A Dash of Temptation. Jo LeighЧитать онлайн книгу.
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