,” I said as he adjusted his slacks, then stood and fastened his belt.

As he walked to the filing cabinet, I retrieved my panties and put them on, then followed him. He opened the D-F cabinet, which made me smile, then pulled out a file on Amy Dawson.

He flipped it open, scanned it, then handed it to me.

There wasn’t much. In addition to the usual things like phone number and social security number, the employee form listed Candy’s address in Indiana as her permanent address and a local address that had been crossed out with red pen. In the margin, someone had written, “Vegas” along with a date two weeks prior.

I looked at Tyler. “Guess you were right.”

“But you’re still not satisfied.”

“She’s not here. All that means is I need to keep looking. I need an address,” I continued. “I’ll do an Internet search on Amy Dawsons in the Vegas area and start looking there, but those are going to primarily be Amy Dawsons with traditional phone service, and my Amy wouldn’t bother with anything but her cell phone.”

“Which she isn’t answering.”

“Thus the worry,” I agreed. “She could have lost it. Run out of money to pay for it. Have run off to Mexico with a hot guy and is ignoring it. But …” I trailed off with a shrug.

“Have you talked to her old landlord?”

“No,” I admitted. “Amy is a text and email kind of girl. She never got around to sending her friends an actual mailing address.” I sighed. “And tracking her isn’t easy. She didn’t subscribe to magazines, doesn’t have health insurance. She doesn’t own a car.”

“Easy for a girl like that to fall off the grid.”

“Very,” I said. I started to once again ask for a job at Destiny—I wanted to get to know the girls who had been Amy’s friends—but Tyler spoke first.

“Well, come on, then,” he said. “Let’s go take a look at her old apartment.”

Chapter Seven

Her apartment was just a few blocks away, and Red—who must have picked Tyler up three seconds after he dropped me off—drove us there.

It was just past eleven at night now, but that didn’t give Tyler pause. The apartment was a crappy converted house, in which the original foyer had been converted to a lobby of sorts. At the end of the foyer, a new wall had been installed, and beside the single door was a small, yellow buzzer beside a speaker.

Tyler push the button. Waited. Pushed it again.

“What the fucking hell,” crackled a voice. “It’s the fucking middle of the fucking night.”

“Has Amy Dawson’s room been rented?”

“You interested?” The voice was now much more conciliatory.

“Possibly.”

The speaker went from static to dead. A moment later, the door opened and an old man with eyebrows that resembled caterpillars opened the door. He wore a ratty flannel bathrobe and gestured us inside.

“First floor. Back here.” He led us back, opened the door.

The room was about as depressing as I’d ever seen. Not much more than a converted closet with no windows. “Cheapest unit we got,” the old man said.

“Did she tell you she was moving?” I asked. “Leave a forwarding?”

“No forwarding. Just said she’d got a job in Vegas.”

I looked around. There was nothing in the place, not even debris. “You clean?”

“Nah, she did. Wanted her deposit back. Gave it to her, too, so don’t start giving me shit.”

I stared him down. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” I met Tyler’s eyes. “So she packed up, cleaned up, and hit the road. But she didn’t tell you where?” I asked the old man. “Did she take a taxi to the bus station? Rent a car?”

“No idea. ’Cept someone was driving her. Saw that much at least.”

“Who?”

“Saw the car, not the driver.” He glanced into the room. “You’re not really interested, are you?”

“Sorry,” Tyler said, then handed him a twenty. “Sorry for waking you.”

“Someone went to Vegas with her,” I said. “Or at least drove her to the bus stop. The girls at Destiny might know who.”

“They might,” he said as we walked back to where Red stood holding the door open. “But we’ll talk about it later. That’s enough for one night.”

He was right, I thought, as I slid into the back seat beside him. My worry for Amy was fast fading, but as I shifted in my seat to look at Tyler, I couldn’t help but think of Kevin’s allegations—that these guys were into all sorts of shit. And, for better or for worse, I wanted to know if it was true.

We drove in silence for a while—Tyler received some texts that he needed to answer, and I took the opportunity to email Candy and tell her that it was looking more and more like Amy was alive and well and kicking up her heels in Vegas. Then I used the browser on my phone to start searching for Amy Dawsons in the Vegas area. There weren’t many, and I’d start making calls in the morning.

When we finally reached the part of Chicago I recognized—down by the Magnificent Mile—I tucked my phone away and frowned at the scenery. “We’re going the wrong direction,” I said.

Tyler put his phone down and followed my gaze. “No,” he said. “We’re not.”

“This is the way to Pilson?” I asked, mentioning my neighborhood.

“It’s one way,” he said. “But we’re not going to your apartment.”

I raised a brow. “No? What happened to telling Red my address. Me being ready tomorrow. All that big production about putting me in the back of this car?”

“One, it’s now past midnight so it is tomorrow. And two, things have changed,” he said, glancing meaningfully at me. “And I’ve changed my mind.”

Amused, I leaned back. “So where are we going?” I asked, but I didn’t really need to. Red was already maneuvering the Lexus in front of The Drake.

“What if I just want to go home,” I asked, as he opened the door for me.

“I’d say no.”

“Oh.” I considered that. Considered my very visceral reaction to his words. We’d thrown each other off-kilter at Destiny. But now … now Tyler was most definitely the one in control.

He held out his hand for me. I hesitated only the slightest of instants, then took it and allowed him to lead me inside the hotel and up the stairs toward the lobby.

“I hope your room’s close,” I said lightly, determined to steady myself. “It’ll be nice to kick off these heels.”

He glanced down toward the foot I had helpfully extended to show off the seriously uncomfortable strappy sandals and shiny new pedicure. “Lovely. But I might prefer you keep them on,” he added, and there was no mistaking the heat in his voice. “Everything else can go.”

Oh, my. So much for getting steady. He’d very soundly knocked me off balance again. I licked my lips. “Is that a particular fetish, Mr. Sharp?”

“A rather common one, I believe.” We were near the lobby’s plush couches, and he gestured for me to sit. When I did, he took a seat next to me, then lifted one of my legs and rested my ankle on his thigh. My hem hit just above my knee, and I wore no stockings. Fingers of cool air crept under the folds of my dress, soothing my already overheated skin.

Not that Tyler was helping to cool me down. Just the opposite. Slowly, he traced a path along my hemline, his fingertip burning a trail along my bare thigh. “It’s not, however, one of mine.”

“Tyler.” I couldn’t manage any more. I was surprised I’d managed that much.

“Hmm?”

“You really should stop.”

“Perhaps. But I don’t want to.” His attention turned to the back of my knee, his clever fingers stroking a spot so delicious the sensation pooled between my thighs and I actually moaned. “I’ve had you,” he said. “But I haven’t yet savored you.” I looked at his face, and the pure, open desire I saw there was as deep and vivid as my own.

“Please,” I whispered. I meant to say please stop. At least I think I did. But it didn’t come out that way.

His hand cupped the back of my leg and stroked down my calf slowly, slowly, so painfully slowly.

“Please,” I said, trying again. “People will stare.”

“People might. I don’t believe you care much. I know I don’t.”

I closed my eyes. He was right.

Finally, his fingertip brushed lightly over my ankle, then skipped over the leather of my sandal before finding the arch of my foot and gently tracing the edge. On any other day, I might have cringed from being tickled. But right then I wasn’t remotely ticklish. I was too damn turned on.

“No,” he murmured, as he carefully returned my foot to the floor. “I don’t have a foot fetish. But if I was going to develop one, I would surely start with yours.”

“So you have no interesting proclivities?” I teased, trying to sound bold so that he wouldn’t see how well he’d twisted me up. And, yes, trying to get a sense of what he intended for me once we reached his room. “No fetishes of your own?”

“I didn’t say that.” He stood, then held out a hand to help me up.

“If not feet, then what?” I asked, appreciating the firm way his fingers closed around mine.

His gaze skimmed slowly over me, the inspection both unnerving and very, very erotic. “You’ll know soon enough.”

My stomach fluttered as he led me toward the elevator.

The doors snicked open, and Tyler released my hand, only to replace it at the small of my back as he directed me into the well-appointed car. More like a little room, actually. A floor to ceiling mirror dominated the back wall, flanked on either side by wall-mounted light fixtures. At the base of the mirror, and directly in front of us, was a charming little couch.

“A fainting couch,” Tyler said as I met his eyes in the mirror, my own brows raised. “A throwback from the days of corsets and minimal air-conditioning, I assume. But it certainly raises some interesting possibilities in our modern world.”

“There aren’t that many floors in this hotel,” I countered, looking over my shoulder at the man rather than his image. “We don’t have time for that many possibilities.”

“A valid point.” He stepped around me and moved to sit. “But it’s a sad fact of our society that we don’t ever seem to enjoy the time that we do have.” He held out his hand, palm up. “As I mentioned, I believe in never squandering time.”

I looked at his outstretched hand, and my mouth went dry, my knees suddenly weak. His lips curved up in the kind of smile that promised long kisses and slow hands, and I think I melted just a little bit right then. My only saving grace was my reflection in the mirror. At least I didn’t look as unbalanced as I felt.

Why was I so twisted up? He’d already touched me intimately—already made me come. I’d already fucked him, taking charge of the moment. Riding him, watching pure passion on his face.

So what about now was keeping me so unbalanced?

But it was a foolish question, because I knew the answer. I’d surrendered to this man despite having no idea what was coming, what he wanted. How far he would go.

This was no longer about Amy. No longer about getting inside Destiny or about Kevin’s accusations.

Right now, this was about nothing but me.

And that simple fact excited me as much as it scared me.

I still hadn’t taken his hand, and now he crooked a finger. “Come here, Sloane,” he said, and there was nothing left of the light banter or even the sharp tones of the man who refused to be played. This voice was sensual, commanding. It was a voice designed to make a woman wet, and to ensure that she obeyed.

I did.

One step, then another until I was standing in front of him. I looked down at him, not wanting to catch my own eyes in the mirror. Not wanting to see the anticipation and desire that I knew colored my face.

I felt like a rookie, unsure of what would happen next. And I was acting like a teenager, craving that first brush of his lips over mine.

Slowly—achingly slowly—his eyes roamed over me. He said nothing, but I could almost hear the low thrum of his approval vibrating in the air. He stood, the motion filled with both grace and power. And then, with unfailing gentleness, he reached out and brushed the edge of his thumb over my cheek. “I wonder,” he murmured, then trailed off into silence.

“What?” I asked, when I couldn’t bear the quiet any longer.

“I still haven’t kissed you,” he said. “I wonder what you’d do if I didn’t try to kiss you at all.”

My breath hitched in my throat, and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out in protest. Instead, I managed to collect my thoughts, then tilt my head as I openly studied him. “So is this your fetish? Tormenting innocent women?”

“No,” he said simply. “And you’re not innocent.”

“No, I’m not.” I pressed my palm to his chest, then reveled in the way he drew in air, as if he needed to gather strength. “And I don’t want to be teased.”

“In that case, we have a problem.” He placed his own hand over mine, capturing me against him so that I couldn’t have pulled away if I wanted to. “Because I have every intention of teasing you. Fully. Mercilessly. I’m going to make you beg, Sloane. And only when I’ve taken you far enough will I make you come.”

My mouth went dry and my skin tingled. Beneath my dress, my nipples were as hard as pebbles. I wanted more, so help me I did, and I think the only reason I didn’t press myself shamelessly against him was that the doors behind us hissed open, and the gentle wash of cool air was as potent as a bucket of ice water. Especially when I saw the elegantly dressed couple waiting to enter.

I cleared my throat and, with my head high, stepped around them and off the elevator. Beside me, Tyler chuckled. “Shocking to think that they must know where we’re going and what we’re planning to do.”

I shot him a sideways glance. “They couldn’t possibly,” I said. “I don’t even know what we’re planning to do.”

He laughed. “You make a good point. But isn’t the anticipation delicious?”

I kept my mouth shut, deciding that silence was the wiser course, and followed him down the narrow ninth floor hallway. I’d never been on the guest level of such a fancy hotel, and I was just as impressed by this simple space as I had been by the Palm Court downstairs.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, letting my fingers stroke the molding and cream-colored wallpaper as we walked past door after door.

“It was built in 1920, and no dollar was spared. Did you know that Peter Ustinov once said that walking in The Drake was like walking on diamonds?”

“The actor?”

“Mmm. The list of people who have stayed here would make a gossip rag drool. Actors, royalty, even criminals.”

“Oh, really?” I said, working hard not to sound too amused. “Like who?”

“You ever heard of Francesco Nitto?”

“The Enforcer?”

He lifted his brows, then nodded with approval. “You know Chicago history.”

“I know about the Outfit,” I said, referring to Chicago’s infamous organized crime ring, the most famous leader of which was probably Al Capone. “Nitto stayed here?”

“Lived here,” Tyler said. “Kept his office and a suite of rooms. That was in the ’30s and ’40s. Later—” He cut himself off with a laugh. “Sorry. The Outfit is one of my obsessions.”

“It’s interesting stuff,” I said, filing that tidbit away for future reference. Not that it was very telling. All you had to do was look at Hollywood to know that most of the population was fascinated with organized crime.

“Architecture and real estate are my other obsessions,” he continued. “Put them together and I’m known to get carried away. The Drake is like a perfect storm. But that’s also one of the reasons I decided to stay here. This way,” he added, pushing open a door and revealing a hidden set of stairs. I eyed him curiously, but didn’t ask. And when he headed up the stairs, I obediently followed.

We emerged onto a landing for the next floor. As I followed him down the hall, I was going to ask why the elevator didn’t go this far, but he’d already unlocked the door to our destination and pushed it open. The moment I got a look inside that room—although the word “room” didn’t do it justice—all other thoughts left my head.

“Good god,” I said.

“Spectacular, isn’t it,” Tyler said, the appreciation clear in his voice.

“That pretty much sums it up.” The suite was decorated in shades of white and cream. The furniture looked old, and I assumed it had been selected to complement the hotel’s heritage. Or, for all I knew, maybe it was original. If so, it had been incredibly well-maintained.

Fresh flowers dotted all the surfaces. Artwork—mostly portraits and landscapes—hung in decorative groupings on the walls. Everything seemed rich and opulent, yet nothing seemed overdone.

“Wow,” I said.

Tyler nodded. “To be honest, it’s not my style. The architecture, yes. But my taste in furniture and interior design is more contemporary. But I can’t deny this works.”

“Yeah. It really does.” I stepped farther into the living area, trying not to be overwhelmed. Growing up, my dad’s idea of a fancy hotel for vacation was the Holiday Inn. And although my stepfather had money, I felt lucky if he remembered to give my mom cash for groceries.

Now I earned my own money, but I rarely had a reason to stay in a hotel, and when I did, I usually defaulted to the Holiday Inn. I was Daddy’s little girl, after all. And considering my skimpy cop paycheck, the price was right.

That’s not to say I hadn’t been in some pretty fancy apartments and hotel rooms. I worked homicide, and murder wasn’t picky about the price tag. But this room was beyond anything I’d ever seen. As far as I was concerned, I wasn’t standing in a hotel room at all. Instead, I’d been transported to an alternate universe.

I allowed myself one long, low whistle before turning to Tyler. “Let me guess. You’re really a foreign prince traveling incognito.”

“I’m not,” he said. “Nor would I want to be. I made my own way in the world. Family had very little to do with it.”

I heard the hard edge in his voice. “I’m sorry,” I said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to push a button.” I knew better than anyone that discussions of family could spiral down into unpleasant and unwanted territory.

I saw his chest rise and fall. “No, I’m sorry. My childhood should have been idyllic. It wasn’t.”

I nodded. I knew the feeling.

“It’s taken me a long time to cut loose from all those threads. But that has nothing to do with you and nothing to do with this room.” He took an appreciative look around. “It really is over the top, isn’t it?”

“Just a bit.”

He gestured toward a pristine white sofa that I realized was upholstered in silk. “Would you believe me if I told you that a prince really did live here once?”

I let my gaze linger on the various small treasures. Vases. Paintings. Fancy bric-a-brac. “I think he left behind some of the royal treasure. Wait, you’re serious?” I added, seeing the smug expression on his face.

“Cross my heart. A prince and a princess. They had a long-term lease, but decided not to renew when it came due about a year ago. The rumor is they’re going to spend a few years in a similar property in Paris.”

“So you decided that you needed to crash here after the engagement party? Soak up a little of that regal buzz?”

“Oh, it’s much worse than that,” he said. “I live here.”

I gaped at him. “Come again?”

“I needed a place to stay. And this was available. I love the convenience of living in a hotel. I love The Drake. And you have to admit, it’s got a stunning view.”

I glanced toward the window where Michigan Avenue’s lights twinkled like Peter Ustinov’s diamonds. “Yeah. It does.”

“Besides,” he added with a boyish grin, “it was too fucking cool to pass up.”

I laughed. “Can’t argue with that. But I thought you ran more contemporary. You don’t strike me as the kind of man who compromises on what he wants.”

“No,” he said, looking at me so intently I wasn’t sure if we were still talking about the room. Then his face cleared and he smiled. “But I’m only leasing the place for another six months.”

“And then?”

“Then I’ll see where the wind blows.”

“Away from Chicago?”

“No. I love it here. I grew up here.”

“Then surely you already have a house?” From my research, I knew he owned several properties across the city, and his current residence was listed in Old Irving Park. I was curious, though, what he was going to say.

“I did,” he said. “An awesome Victorian that I refurbished.”

“Did?” I repeated. “You sold it? Like a flip?”

“I still own it. But I won’t be moving back in.”

“No?” I moved to the couch and sat down. I leaned back, feeling more comfortable and at ease than I’d anticipated, all things considered.

“Sounds like there’s a story there. Care to share?”

“Let’s just say that I’m a sucker for a woman in need.”

“I’m intrigued. Tell me the rest.”

For a moment, I thought he would. Then he slowly shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t think so. I rather enjoy being the dark and brooding man of mystery.”

“You don’t seem dark to me,” I said, and I meant it. Oh, I had no doubt he had his hands in a number of illicit pies. And he definitely had an edge. I’d seen it myself when he’d rescued me from Reggie. But Tyler Sharp was a charmer at the core. Sophisticated. Smart. A hustler, not a thug.

“Everyone has a dark side,” he said. “Some people just hide it better than others.”

“That’s a rather pessimistic view of the world,” I countered.

“You disagree?”

I thought of my own dark side and the things that I kept hidden. I thought of my stepfather, and how the world had seen a hero when I had seen a monster.

“No,” I admitted. “I don’t.”

“And that sounds like a story as well. Don’t worry,” he added. “I’m not going to ask you to reveal your secrets.” His mouth curved up in the faintest of smiles. “Not yet, anyway. But I am going to ask you to do something else for me.”

He’d taken a step toward me as he spoke, and his voice took on a low, commanding quality. “Stand up, Sloane. Stand up, and take off your clothes.”