A Dash of Temptation. Jo Leigh

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