All Through The Night. Kate Hoffmann

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      A HAZE OF CIGARETTE SMOKE hung over the noisy crowd at Vic’s Sports Emporium, a popular watering hole near Fisherman’s Wharf. The blare of big-screen televisions, all tuned to different sporting events, mixed with the chatter of voices and occasional cheers. Distractions were plentiful at Vic’s. Even so, Pete noticed the woman the instant she walked in. Determined to keep his mind on the Giants’ game, he wrote off his interest as an instinctive reaction born of so many years on the make.

      But his eyes were inexplicably drawn back to her, a slender, raven-haired beauty in a form-fitting black dress. Maybe it was the way she moved, the subtle sway of her hips, the gentle arch of her neck, the oh-so-cool expression. Something about her captured his attention, and he couldn’t help but stare. She didn’t belong in Vic’s, that much was certain. Vic’s was a beer-and-pretzel kind of place, and this woman was champagne and caviar all the way.

      The clues were nearly imperceptible, at least to anyone who didn’t bother to look beneath the surface. But Pete had come across a lot of women in his dating days and he could tell real class when he saw it. Her dress—no doubt, designer labeled—fit her perfectly, hugging every curve of her body, yet coming nowhere near vulgar. It revealed only enough to tantalize: a glimpse of shoulder, a hint of cleavage, and just enough thigh to prove she had incredible legs beneath that skirt. No, she didn’t need to advertise her assets. For this woman, a guy could certainly use his imagination.

      But there was more—the way her gaze drifted around the room, never resting on one subject for long. She’d caused a minor stir as she made her way to the bar—men turning to watch her pass, jaws slack, eyes slightly glazed—yet she didn’t notice her effect. Had her Mercedes broken down outside? Or had she somehow wandered out of a Nob Hill soiree and become lost in the fog? There wasn’t a guy in the place who wouldn’t give his right arm to help her. But they knew enough to keep their distance, not willing to risk an icy rebuff in front of friends.

      Before she’d wandered in, Pete had been casually watching the ball game on one of the three televisions above the bar, nursing the same beer he’d bought during the first inning. It was only after she sat down at an empty spot midway down the bar that he realized she’d walked in with a companion, a woman he recognized instantly—Ellen Kiley! Pete grinned and picked up his beer. He hadn’t come to Vic’s to socialize, but maybe he’d consider changing his plans.

      First, he was mildly curious why Ellie was out without Sam. Second, he thought it strange that Sam had never mentioned this beauty, never tried to set the two of them up. Maybe that was because Pete usually didn’t go for the high-society type. But after spending the first half of the ball game bothered with thoughts of Nora Pierce, he needed something or someone to get his mind off the Herald’s uptight little etiquette columnist.

      All night long, his thoughts had constantly wandered back to their encounter in her office earlier that afternoon. Pete had known a lot of women in his life, and they always fell into one of two categories: lovers who had become friends, and friends who had become lovers. He’d learned by experience that the two were mutually exclusive. A woman couldn’t be both at the same time. Pete figured if he ever found a woman who could, he’d have to marry her.

      But where did Nora Pierce fit in? She didn’t want to be his friend. And she certainly had no interest in becoming his lover. Hell, he wasn’t even sure she liked him! All he was really sure of was that, from the moment he had touched her, something had sparked between them, an attraction that was both irresistible and irrational. Every instinct he possessed told him to put Nora Pierce out of his head, but that was easier said than done.

      Pete ordered another beer and watched Ellie from across the bar. He raised his hand to wave, but she quickly turned away, as if she hadn’t seen him at all—or didn’t want him to see her. Frowning, he grabbed his beer and slowly pushed away from the bar, determined to find out what she was up to. But as he neared the spot where they sat, she slipped off her bar stool and headed in the direction of the ladies’ room. He nearly followed, but then decided to wait at the bar with Ellie’s beautiful friend. After all, she couldn’t stay in the ladies’ room all night.

      He put on his most charming smile, even though, in truth, he wished Ellie had walked in with Nora Pierce. Then he might have had a chance to talk to her outside the restrictive atmosphere of the office, to figure out this strange fascination he had with her, to melt her icy facade. He stood beside Ellie’s stool and set his beer on the bar.

      “Hi, there. Mind if I sit down?”

      The woman gave him a brief glance, then coyly turned away, avoiding his gaze. The direct approach had always worked like a charm for him, but obviously not tonight. And not with this woman. Jeez, maybe he was losing his touch.

      “My friend is sitting there,” she said, her voice low and throaty. “She’s gone to the ladies’ room. She really won’t be long.”

      She risked another quick look up at him, and it was then that he caught a whiff of her perfume, an exotic floral scent he recognized immediately. His mind raced to put a face to the scent, flipping through images of old lovers and even maiden aunts. But one face kept intruding, and it was only then that he realized he’d experienced the scent just that afternoon, when he’d touched Nora Pierce.

      Pete leaned over the bar and caught a brief glimpse of her profile, proof positive that beneath the dark wig and artfully applied makeup, the lush red lipstick and kohl-rimmed eyes, lurked none other than Prudence Trueheart. He was tempted to blow her cover right off, but she was trying so hard to avoid detection that he decided to play along—at least for a little while.

      So there was no Mercedes or Nob Hill party. Then, what had brought Prudence Trueheart to Vic’s? Was she here to police bar etiquette, ready to shut the joint down for the lack of cloth napkins beneath the drinks and silver-plated toothpicks in the olives? Or had she come for the same reason other women came to Vic’s—to meet men? Prudence Trueheart on the make, he mused. The night was about to get interesting.

      “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

      “May,” she murmured, her voice cool. “May you buy me a drink. And, no, thank you, I have a drink.” She picked up her club soda and took a delicate sip, then forced a smile. “My friend is coming right back.”

      “I’ll just sit here until she does,” Pete replied. Had she been any other woman, she might have blown him off with an acidic phrase or an arctic look. Instead, she gives him a grammar lesson. He grinned and slid onto the stool next to her. A gentleman might have taken the hint and retreated. But Pete Beckett wasn’t going anywhere.

      His gaze drifted along her body. The dress hugged every delicious curve, clinging to perfect breasts and a tiny waist, and making his palms itch to touch her again. There was only one reason Prudence Trueheart would slip into a slinky little number like that. She was out to seduce—or be seduced. And his appearance had just thrown a wrench into the works. Pete frowned. And what the hell was with the wig? He preferred her hair the way it was, pale gold and filled with light and framing her pretty features.

      “I should go find my friend,” she said in a breathless tone. She grabbed her purse and slid off her bar stool, but he reached out and took her wrist, stopping her escape. Her skin felt like warm silk beneath his fingers, the sensation of touching her again sending a flash of heat through his body so intense it made his head swim. He wondered what it might feel like to let his hands just wander, to make her breath quicken and her pulse race, to press his palms into the soft flesh of her СКАЧАТЬ