A Glimpse of Fire Read online

  Remarkable as the special effects were, what caught his attention was the blond mannequin in the red bikini. She looked so damn real. And perfect. Long honey-blond hair, sexy blue eyes, full lips that formed a tempting bow. And man did she have legs….

  “Are you listening?” Tom got in his face.

  “What?” Eric hadn’t realized he’d stopped. Right in the middle of the sidewalk, blocking everyone’s way. People muttered curses and stepped around him. “No.”

  He looked back at the window. At the mannequin. She was amazing. Incredible. Too bad that kind of perfection could only be synthetic.

  Tom followed his gaze just as another wave swelled threateningly, and he ducked. Clearly realizing his foolish reaction, he straightened and glanced around. Several other onlookers had done the same.

  “Damn, that’s amazing.”

  Eric nodded. “Genius. Pure genius. Look at how many people the window’s attracting.”

  “No shit. This should earn someone a nice little bonus.”

  Eric shook his head. Lately with Tom it was always about money or women. As if he needed to worry about either. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait. No more changing the subject. You have an assortment of lovelies right here. Blondes, brunettes, redheads.” Ignoring a sharp look he received from a well-dressed older woman who’d obviously overheard, he gestured toward a group staring at the window. “I’m not moving until you choose one.”

  Eric shrugged and turned to leave. “I’ll say hey to everyone at Pete’s for you.”

  Tom snagged his coat sleeve. “Come on.”

  Eric sighed. His gaze went back to the mannequin, to the tiny beauty mark at the corner of her lush mouth. “Her,” he said with a jut of his chin.

  “Who?” Tom scanned the group of women close to the window. “Which one?”

  “There.” Eric barely contained a smile as he fixed his gaze on the mannequin. “She’s perfect.”

  It took Tom a moment for it to register and then he laughed. “Why, because she can’t talk?”

  “A big bonus, you have to admit.”

  “I’ll give you that.” Tom studied the mannequin. “Great legs, too. I wonder if she’s busy this weekend.”

  Eric shook his head and headed across the street. “I’m gonna go have a drink. You do what you want.”

  Tom started after him when he heard the crowd gasp. He turned just in time to see the two mannequins throwing their hands up as if frightened by the wave, and then they repositioned themselves, again going perfectly still.

  The crowd began murmuring and talking excitedly, loud enough that Eric turned around to see what was happening. Tom took off after him.

  “What’s going on?” Eric asked.

  “Nothing. Another wave.” Tom shouldered him, urging him to keep walking. “Let’s go before my keeper calls.”

  Tom could barely contain himself. This was rich. Totally awesome. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do yet, but the opportunity for something really big was there.

  Like Saturday night—the company dinner. God, this was too perfect.

  In his excitement, he nearly tripped over his own feet.

  All he had to do was keep Eric away from that window for the next two days.

  2

  TEN MORE MINUTES. FIFTEEN tops, and the store would be closing, judging by the steady stream of shoppers exiting the Fifth Avenue doors. She could do this. Wait fifteen minutes before she sprinted to the bathroom. Dallas simply had to stop thinking about how her bladder was ready to explode.

  Even though she’d purposely laid off the coffee and Cokes made available in the dressing room, the knowledge that she was stuck in the window and couldn’t leave was enough to make her desperate for a pit stop. One five-minute break in four hours just didn’t cut it. She and Trudie were going to have a serious discussion tomorrow.

  Dallas heard her partner’s stomach growl and used every ounce of self-control to keep a straight face. Steve did an admirable job of remaining impassive himself, and she kept her gaze fixed on the fire hydrant across the street. It was easier that way, to focus on one particular object until the soft beep told them it was time to change positions. Besides, making eye contact with anyone in the crowd outside wasn’t a good idea. Made it much harder to keep a straight face and not blink.

  She’d almost blown it earlier. Two yuppies had stopped and stared, obviously more interested in her bikini than the window display. The taller one had caught her eye with his dark wavy hair and light eyes and a tanned face with a deep cleft in his strong chin that had a way of sending her thoughts in a dangerous direction.

  The announcement came that the store would be closing in five minutes.

  Freedom. Hallelujah!

  She and Steve exchanged a brief glance.

  That’s when she noticed him. Approaching the window. One of the guys she’d seen earlier. Not the good-looking one with the dimpled chin but the shorter one.

  He stopped dead center and stared at her intensely, thoroughly, as if she were a museum exhibit. She tried not to move, not to give any sign of acknowledgement. Then he mouthed something to her, but still she refused to focus on his lips or try to understand what he was saying.

  Panic knotted her tummy, and she tried to disguise the deep unsteady breath she took. Just what she needed—some pervert following her home later. She’d have to duck out the employee door, maybe even get Steve to share a cab with her.

  The guy walked up to the security guard, who stood at the door making sure no one slipped inside, and the two men shook hands. They apparently knew each other, which brought Dallas some relief.

  Behind her, Trudie’s assistant opened the door to the window, at the same time dimming the display lights, a signal it was over. They were free. At least until tomorrow night. She and Steve looked at each other. He smiled. She groaned. Of course, he looked as if he were barely out of his teens. His back and legs probably didn’t ache as hers did.

  “You okay?” he asked, his incredibly pretty blue eyes clouding with genuine concern. Nice guy. Idaho born and bred, he’d only moved to the city six months ago. He’d change. They all did.

  “Terrific.”

  “You look awful.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” He actually blushed as he stepped aside to let her out first.

  She grinned. Too bad he wasn’t older. “Aren’t you a little stiff?”

  His brows rose in surprise. “Why?”

  “Never mind.”

  She climbed out, smiling ruefully to herself. It wasn’t that she was in bad shape. Just the opposite. Working in construction for the past year and a half had probably gotten her into the best condition she’d ever been. This was different. Holding the same position for an hour at a time wasn’t easy. Nothing like it had been eight years ago in college.

  A couple of stragglers leaving the store stopped to stare at her. She accepted a robe from Trudie’s assistant and pulled it on over the tiny red bikini before heading for the dressing room. The lights flickered—the store’s final warning for everyone to leave.

  “Hey, you wanna go for a drink?” Steve threw his robe over his shoulder.

  Drink? Bathroom? Oh, God. “How about a rain check?” she said without breaking her stride.

  “Sure.” He shrugged, smiled. “See you tomorrow evening.”

  Dallas sighed as he walked ahead of her. He sure was pretty. Young but pretty.

  “Excuse me.”

  Dallas heard the voice behind her and glanced over her shoulder. It was him. The guy who’d been standing outside a moment ago. Her chest tightened. “The store is closed. You’ll have to leave.”

  He gave her a boyish grin. “I know the security guard. Besides, I only need a minute of your time.”

  “I don’t have a minute.”

  “Look, I want to hire you.” He produced a business card from his jacket pocket. “For Saturday night. Your usual modeling fee, of course.”


  She barely glanced at the card. “I’m not a model. I’m doing this as a favor for a friend.” She tried to hand him back the card but he wouldn’t take it.

  “Call my office,” he said. “Check me out. Or ask Jimmy.” He inclined his head toward the security guard.

  She shook her head. “Look, I—”

  “I’m not a kook or a pervert.” His boyish grin took a chink out of her resolve. “Well, my friends may argue that point. But seriously, I only want to play a practical joke on my friend. He was here earlier with me and saw you and…well, we have a company dinner at the boss’s house this Saturday and I thought it would be pretty funny if you showed up.”

  Of course she remembered the guy. His face was surprisingly clear in her mind. That strong, dimpled jaw stood out in particular.

  “He thinks you’re a mannequin.”

  That startled a laugh out of her. Oops! Bad move. She squeezed her thighs together. “I’ll think about it and call you, okay?” she said as she started toward the bathroom.

  “Tom!” The security guard motioned the man to the door. “I gotta lock up.”

  “I’ll be waiting to hear from you.” Tom backed toward the door. “Either way, call me, will you?”

  “Sure,” she said, amazed that she was even considering it.

  “I THINK YOU’RE NUTS IF YOU don’t go.” Wendy plopped down on the love seat with a bowl of buttered popcorn that she placed between her thighs. “How totally cool. You’d be like the mystery woman.”

  If Dallas denied being intrigued by the prospect, she’d be a liar, but the situation was just so way out there. “Pass me some popcorn, would you?”

  “You won’t like it. I used a whole block of butter,” she said, licking her fingers.

  “I don’t suppose you set any popcorn aside for me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Thanks.” Dallas sighed as she pushed off the purple beanbag chair. Some things never changed.

  They’d been roommates for three years, but Wendy still hadn’t grasped the concept of sharing. She had other good qualities, Dallas reminded herself as she grabbed an apple from the basket of fruit they kept on top of the refrigerator—the only spare spot in the minuscule kitchen.

  “So, you saw this guy, right?” Wendy asked between handfuls of popcorn.

  “Briefly. Anyway, it’s not like it’s a blind date. Just a prank.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “Tall, kind of wiry, athletic-type body, dark hair, hazel eyes, strong square jaw.”

  Wendy snorted. “Just a brief look, huh?”

  “Keep stuffing your face and shut up.” Dallas sank back into the chair and stretched her legs out. “I called that guy Tom’s office. I didn’t talk to him. Just made sure he really worked there.”

  “And what about Saturday night? How do you know it’s legit?”

  “I pretended I was a florist and wanted to confirm the delivery date for the dinner.”

  “Very sneaky. I’m impressed.”

  Dallas groaned. “But I still don’t know if I should do this.”

  “Did Trudie have an opinion?”

  “Please, you need to ask? She thinks I’d be crazy to do it.”

  “Screw it. She’s gotten too conservative since she caved in and got a nine-to-fiver. Go. Be daring. Have fun. What else do you have to do Saturday, anyway?”

  Dallas watched a popcorn kernel slip from Wendy’s hand and fall to the floor to join several of its friends. Dallas sighed. Wendy was right. What else did she have to do Saturday night besides clean up Wendy’s mess?

  ERIC FINISHED HIS COGNAC and debated having another one before he slipped out. As usual he’d come late, for-going the cocktail hour and arriving just minutes before dinner had been served, along with a different wine with each course. Easy to get stupid with all that booze. And he made it a policy never to get stupid in front of the brass.

  Webber, of course, was here. It was his house. He always threw the parties. New money. He still had a lot of showing off to do. The firm’s other partner, Joseph Thornton IV, came from old money. Nice guy, old-school polite, but with the exception of Webber, no one from the office had ever seen the inside of his house. At least no one Eric knew of. Not that he was the type to be invited to the Thornton estate. But some day…hell, some day he’d have a nice three-story brownstone like this with a view of Central Park.

  Near the white marble fireplace, Tom and Serena were talking to Harold Carter, the company’s controller and possibly the most boring human being in Manhattan. Eric wasn’t in the mood to make small talk, so he circled around the room, heading for the bar.

  “Another cognac?” The bartender reached for the bottle.

  “Yep, one for the road.” Eric put down his empty snifter. Most bartenders had amazing memories. “Go ahead and refill this one.”

  He’d picked up a clean glass but set it aside. “No argument from me. One less to wash.”

  Eric glanced at the guy’s name tag. He remembered him from the Webber’s Christmas party. “Tell me something, Chuck. You ever get tired of these private parties?”

  Chuck shrugged. “They aren’t so bad. Pays the rent.”

  Eric sighed. “Yep, that’s what it’s all about.” He surveyed the plush living room, impeccably decorated in gold and burgundy, a van Gogh over the fireplace and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a couple of Gauguins on the dining room wall. He hated these affairs. Ridiculously formal and mandatory—unspoken, of course. “Money.”

  Chuck grinned. “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Not a thing.” Eric had to agree. Not to would make him a hypocrite. Wasn’t that why he was here when he’d rather be just about anyplace else? Not just because he was the only guest without a date—something which Webber had again commented on. But that was Eric’s choice. He could have brought a date if he’d wanted.

  Most of the time he could be political and schmooze the bosses with the best of them. He certainly did his share when necessary. Frankly he had to. It was all part of the game. But social situations weren’t his favorite milieu. He always felt at such a disadvantage.

  “The class of people at these private affairs are better than working the bars.” Chuck motioned with his chin toward the foyer. “Like her. What a knockout! Can’t believe I didn’t notice her earlier.”

  Eric looked in that direction and saw the blonde entering the foyer. The Webber’s maid had just let her in the double glass front doors. No escort. Just her and that slinky black dress.

  She turned in his direction and his jaw dropped. That face. Those lips. That tiny beauty mark near her mouth. Those legs. He knew her….

  Impossible.

  He blinked. Took a deep shuddering breath. Exhaled slowly.

  Chuck muttered an oath. “Sorry, man, I hope that isn’t your wife or anything.”

  “What?” Eric barely glanced at the bartender before his gaze drew helplessly back to the woman. “No, I, um, I don’t know her.”

  “In that case, I’d go introduce myself if I were you, dude.” Chuck grabbed a crystal flute and poured some champagne. “Here. Take this to her.”

  Eric didn’t move. He just stared. Blinked hard. Stared again. In total shock. The woman’s resemblance to the mannequin he’d seen three days ago was remarkable. The hair on the back of his neck went straight up as he watched her enter the living room and take Mrs. Webber’s extended hand.

  “I need a scotch,” he said to Chuck, his eyes never leaving the woman.

  “Hey, dude, you okay?”

  No, he wasn’t okay. He was friggin’ hallucinating. He finished his cognac and set it aside as he waited for Chuck to pour the scotch, and then he downed it in one gulp.

  Tom.

  Eric peered toward the marble fireplace where he’d last seen his friend. Where the hell was he? Tom had seen her in the window the other night, too. He could prove Eric wasn’t going crazy.

  Eric left the empty glass on the bar and moved toward the fireplace area while
trying to keep the blonde in his sights. Wasn’t hard. Everyone else seemed to be eyeing her, too. Of course, all the other guests knew each other. But it wasn’t just that she was an outsider. She was stunning.

  He spotted Tom, but before he could get to him, the blonde and Mrs. Webber approached him and his wife. Tom and Serena shook hands with the blonde. Not a trace of recognition on Tom’s face.

  Eric took a step back. Obviously he’d been working too hard lately. He was losing it. He needed to sit down. Have another drink. Better yet, go home.

  “Hey, Eric. Come here.” Tom motioned him toward them. “I’d like you to meet someone.”

  The blonde smiled. Her teeth were dazzlingly white and perfect. So was her skin. Flawless. Golden and creamy. And her honey-colored hair…the way the light from the chandelier touched it, lighting it with shimmering highlights, was a work of art.

  A tiny half-moon-shaped scar near her jawline surprised him. Nothing bad or ugly but certainly unnecessary. A cosmetic surgeon could probably eliminate the imperfection with a thirty-minute office visit.

  Too late to retreat gracefully, Eric moved forward and forced a smile.

  Mrs. Webber leaned over and straightened his tie. “Don’t leave too soon, okay? I have a very special dessert planned,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes before drifting across the room.

  “This is Eric Harmon,” Tom said to the woman. “And Eric, this is Dallas.”

  She smiled and extended her hand. Eric’s palm was so clammy, he was embarrassed to touch her. He took her fingers and brought her hand to his lips, pressing a light kiss to the back, which earned a choked snicker out of Tom.

  “A pleasure meeting you,” Eric said and released her hand as quickly as he could without seeming rude.

  She blinked, surprise flickering across her face. “The pleasure is mine,” she whispered, her voice soft and breathy and matching her perfectly.

  The heady scent of roses and mystery swarmed his senses and he actually felt weak in the knees. His lips tingled from the silky warmth of her skin.

  Too much scotch. That’s all.

  He caught the tail end of the amused look Tom and Serena had exchanged and he cleared his throat. “Tom, could I speak with you for a moment in private?”