He starts to reach for my hand, apparently remembers that we are standing on one of the busiest streets in the city, and pulls it away ruefully. “I thought we’d have a drink at The Pierre,” he says, referring to the hotel that is just across Fifth Avenue from us.
“Sounds great.” I follow him there—also forcibly keeping my hands at my sides—and we head through the opulent lobby to the Two E bar. The hostess clearly recognizes him and starts to seat us at a prominent table in the center of the room, but Dallas deftly steers her to something more private in one of the corners.
As we order, I remember what he said on the phone earlier today, and a little frisson of disappointment cuts through me when I realize that the tables don’t have cloths. Apparently there will be no illicit touching happening. Which, sadly, is going to make happy hour a whole lot less happy.
As if he can read my mind, Dallas’s mouth quirks up. “We can find another bar,” he suggests, then leans closer so he’s certain not to be overheard. “Or I can see if I can make you come without even touching you.”
A trill of anticipation laced with desire runs down my spine, but I force myself to keep my cool. “Mr. Sykes,” I say. “You couldn’t possibly.”
“A challenge?”
“A dare,” I retort playfully, and when I see the heated look of a man recognizing a gauntlet being thrown, I wonder what exactly I’ve set myself up for.
“I won’t say that I’m accepting your challenge,” he says, “but if I were, I’d start by saying that I like your outfit. Your skirt that hits below your knees. Your shirt that’s buttoned almost to the base of your neck. It’s very proper, Ms. Martin. But I know that you’re hiding a secret.”
I swallow. “Am I?”
“Mmm,” he says, leaning back in his chair as the waitress brings our two martinis. She leaves, and Dallas takes a sip, his eyes never leaving mine. “A lacy bra,” he continues. “And under that skirt, I bet you’re wearing no panties at all.”
I just lift a brow, trying to look unaffected. “I’ll never tell,” I say. “And you’re not allowed to find out for yourself.”
“Oh, but I will,” he says. “I’ll put my hand on your knee. On the soft cotton of that skirt, so simple it’s sensual. I’ll slide it up slowly, until I can brush the skin on your knee with the pad of my thumb, and you’ll feel the shock of my touch all the way to your cunt.”
“Dallas,” I say, my voice hushed. I’m squirming a little, and I’m sure he can tell. “Someone might hear.”
“They might,” he says. “Does that turn you on?”
I look away, because he knows it does. And I don’t like that it does, because I’m too damn scared of the reality. I draw a breath and turn back. “Dallas, we shouldn’t—”
I don’t finish, though, because my phone rings, the sharp tone startling in the quiet bar. I blush as the people at nearby tables turn to look at us while I rummage through my purse for my phone, then feel my chest tighten when I see who the caller is.
“Daddy,” I say, my eyes meeting Dallas’s as I answer.
He sits back in his seat, any sensuality still lingering between us vanishing like cotton candy doused with cold water.
“I saw that you and Dallas were at the Balcony.”
“Um, you did?”
“Your mother said it was some sort of celebration for your birthday?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it was.”
“So you two are getting along better?”
I look at Dallas. “Yeah. We’re getting along.” I frown. “Daddy, what’s on your mind?”
He sighs, and for a moment I’m afraid he’s going to tell me that he knows I’m fucking my brother and that I’m no longer a Sykes and that tomorrow Dallas and I are going to be the feature story on Page Six.
It’s not a pleasant feeling.
Then he says, “Bill came by. He knows about the kidnapping. He’s going to pursue it.”
Relief crashes over me. I’m not thrilled about Bill poking around the same places where Deliverance is poking, but this is a conversation I can have with my dad. The me-and-Dallas conversation? Not so much.
“I know,” I say. “He told me. He’s pretty much dead set on it.”
“So he said. And I …”
“Yes?”
“I’m just afraid it’s going to be hard on you. On Dallas. I wonder if now is the time for you …”
He trails off again, and I honestly have no idea where this conversation is going.
“Daddy?”
“Oh, hell. It’s just that you and Dallas have kept your distance for so many years. And while I’m all for family reconciliations, I’m afraid that Bill’s investigation is going to bring back a lot of memories. I’m afraid that it’s going to hurt you. Hurt Dallas.”
“Oh.” I blink, holding back tears. The truth is that while my mom and I have a great relationship, my dad and I haven’t ever talked that much. Especially not since the kidnapping. “Oh,” I repeat. “We’ll—we’ll be okay, Daddy. I promise.”
I hear him draw a breath as if he was starting to say something else, but changed his mind. For a moment, there’s only silence. Finally, he says, “If you see Dallas, tell him what Bill is doing.”
“He’s right here with me. And he already knows.”
“You’re together?”
“Yeah.”