Hot Zone
Patricia Rosemoor
“Are you tense anywhere else?” Luke inquired guilelessly
When he’d started the massage Helen had been relaxed all over. Now her whole body was tight. “I think you’ve done enough,” she gasped.
“Have I?” His breath laved the shell of her ear as his hands moved to her bared waist. The crop top gave him free access to her abs and he worked on them, slowing his upward progress just beneath her breasts.
“Shall I stop now?” Luke whispered.
“No.” Helen moaned and leaned back against him, aware of his pressing erection. Her breasts now filled his hands, his thumbs caressing her nipples through the thin silk top. She imagined Luke touching her everywhere with the same intimacy. She imagined her body vibrating like a fine instrument being tuned.
As if Luke could read her mind, he slid one of his hands slowly downward. “Tell me when to stop.”
Helen gasped with pleasure, and the next minute he had turned her slightly and taken her mouth. Mindlessly she kissed him and drew his tongue deeper as he continued to stroke her intimately. She was helpless to fight going over the edge. Moments later she shuddered.
Luke wrapped his arms around her, nuzzled the side of her neck and supported her boneless body, murmuring, “Now you’re relaxed….”
Dear Reader,
Chicago is my hometown, and I love exploring diverse neighborhoods and figuring out new ways to put my lovers in danger. Years ago I discovered the Wicker Park/Bucktown area, now an eclectic neighborhood of young professionals, artists, students and others—and what used to be called the “Polish Gold Coast.”
What a rich arena for my romantic suspense stories! I used the neighborhood in Hot Zone, as well as the previous CHICAGO HEAT books, and happily Harlequin Intrigue’s CLUB UNDERCOVER settled into its new home there this spring with Fake I.D. Wife and VIP Protector, and will continue there in the future.
If you enjoy your CHICAGO HEAT excursion, let me know at [email protected]—or if you prefer snail mail, Patricia Rosemoor, P.O. Box 578297, Chicago, IL 60657-8297. And you can see what’s coming up at www.PatriciaRosemoor.com.
Enjoy!
Patricia Rosemoor
Books by Patricia Rosemoor
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
35—SHEER PLEASURE*
55—IMPROPER CONDUCT*
HOT ZONE
Patricia Rosemoor
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
1
“WE DON’T WANT YOU HERE…so go away…and don’t come back some other day!”
Helen Rhodes led the cheer and the march in front of the pale green tile facade of the building, which had recently been restored to its former glory. Several other small business owners and a handful of neighbors were picketing with her—all of them concerned the neighborhood’s flavor would be ruined by a big flashy establishment like this one promised to be. The old Polish Baths had been closed down for years and—unless she stopped it from happening—would be reincarnated into Hot Zone, a superthemed coffeehouse and singles meet-and-greet venue that would put her out of business in short order.
“If you ask me,” her friend Annie said over the rumble of the rapid transit train passing nearby, “Helen’s Cybercafé is so solid—and so different from this place—it can stand on its own.” The expression in the gray eyes behind the frameless glasses looked utterly sincere.
“From your lips,” Helen mumbled. But having given up so much in the way of financial security to be her own boss, she wasn’t mollified. “Combining coffee with relaxing massages and sexy hot tubs—how brilliant is that?”
“That it is,” Annie admitted, “but while Luke DeVries will give them a place to relax, you’ll give them a place to work. Different strokes and all that. Just like you and me.”
Grinning down at Annie, Helen hugged her friend and affectionately yanked her ponytail. Despite the August heat wave that had rivulets of sweat running down her own back, Annie was hiding in black leggings and an oversize cotton T-shirt. Nothing at all like her own magenta calf-length pants and orange top, cropped to show off the time she spent in the gym.
“You and I might get along with our shops side by side, but we’re friends and we don’t have competing businesses,” Helen observed.
“Well, then…” Annie said, then raised her voice to shout, “We don’t want you here…so go away…and don’t come back some other day!”
She was nothing if not loyal, Helen thought, joining the chant.
As sweat-drenched workers went in and out of the building, they glared at the people in the picket line.
The eclectic group was representative of a neighborhood in transition, but at this point the businesses were all small and privately owned, and everyone was afraid of having that balance upset. Part of a national chain, this Hot Zone threatened them all. The nearby six-corner area where Milwaukee, Damen and North Avenues intersected and Wicker Park and Bucktown bumped up against each other boasted intimate restaurants, a performance and dance club that was building a name, boutiques that sold funky clothing and accessories, and unique stores that carried comic books and horror memorabilia. The most conservative of the picketers wore business gear—jacket off, tie loosened—the least conservative wore more jewelry than actual clothing.
Whatever the workers thought of the mix, not one of them said a word.
“You would think someone would object, would try to get us to disperse.”
“So Nick can get it on video,” Annie said knowingly.
Helen was aware that Annie didn’t really want to be here—her friend had been on the receiving end of a picket line when she’d first opened her risqué shop, Annie’s Attic, now possibly the most popular non-franchised lingerie store in the city. But Annie Wilder and Nick Novak had been her best buddies since college days, so they were both here for her.
Helen looked toward the man behind the camera at the curb and he grinned at her, then gave her a thumbs-up. Nick used to shoot news clips for a local station. And though he now owned his own fledgling video business, she figured with his old contacts, he might be able to get them on tonight’s broadcast, assuming it was a slow news night.
Assuming anything interesting ever happened…like the money-grubbing owner coming out of the building to face her!
“Luke DeVries is a coward,” she muttered, then realized she was addressing the air—Annie had fallen back to talk to Nick.
Starting up the chant once more, Helen shifted the Just Cool It, Hot Zone sign she was carrying to a more comfortable position.
“That getting too heavy?” came a low-timbered voice.
“A little,” she said, turning to face the man who was now marching alongside her.
For a moment, Helen felt stunned by the dark-eyed hunk who’d taken Annie’s place. Spiked gold-tipped brown hair topped a broad forehead, high cheekbones and a strong chin. When he smiled at her, his left cheek was licked by a sexy dimple.
And Helen nearly dropped her sign.
“Can I carry that for a while?” he asked.
“Uh, sure.”
As he wrapped his hand around the wooden pole, his fingers grazed hers. Helen gasped, then covered with a cough.
“Summer cold?”
“Allergies. Chicago summers are a bear to get through.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“You’re not from aro
und here,” she guessed, both from his comment and a hint of southern accent.
“I am now. Beautiful city. Even more beautiful women.”
He was staring at her in a way that heated her blood.
“Do you live close by?” Helen asked. It was nearly noon, and plenty of people were out for lunch, which was the reason she’d chosen this time to stage her protest. She realized he could be taking a lunch break, so she added, “Or is your office in the neighborhood?”
“Yes. And yes. So why are we picketing?”
“Because whenever a Hot Zone pops up in a new neighborhood, similar businesses get killed.”
“Killed? Isn’t that overly dramatic.”
Helen sighed. He wasn’t the first to accuse her of blowing things out of proportion. “Well, fail, then.”
“But that’s competition, the nature of business.”
“If you had your own business—”
“I do. And I think as long as a man runs his business ethically—”
“Well, Luke DeVries doesn’t. He’s a shark in man’s clothing.”
He arched a brow at her, triggering her pulse. His face was all planes and angles, cover-model handsome. No man should be this good-looking, Helen thought. Or have such long eyelashes. Thinking maybe he was a model…or gay…she squinted at him to make sure the lashes weren’t enhanced by additions or mascara. Nope, real.
“So, what’s this DeVries character done?” he asked.
“Nothing to me, at least not yet,” she admitted. “I own Helen’s Cybercafé, his closest competition, and last time a Hot Zone opened up—in Boston—one of its competitors burned to the ground. There’s been plenty of speculation about Hot Zone’s involvement.”
“Arson?”
“An electrical fire—the investigators couldn’t prove anything.”
“But you’re holding it against him anyway?”
Wondering why he’d joined the picket line—just to argue?—she said, “A woman has to look out for herself.”
“She surely does,” he agreed. “And in your case, I’d like to help. Maybe we can discuss your situation over dinner.”
Aha! It wasn’t the cause that had caught his interest. “You mean a date?”
“Is that such a surprise?” he asked with a drawl. “I find it hard to believe you don’t get dinner offers all the time.”
He gave her a languid smile that sent a like feeling from her limbs to her middle. Helen tried not to shudder in reaction, not wanting to give him the advantage.
Alarmed at her instant reaction, she said, “Um, it was just a bit unexpected.”
The smile continued to hover about his lips. “So are we on?”
“I don’t even know you.”
“Isn’t that what a date is for—to get to know a person better?”
“That’s what coffee is for.” Irony had always been her strong suit.
“Dinner. Coffee. Whatever you want.”
His voice was so low and sexy it made her think of lots of things she might want to do with this man.
“So how about it?” he prodded.
Helen was tempted. Surely, she was. Her basic instincts hadn’t been satisfied in months. But this was happening too fast. She was too attracted, which in her mind spelled trouble with a capital T. She liked having the upper hand in a relationship for the short time it would last, difficult to do if she didn’t feel absolutely in control.
“You wouldn’t want to go out with me,” she said. “I have rules for dating—”
“Rules?” His eyes teased her.
“Actually I only have one rule, a really simple—”
Before she could say rule again, he interrupted. “You can tell me about it over dinner. Or coffee. Your choice.”
He certainly was insistent. Cocksure as a matter of fact. Then again, with his looks, why wouldn’t he be? He probably scored big-time when he put on the charm. Which should be putting her off big-time.
Instead, she found herself breathless at the thought of getting to know the man more intimately. And then she found herself asking, “When?”
“Tonight. Seven-thirty.”
“I work until…I suppose I could leave early.”
That’s why she’d finally hired an assistant manager, so she could have time off. Besides, she could handle herself with any man, even one so attractive, Helen assured herself. She’d come up with her three-date rule as emotional protection, and she’d never, ever broken it. And as long as she kept to that, she could have her physical pleasure and keep her psychological health, too.
“Pick me up at the cybercafé,” she finally said. “That’s at the corner of North and—”
“I know where it is.”
Suddenly, she realized they hadn’t introduced themselves. “Um, I’m Helen Rhodes.”
“Nice to meet you, Helen.” Trouble extended his hand and she slipped her beringed fingers in for a shake so that they were stuck there, caught in his strong fingers, when he said, “Luke. Luke DeVries.”
Helen gasped. For a moment her fingers went boneless and she felt utterly trapped. The shark himself had her in his jaws! Then she jerked her hand from his and made a fist to stop herself from smacking him for tricking her so basely.
“What is this? Some stupid juvenile prank?”
He was already moving away from her, toward the entrance of the former baths. “No joke,” he said. “Seven-thirty. Be hungry.”
“I changed my mind!” she shouted after him, but he’d already disappeared inside.
“Changed your mind about what?” Annie asked, coming up alongside her. “And who was the hunk?”
Knowing Luke DeVries wouldn’t be so easily put off, Helen muttered, “Trouble. Big, big trouble.”
LUKE ENTERED the air-conditioned baths but found it hard to cool down with Helen Rhodes still vivid in his mind.
What a knockout! Golden blonde curls, just a hint of tan kissing her creamy skin all dewy with perspiration, eyes like emeralds and a bombshell body. That tempting bared stomach with its pierced navel intrigued him, made him want to run his tongue along the exposed flesh until it quivered and she gasped with pleasure. The primal image stirred his own flesh. He would look forward to pursuing the woman while he was based in Chicago.
Too bad she wanted to run him out of town on a rail…or maybe it wasn’t. A duel of wits with her would make the challenge more interesting, that was for certain.
Grinning at the thought, Luke had no doubts he could change Helen’s mind about stepping out with him.
Women liked him, and he genuinely liked them, even if he wasn’t into relationships. How could he be when he was building a business that took him from city to city? He couldn’t let anyone depend on him any more than he could depend on them. Life with his military career dad had taught him how fleeting personal relationships were, so he simply didn’t try to create them.
But whether in business or in private pursuits, his persuasive powers were legend. Maybe he did have a bit of the shark in him. He wouldn’t hesitate to turn on the charm to high gear to get what he wanted. And he was certain that if he did this time, he could loosen Helen up, get her to listen to reason, keep her off his back business-wise—and if he was really lucky, enjoy her on a more intimate level.
In the meantime, he had work to do, the interior of the baths being in the final stages of transformation.
He caught the eye of Alexis Stark, his personal assistant, and waved her over. Five feet of raw energy, she practically flew to his side, blue-tipped strands of unevenly cut dark hair waggling like mini-antennae.
“Hey, boss, what’s up?”
“Special assignment.”
She opened her notepad, apparently ready to write down his instructions. “How special?”
“One that’ll get the wolf from our door.”
Alexis furrowed her brow. “Wolf? Is that literal, or are we in financial trouble?”
“I mean the picketers. Well actually, their leader, Helen Rhodes.”
“Gonna have her arrested?”
“Gonna charm her into submission.”
“Submission, hmm.” Her blue-lined eyes widened. “How come you never make me an offer like that?”
Luke laughed. Her comment blatantly sexual, he assumed she made love the way she did everything—full blast. Though he’d never been attracted to Alexis, he didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so he said, “Because you work for me. It wouldn’t be ethical.” Which was true enough.
Alexis looked as if she had a comeback, but then thought better of it and swallowed whatever she meant to say. He caught an odd expression flitting through her eyes before she lowered them to the pad of paper and pen.
“Okay,” she said, her smile appearing a bit forced. “So what’s the plan?”
Luke gave her a quick summary of his basic idea and left the details to her. “Do that thing you do so well.”
Again, the strained expression. “Got it, boss.”
Then Luke turned his attention to the job at hand.
For the next hour, he focused on the workmen. On the small details that put his personal stamp on every Hot Zone, this being number thirteen. Lucky thirteen, he thought proudly, and the fifth city in three years.
Halfway through the afternoon, he’d just approved the paint color for the entryway—a deep, pulsing red with a hint of blue—when his public relations director wove toward him. In three-and-a-half-inch heels, she topped six feet, bringing them nearly nose to nose.
“A coup,” the redhead said in way of greeting. “Maybe I should change my name to Coup Gordon.”
Luke smiled at her whimsy. “Leave well enough alone—‘Flash’ says it all. So what’s up?”
Florence “Flash” Gordon gave him one of her famous hundred-watt smiles, the obvious source of the nickname she’d adopted, Flash being far more memorable than Florence for a woman in public relations.
