Have Me. Jo Leigh
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happened would be fine, that if he was an ass, she’d lose nothing but a fantasy. Still, she wanted that fantasy, so she freshened her lipstick, fluffed her hair, checked her breath and let her heart pump and her hopes soar as she caught the next ride up.
It was the express to the roof, not giving her much time to think, which was good. There were only three men in business attire aboard, none of them speaking, although she had the feeling they’d been in the same meeting. They all looked as though they’d been to the battlefield and lost and that drinks at the penthouse bar would be a just reward.
Her nerves hit what she hoped was their peak as they reached the thirtieth floor. It was all she could do not to take Jake’s trading card out of her purse and hold on to it like a talisman. Not that she wouldn’t recognize him. She’d practically memorized his face. He’d look good on the roof with the blue and white fairy lights under the glass domed ceiling, with the city skyline behind him.
Frankly, he’d look good in a crumbling boiler room. But as long as she was making this into some kind of romantic one-night dream date, she might as well have the proper setting.
Another thing she liked about Upstairs at the Kimberly was that the music wasn’t deafening. They catered to a more mature crowd and had some respect for eardrums. It was a bar made for getting to know a person.
The elevator opened at one minute past seven. There were several areas where Jake could be. On the main floor, at one of the tables, at the light-bedazzled bar itself or on one of the leather couches to either side of the bar. She ran her hands down her black sheath dress as she walked into the middle of the room. She glanced to her right, and there he was. He’d scored a hell of a table, one close to the window that looked out at the Chrysler building.
It was too dark to see the color of his eyes, but she could tell he looked pretty much as advertised. Dark scruffy hair, broad shoulders with a well-fitting jacket, a light button-down shirt tucked into dark trousers. He saw her and stood, and yep, he had slim hips and long legs. Even at this distance, he was hotter than hell, and please, please, let this not crash and burn in the first five minutes.
She hoped he would be equally impressed as she crossed over to him. He took a few steps himself, careful to keep close enough to the table to prevent poaching. It wasn’t until the third step that she noticed his limp.
Katy hadn’t said anything. Meaning she didn’t deem it noteworthy. Rebecca had no problem with that. It was an interesting detail, something to discover by layers.
“Rebecca,” he said, and goodness, yes, that was a great voice. Deep and mellow and she thought about one of her recent not-so-wonderful blind dates that hadn’t been helped by Sam’s unfortunately high and sadly nasal tone.
“Jake,” she replied as she took his hand. It was warm and large, and the shake just firm enough. He also knew when to let go. Big plus. He almost touched the small of her back as he held her seat, giving her the best view.
He sat across from her. The candles on the table gave a hint of his eye color, but she’d need real lights for that. Later. Now was for talking. And drinking because her heart was pounding a bit too hard for her to ignore.
Before they had a chance to start the opening volley, a waitress came to the table. Rebecca ordered her vodka gimlet and Jake ordered a bourbon and water. Nice. Traditional. Masculine.
The second they were alone, he leaned a little toward her. “I’m never great with openings,” he said. “I’ve always thought there should be rules, a standard pattern that all blind dates have to follow. Like school uniforms or meeting the queen. It would make things so much simpler.”
She thought about her trading card, and how that had helped, and wondered if Jake knew he was on a card, if he’d approve. She thought, yes. “You’re right. It’s an excellent idea and should be implemented immediately. What say we start with the basics. The front page of the questionnaire. I’m Rebecca Thorpe, I live in Manhattan and work in the East Village. I’m an attorney although I don’t practice, and I was born and raised here in the city. I’ve known Katy for over a year, and she’s terrific, so I trusted her when she told me we might hit it off. I’m not looking for love, or for more than an interesting evening, which I hope is what you’re after, and … well. That’s about it.”
His laughter suited her down to her toes. It was genuine, easy, relaxed. His smile was even more delicious than his picture had implied. So far, so good. But now, it was his turn.
“I’m Jake Donnelly, I’m currently living in Windsor Terrace in Brooklyn, in the house where I was born. I’m staying with my dad doing some remodeling work. I come from a long line of cops, all the way back to when the Donnellys crossed over from Ireland. I’ve been with the police department since I graduated college. Well, until earlier this year. I have no idea what I’m going to do after I finish the renovations.”
He leaned back as their drinks were placed on the table, then sought her eyes again. “And it appears we’re both looking for a night to remember. How’d I do?”
“Great,” she said, then she lifted her glass and clicked it against his. Jake was totally unlike anyone she’d ever dated. He was from Brooklyn, but he’d given up the accent for something far easier on her admittedly snobbish ears. She knew absolutely nothing about being a cop, about Windsor Terrace, about renovations. She was incredibly curious to know if his limp and no longer being a policeman were connected. And she couldn’t imagine, not for the life of her, staying with her own family for more than about three hours. She and Jake were worlds apart, completely unsuited in every way but one.
He was perfect.
JAKE DRANK A LITTLE AS HE tried not to look as if he was scoping her out from head to toe. But screw it, he was. At least, as much as he could, given she was sitting.
Rebecca Thorpe was, to put it bluntly, off the charts hot. Her hair was golden and shiny in the glitter of the bar, her eyes smoky and intense. She was tall and slender, but the way her dress hugged her breasts made him say a prayer this night would end with him learning a lot more.
No mention of the Winslow name or the foundation she headed. Why not? Being careful? Probably, although why she would assume he didn’t recognize her was a little baffling. Everyone who lived in New York knew of her family. They were like the Kennedys. Politicians, judges, private jets, private clubs, more money than sense if you asked him, but nobody did, and that seemed fair. He wouldn’t know what the hell to do in a room full of Winslows, but being right here, right now with this one? It was his lucky day.
“I don’t know where to start with questions,” Rebecca said. “Do you miss being a cop?”
He’d left himself open for whatever with that intro, but he still wished she’d begun somewhere else. He shouldn’t complain. At least she hadn’t opened with the limp.
He was still self-conscious about the scars. Odd how the shoulder looked so much worse. The leg was no picnic, either. But it hadn’t made anyone run screaming. Yet. What the hell, if it freaked her out, there was nothing he could do about that. He’d just get on home and read up on shower installations. “Yeah, I miss it,” he said. “Hard not to, when it’s the only thing I’ve ever done. I could have taken a desk assignment, but that wasn’t me.”
“Ah, so you were hurt on the job?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Shot in the thigh and the shoulder.
They’re not pretty, but I was lucky. Either one could have killed me, so …”
“I can’t imagine. God, shot twice?” She shuddered, winced. “That’s horrible. I’m always astonished at how vulnerable the human body can be, while at the same time astoundingly strong. I had a friend once who slipped on a leaf. Fell. Hit her head. She was twenty-four, and she died that night. You were shot twice, and you not only survived, but it looks from here as if you’re thriving.”
“It is a mystery. I tell people it must not have been my time, but that’s just something easy to say. I’m not a religious man, or one who believes in fate.