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He smiled and smoothed a wet curl from her temple.
“I’ll explain later.”
“No,” she said again. “There is no reason for you to wait.” She stepped back. “Goodbye, Lieutenant.”
He clasped her shoulders. Turned her around. Opened the door to the coffee shop and stepped aside.
“You’re late,” he said, and the next thing she knew, she was standing inside Cuppa Joe’s.
And freezing.
It was summer, this was Manhattan, and of course the AC was on. Normally, that would have been perfect—but she was wet, wetter than wet, if that was possible, and the last thing she needed was to be blasted with icy air.
At least she wouldn’t have to stay.
A quick look around the shop assured her that though some of the tables were filled, the one she’d specified to Noah as their meeting place was empty.
Well, it would be.
According to her cellphone, when she pulled it from the tote and checked the time, it was—mannaggia—twenty of seven!
Okay. She’d have to text Noah an apology, but really, she was glad he’d given up and left. She wasn’t in the mood to sit through tonight. The only thing she wanted was to go home, take a hot shower and try to figure out why being with the lieutenant—with Chay—seemed to turn all her convictions inside out—
“Bianca?”
No, she thought, please, no…
“Bianca. You’re here!”
She turned towards the voice and her heart sank. Noah had not given up. Not unless there was another tall, thin man with curly red hair and a copy of the New York Times tucked under his arm who would
recognize her from the site she’d set up for her study.
She took a breath, plastered on a smile and went towards him.
“Noah,” she said, and stuck out her hand. He took it and clasped it in both of his. His grip was surprisingly strong; his palms were clammy and she tried not to recoil. “I’m terribly sorry I’m late. The storm…”
He smiled.
Not only clammy hands. His teeth were an unpleasant shade of yellow. Well, she wasn’t here to make personal judgments on anyone.
“I understand, Bianca. I knew you were surely as eager to meet as I was, and that it was the weather that had delayed you.”
His answer sent a prickle over her skin. And he still had hold of her hand.
“Your photo on the study website is great, but it doesn’t do you justice.”
Uh-oh. Prickle number two. Smiling, she tugged her hand free of his.
“Since it’s already so late,” she said politely, “let’s sit right down and get started.”
She started towards what she thought of as the Interview Table. Noah cupped her elbow and led her away from it.
“Why don’t we sit someplace a bit more private?” he said, drawing her to a corner table. Smiling, he tossed the newspaper aside and pulled out a chair. “Bianca?”
Uh-oh, indeed.
Is this a date or research? She could hear Chay’s voice in her head.
