Body Heat by Carly Phillips released on Dec 27, 2005 is available now for purchase.

Body Heat

By Carly Phillips

HQN Books

Copyright © 2005 Carly Phillips
All right reserved.
ISBN: 0373771436

THE DAYS WERE HOT but, thanks to her, his nights were even hotter. He welcomed the mixture of anticipation and desire that rushed through him as he looked around The Sidewalk Café. As he looked for her.

Jake Lowell clasped his hand around a chilled glass of ice water. The condensation left his palm cold and wet, in stark contrast to the New York City heat and humidity pulsing around him. In opposition to the inferno raging inside him. Nothing could extinguish the flame she'd ignited.

He leaned forward in the wrought-iron seat, shifting, trying to find a comfortable position for his back against the hard metal, one that wouldn't put pressure on his left shoulder and the injury that had finally begun to heal. He shifted again, and pain shot through his upper body. Damn fancy chair. Outdoor cafés with sissy drinks weren't his thing, they were his sister's. But ever since he'd come here for the first time, ever since he'd taken a look at the sexy waitress with the compelling gaze, he'd forced himself to endure.

Jake glanced around, but the woman who starred in his fantasies was nowhere to be found.

Only a few couples graced the outdoor section of the restaurant. He looked at his watch. Typical of his sister, Rina, she was already fifteen minutes late. After a childhood of sharing one bathroom with a teenage girl, he'd become used to waiting for her; he'd be shocked if she showed up on time. But with the guy who shot Jake wandering the street, Rina's lateness — typical or not — made him wary.

He took in the empty street once more, then turned toward the inside of the nearly empty restaurant and bar, reminding himself that the scum was now living a so-called clean life and that his sister was safe. He headed inside, figuring he'd wait for Rina in front of the television set and a good Yankee game.

That was when he saw her — his vision in white jeans and a black tank top with an apron tied around her waist. She stood by the bar, a bottle of water in hand. Her auburn hair had been pulled back in a ponytail while stray strands resisted confinement and curled around a face with delicate, angelic features. More than lust or desire, it was the purity in her expression and the smile on her lips that lured him back to this place, to her, over and over again.

After reading an order off her pad, she shoved it into her pocket, and the bartender got busy mixing drinks. Jake rose from his seat and walked to the open sliding glass door that led to the inside of the restaurant. She leaned against the wall and glanced around — looking for what, he didn't know. Then she tipped her head backward and ran the bottle over her forehead, down one cheek and then the next, until she finally eased it over her long neck.

As the bottle moved over her skin, he swallowed a groan. Her back arched and her breasts pushed against the black tank. Taut nipples teased both the fabric and his restraint. He ought to feel like a voyeur, yet her every sensual, seductive movement seemed as if it had been choreographed for his eyes only.

Though she was a stranger, he felt as if he knew her intimately, yet not intimately enough. Eyes shut tight, her shoulders dropped and her muscles relaxed. As the cold plastic touched bare skin, her long sigh echoed inside him. Whether aware or not, she'd aroused both his curiosity and his imagination.

What would she taste like? he wondered. Would he find her lips moist, her mouth flavored with mint? Or would she taste sweet, like the coffee drinks served here? And in the throes of passion would she meet his gaze or shut her eyes in expectation and pleasure? Just imagining making love to her had his body strung tight with need and his soul on fire. He took neither lightly.

Little had piqued his interest other than the incident that had sidelined him and taken down Frank Dickinson, his best friend and fellow detective, causing Jake to rethink his direction in life. But desire licked at him now, hotter and with more force than the bullet that had seared his skin.

Neon lights over the bar reflected off the droplets of water on her flesh. He wanted to taste her damp heat, to absorb it with his body. He broke into a sweat that had nothing to do with the heat wave outside. His hand had turned wet from the condensation on the glass, and he wiped his palm on jeans that had grown too tight.

She straightened and placed her bottle on the bar before glancing around the confines of the small restaurant. He held his breath, but she didn't look in his direction. Then she grabbed a napkin and blotted the glistening skin on her chest, patting downward to where droplets had probably dripped into the V of her cleavage, nestling between her full breasts.

Without warning, she turned and glanced his way. Her gaze met his and her eyes grew wide, not with horror but with surprise. Just as he thought, she hadn't known anyone was watching. But when the surprise wore off, she stared at him with more than a hint of interest in her expression.

It was an interest he recognized because she captivated him, too. The mutual attraction had been strong from the first. And over the past few weeks, the sizzling awareness had only grown stronger.

His sister had fed his interest, meeting him here in the evenings so he could get his fill. And she'd always been here, always waiting on tables in stations other than his. He didn't know why she hadn't approached him, only why he'd maintained the distance. Fantasy, he'd learned, always surpassed gritty reality.

But never had the current between them been as charged as it was tonight. Their connection was electric, so all-encompassing that his body throbbed with need and his mind soared with myriad possibilities — none of which he intended to act upon.

She still held his gaze, as if waiting for him to make the next move. Without breaking eye contact, he lifted his glass in silent acknowledgment. He expected her to turn away, to rebuff his subtle advance. She did neither. Instead she held his stare with a searing heat and bold curiosity he hadn't expected — until the bartender's arrival with her order severed the connection.

She glanced back at him once more before she crumpled the napkin and tossed it into the trash. Then she returned to business, taking orders and serving drinks. But the flush in her cheeks remained, testament to what had passed between them.

"Oh my God, Jake, I'm sorry." His sister's voice calling him brought him out of the sensual haze, though the sizzling in his veins remained.

Relieved Rina had showed up unharmed, he headed back to his table and settled himself into the uncomfortable seat. Though distracted, he tried to focus as she slid into the chair across from him. Her skin glistened from the humidity and her dark hair clung to her cheeks. She was no different from most rushed and overheated New Yorkers, yet her outfit distinguished her from the other mostly jean-wearing patrons of the café. All elegance, she appeared out of place in the casual atmosphere, but Rina being Rina, she failed to notice.

"I know I'm late. But Norton hates the heat," she said, talking about her Chinese sharpei. He was all wrinkles with a black tongue, a dog no self-respecting person would take out in public, but Jake had developed a soft spot for the pedigreed pooch.

He shook his head and laughed. "Money really has changed you, Ri." They'd grown up with a half-breed mutt that had wandered through the dirt and grime of the South Bronx. The dog had taken a nap one day by the front of their building and had stayed.

When Rina, a legal secretary, had met and married her boss, Jake had had his doubts about the man and the marriage. Who wouldn't question a guy who had his fingernails polished weekly? But he'd turned out to be the best thing ever to happen to his kid sister. But then he'd died, leaving Rina alone. She was too young to be a widow, but Jake found comfort in knowing she'd had happiness for a little while.

A union of opposites had worked well for Rina, but not for Jake. His marriage had ended in a bitter divorce because his wife hadn't realized that marrying a cop meant living on a cop's salary and adjusting to erratic hours. His wife hadn't just given up being married to a cop; she'd given up on Jake. And, after five years, it still hurt. Not because he still loved his wife but because he thought he'd given that kind of life his best shot. Still, Rina's marriage had flourished, and for that Jake was grateful.

"Money hasn't changed me." She sniffed, raising her chin in the air, pretending to take offense. "Well, not much, anyway. At least I walk him myself. I could pay someone to do it for me, but they'd quit after one day."

"High-maintenance breed?" Jake asked, watching the sexy waitress out of the corner of his eye.

"You could say that," Rina said.

He barely heard. She worked the inside restaurant, where the thickening crowd chose to sit. She impressed him with things that went beyond the superficial. Nothing fazed her — not the overwhelming heat, not the picky customer. She served with a thousand-watt smile, one he could watch all night. Especially since, every so often, she sent a covert look his way — to make sure he hadn't left? He liked to think so.

Because he sure as hell was aware of her. Jake couldn't recall the last time he'd been so sexually and emotionally conscious of a woman he didn't know. He hadn't been celibate since his marriage, but he hadn't gotten seriously involved, either. And none of the women in his far or recent past had piqued his interest in quite the same way she had. The sensual game they played intrigued him. He wasn't ready to end it by meeting her and destroying the fantasy. No woman could be as fresh and unjaded as she seemed to be. His marriage had taught him that.

Appearances, Jake knew now, were too often deceiving; women weren't always what they seemed. The sexy waitress attracted him more strongly than his ex ever had, and if that wasn't enough of a warning to steer clear, he had his current case to focus upon. He couldn't risk the distraction.

Rina waved a hand in front of his eyes and grinned. Obviously she knew his mind had been not on her words, but on the waitress who fascinated him. Considering he'd insisted on meeting at this place, at this hour, on the same night for the past few weeks, Jake figured his thoughts were pretty much transparent.

"As I was saying," she reminded him, "I had to walk Norton before meeting you, and he didn't want to go. I mean, he's trained to go on command, but you have to get him out onto the street, first. The poor thing hates the hot concrete on the pads of his paws. There I was, literally dragging him down ParkAvenue, while he was trying to drag me back home. Can you imagine the sight?"

Jake shook his head. "The dog's a wuss," he muttered. He glanced over her shoulder, looking for the woman of his fantasies, but in the moment he'd re-focused on Rina, she had disappeared. Disappointment gripped him as hard as the desire had earlier.

Rina patted his hand. "She'll be back. And Norton's not a wuss, he's just particular about what he likes, who he likes?"

"And who he doesn't," Jake said, recalling the puddle that had ruined his new sneakers on their first meeting.

"Well, regardless, he was Robert's dog, and I'm all he has left now."

Jake leaned forward in his seat. "So how are you, really?"

Rina had decided not to accompany her husband on a business trip, and he'd died in a car accident while rushing home to avoid an overnight stay. She'd been consumed with guilt and grief, and Jake had made it a priority to keep her spirits up. That included meeting her for dinner or drinks a few times a week. Almost a year had passed — a year in which Jake had kept up the routine because he enjoyed it, too. Rina was stronger now. Even the jokes had come more freely to her of late. Jake's mission had been a success. It had also recently led to his obsession with a woman he didn't know.

Continues...

Excerpted from Body Heatby Carly Phillips Copyright © 2005 by Carly Phillips. Excerpted by permission.
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