suspected he didn’t concede often. His focus moved to my mouth and like Pavlov’s dog, my body reacted to that look when my heart slammed into my ribs. Was it possible he wanted to taste me as badly as I wanted to taste him? Needing to change the subject, I asked the first thing that popped into my head, well, that didn’t involve us naked. “What’s your favorite meal?” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I asked questions for a living and that was the best I could come up with?
Silence followed. I glanced over; he was watching me. “Why? You going to cook for me, Detective?”
If I got him alone, food would be the last thing I’d be thinking about. His eyes grew darker, his voice rougher when he said, “Steak and potatoes. You?”
I focused on my hot dog, bite, chew…the attention to the mechanics helped keep me from traveling down a mental path that led to us getting naked, a reaction to a man I’d never experienced so viscerally or so early. It was during the routine of chewing that I realized he’d asked me a question. I was kind of abrupt because I really liked the thought of us getting naked. “I’m on a salmon kick, love a nicely grilled piece of salmon.” I took another bite, kept myself distracted with thoughts of food and remembered the cake he bought me during our dinner. “Oh…” I glanced his way, “That spicy chocolate cake was life changing.”
His eyes showed the humor before his lips tipped up. “Life changing?”
“It changed my life.” And, in a sense, it had because, however loosely linked, he was the one to introduce me to it, the same man I was now walking through the park with, while battling the headiest attraction I’d ever experienced.
“I’ll have to let Carrie know,” he said.
It was only then it dawned. “You own Polar.” He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. “Well, yes, then please tell Carrie that cake is the best cake I’ve ever tasted. And I’m a sweet loving kinda gal.”
He studied me before he said in a low drawl, “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
I felt chills, from my head right down to my toes, that this man was keeping anything about me in mind.
We finished our lunch. I studied him from the corner of my eye. The man was a mogul, one of the richest men in the world, with the responsibilities to match, so did he get times like this to shake off that responsibility? “Do you get to do this often?” I asked, earning me his attention. “Doing nothing more than strolling through the park eating a hot dog.”
“No.” But I heard the weight of that word.
“Well, next time, I’ll introduce you to the gyro man on Fifth Avenue. It’s all in the spices.”
Warmth moved into his gaze. So distracted with him, I didn’t realize we were back on the street. His car was waiting. “Can I give you a ride?” he asked.
With how I was feeling, I wasn’t sure being in close quarters with him was wise. “Thanks, but I’m going to walk. Enjoy the weather.”
He nodded, turned to get into his car but stopped, looked back and said, “Thank you for lunch.”
“Anytime, Kade.”
Silence settled as the air practically zapped between us. His voice was a rough whisper when he said, “Noted.”
I didn’t move, wasn’t sure my legs were up to the task of walking just yet, so I watched as his car mingled with the midday traffic, before getting lost in it.
It was Friday; I dragged my feet through the halls of the hotel where the fundraiser was being held. Entering the banquet hall, it was like a wall of blue. I was in my dress blues, surprised they still fit me because it had been awhile.
I recognized a few politicians, Brian Gaines being one of them, talking to the captain and the commissioner. I saw Rothschild with his man, Joshua, and spotted Carmine DeLuca talking to a tall gentleman who I recognized, Gregory Enzi, the son. It was a who’s who; both sides of that line in the sand that represented law and order were in attendance. My focus shifted to the buffet and bar. Alcohol seemed like a good idea.
“I hate this shit.”
My attention turned to Zac and then I took a step back and checked him out from head to toe. “Damn, Zac. You look good.”
He pulled at his collar. “I’m not staying