Black Lace [Internet Bonds Series Book 7] Page 5

  "Carrington."

  "Reed, Chief Wickersham, how are you?"

  "Good, Chief. You?"

  "Good. I wanted to give you a heads up."

  "Sir?"

  "You're being promoted to captain,” Wickersham informed him. “Your captain's moving up which gives you the option of taking 11 or choosing another assignment. I'm telling you this so I know if I'm making it part of the other's offers."

  "Of course, I'll take 11—without question."

  "Outstanding,” the chief complimented. “Ceremonies are this Monday. Congratulations, Captain Carrington."

  "Thanks."

  "You'll get official notification Monday morning."

  "Yes, sir,” Reed said. “Can I tell the guys?"

  "Go ahead. Oh, by the way, your captain hoped you'd stay."

  "I'm happy to."

  "Good. See you at the Academy on Monday morning, nine sharp."

  "Yes, sir,” Reed said. “Thanks, again."

  He left the office and went into the kitchen, grabbing a cup of coffee.

  "Everything okay?” Dan Wheldon asked.

  "Yeah, fine."

  "Good news?” his friend pried further.

  "Yeah, I made captain and have my new assignment though it's not official yet."

  "Congratulations, man,” Dan enthused. “Hey, everybody, Reed made captain."

  The entire crew congratulated him on the promotion.

  "Well, don't keep us in suspense—where are you going?"

  "I'm staying here,” Reed stated. “Parsons is moving up."

  "I didn't know he'd put in for anything."

  "It was news to me too but that's what Wickersham said. He also told me Parsons recommended me for here."

  "Tomorrow night after work, we go celebrate."

  "Can't,” Reed said, “already have plans."

  "Can you..."

  "Can't,” Reed went on. “The reservations were a real bitch to get."

  "Sunday night then,” McCoy persisted.

  "You're on."

  "Good, we'll go to that place by the airport."

  "Great,” Reed said, wanting to stay away from the bar he'd expected them to suggest.

  "Bring her with, Cap."

  "What?"

  "She's got to be special if you're putting us off until Sunday."

  "Maybe."

  I hope she is—hell, she definitely is.

  * * * *

  Jocilynne Sommersby—dressed down and with her cousin—entered Engine 46, requesting the same booth she'd had before when she went there with Penny Dixon. They waited to see if he would come in but neither he nor his friends came in.

  "Maybe they're on duty,” Joseph offered.

  "Maybe,” she agreed, disappointed. “I'll be right back."

  Jocilynne went to the bar and hailed the bartender.

  "What can I get ya, darlin'?"

  "I need a name,” she said. “I was in here several nights ago and met one of the guys. He left something in my car and I want to return it to him but I don't know his name. He's about six foot, dark hair, good looking..."

  "That describes a lot of the guys coming in here."

  "He stood center bar with two friends,” she insisted. “You had to have seen him."

  "Sorry, darlin'. Today's my first day back from two weeks in Aruba."

  "What about the other bartender then?"

  "He's on vacation—went to Hawaii before he starts his new job."

  "Where?"

  "San Diego."

  "Damn it."

  "Sorry, darlin', wish I could help."

  "So am I."

  * * * *

  Saturday morning, Reed called his florist in Manayunk and had him deliver a dozen white roses to the Valley Green Inn in Fairmount Park. He'd made arrangements for them to accept the delivery in order to keep the flowers cool until he got there.

  He spent the rest of his shift looking into his new position and into Parsons’ files for maintenance, statistics, personnel and anything else pertaining to the transfer of command. It pleased him finding no surprises. The only surprise would be who the higher-ups assigned to 11 to replace him as lieutenant. Doing this also helped make the day go quicker.

  At four, he drove his Chevelle out of the lot and headed home. He pulled into the garage then went inside by way of the kitchen and waited for Ming-toi. He emptied a can of cat food into a bowl and put it on the floor. Ming-toi forgot their usual ritual, more interested in the food.

  "Thanks, pal,” Reed said, feigning hurt and petting the cat before he took the back stairs up to his room.

  The first thing he did was check his e-mail, relieved to find nothing from the beauty haunting him. Dropping his uniforms in his work-clothes basket, he stripped out of his street clothes then stepped into the hot shower he'd been looking forward to. He thought about his promotion, still surprised by the news though all of it was overshadowed by his mystery lady.

  A towel wrapped around his waist, he walked out of the bathroom after his shower and tried choosing a suit for the evening. He settled on black Prada, snickering. If only the guys at the station knew...

  Reed Carrington had done his best to keep a low profile and his true identity quiet. His mail from the department went to the station though their records showed his residence as being in Manayunk—a friend's apartment. He drove a ‘69 Chevelle he'd lovingly restored while in college, leaving his Town Car for society functions—when he went—and even then, he avoided publicity photos.

  After graduating from Drexel with a degree in engineering, he decided to do what he'd always wanted to do—fight fire. He passed the entry exams, went through the Academy and, after graduating, he went to his first assignment in West Philadelphia. He easily made friends as Reed Carrington of Manayunk while knowing he wouldn't have a chance as Reed Carrington of the Carringtons who made their money in everything from engineering, architecture, international finance and the list went on. He knew no one would understand why and this way kept explanations to a minimum.

  He'd always made sure his friends from work didn't come to the house which helped to keep his life outside the firehouse private. He knew Dan and Larry would never understand and if he met a girl he liked, he waited until he knew their relationship might last before they saw the house. He'd never bought anyone home and rarely entertained, preferring to remain a very private person.

  He knew one thing which he always laughed at—the mystery of Reed Carrington made him one of the most sought-after bachelors in Philadelphia society and he'd never been interested. Thank God. Jocilynne Sommersby would be the one to ruin it for me if she ever found out.

  Dropping the towel, he slipped into black silk boxers then a black silk shirt and the Prada suit. He pulled on boots then checked his look in the mirror. Fixing his collar and cuffs on his shirt, he liked what he saw. He combed his hair, hung the towel back on the rack in the bathroom and left his room.

  He checked on the cat then walked to the garage, going to the car parked between the Town Car and the Chevelle. For his graduation gift to himself, he'd bought a Jaguar XJE, his one luxurious toy. The Town Car he used for social and business affairs, the Chevelle for work and the Jag for dates and just driving.

  He started it, the engine purring. He turned on the radio to one of the city's oldies stations and backed out of the garage. Ten minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot at the Valley Green Inn. Checking the time, he saw he still had a few minutes so he went to the bar and ordered a whiskey, straight up.

  Reed smiled. The ambiance perfect, the roses waited and so did he. He saw a familiar face enter the restaurant and wondered about coincidences. He thought it strange how both a woman he'd met on the job the day before and himself could wind up dining at the same restaurant at the same time. Interesting...

  He turned back to the bar, ordering another drink. When he looked back to the front entry, he didn't see her. A strange feeling ran through him, one he passed off as nerves.

&nb
sp; "Sir, your dinner companion is waiting at your table. The patio has been set up as you requested and it's exclusively yours for the evening."

  "Thank you,” Reed said.

  "This way, sir."

  "I know the way,” Reed said. “Tell the waiter to give us a little bit before he comes over for the order."

  "Yes, sir."

  * * * *

  Chelsea checked her image in the mirror one more time. So far, she'd changed outfits three times. Never had any man made her this nervous. Finally, she settled on a black jacket and matching skirt—short but not too short—and a red halter. She slipped her feet into very classic high heels then brushed her hair out, applied a little bit of make-up, grabbed her keys and left before she changed her mind again.

  She went to where she parked her car in the alley in back of the building and slid behind the wheel of her metallic blue Corvette, started the engine and pulled into traffic on Chestnut Street.

  It took her longer than she planned on because she ran into traffic but once she found the inn, she parked then went inside.

  "Ah, may I help you?"

  "I'm meeting someone at eight though I can't tell you his name. It's a very blind date, so to speak."

  "We have one reservation for eight this evening. If you'll follow me..."

  "Thank you,” she said.

  He led her out onto the porch overlooking the Wissahickon Creek. She saw several torches along the bank while candles cast an intimate glow on the tables. Sheer netting fell gracefully from the eave. She liked the idea of dining outside while having the ambiance of an airy dining room.

  "Can I get you something from the bar?"

  "Maybe a little later."

  "Very good,” he said. “If you need anything..."

  "Thank you,” she said.

  Chelsea sat down, her back to the inn so she could gaze at the creek, a beautiful sight on a summer's night.

  The waiter returned with a long white box.

  "This is for you."

  "What?” she asked before she took it. “Thank you."

  She removed the lid, gasping at the sight of a dozen perfect white roses.

  "I hope you like them,” a strangely familiar voice said.

  "I do,” she said, her eyes closed when she took another whiff of the beautiful buds.

  "I'm glad,” he said. He leaned against one of the posts as if waiting for an invitation to join her.

  She looked up, gazed at him, her heart skipping a beat. Oh, my God...

  * * * *

  "You remind me of a fireman I met yesterday when the fire alarm at my gallery tripped,” Chelsea said once she'd gotten over the shock of seeing him again this soon after their initial meeting.

  "You remind me of a woman I met on location at a call yesterday,” he said, still leaning against a nearby post.

  "It's nice to see you again,” she said, “Mister..."

  "Reed Carrington."

  "Ah, that's right, Lieutenant."

  "As of Monday, it'll be captain."

  "Congratulations. The cop alluded to rumors surrounding that."

  "Interesting, I didn't think they cared much what went on in the department."

  "I have a question for you."

  "Shoot."

  "Are you related to the Carringtons who live nearby?"

  "I'm their son."

  "Damn it,” she cursed. “I'm so sorry. I..."

  "It's all right,” he said. “I'd rather it remained our secret."

  "I can understand that,” she said, taking a deep breath. “My name is Chelsea Strawbridge."

  "How close?"

  "Very distant cousin, possibly black sheep and not in line for any inheritance except my father's. It's why I go by Chelsea only at the gallery."

  "I see,” he said. “I've seen some of your mother's photographs—she's very good."

  "We've been invited to some of the balls and affairs at the house but..."

  "I probably was, too but I haven't been to any society events in a long while."

  "Scheduling?"

  "Not my cup of tea."

  "Are you ever going to join me?"

  "It depends."

  "On?"

  "Are you Screensiren?"

  "Only if you're HotShot04."

  "Guilty."

  "Then so am I."

  Reed sat in the chair next to her so he wouldn't block her view of the creek. He'd enjoyed watching her before he asked her about the roses.

  "You look absolutely amazing,” he complimented.

  "So do you,” she said, inwardly cursing her nervousness.

  The waiter came over and took their drink orders—whiskey straight for Reed, vodka martini for Chelsea. When he returned, they ordered crab cakes for an appetizer then she decided on filet while he ordered the New York strip steak.

  "It's been a while since I've been here,” she said.

  "Same here,” he agreed.

  The waiter returned a short time later with the crab cakes and told them dinner would be served in a short while.

  "Thank you,” Reed said.

  He took a crab cake and placed it on a plate then handed it to her before taking his own.

  "Mmm, this is good but..."

  "I know but Maryland crab is still the best."

  They laughed, their tension easing.

  "We should take a trip to the Inner Harbor."

  "Is Phillips still there?” she asked, referring to the huge seafood restaurant in Baltimore.

  "Yes,” he answered.

  "I'd like that,” she said. She watched him relax some, wanting to give him a command to see what might happen. Then it came to her. “Feed me,” she said, Reed obviously picking up on her idea.

  "Yes, ma'am,” he said without thinking. “How would you prefer?"

  "Fingers are fine,” she said.

  Reed picked up a bite-sized piece of the delicacy and slid it gently into her mouth. Her lips closed around his fingers, her tongue brushing over them. He jolted a little, Chelsea smiling because she felt the same.

  * * * *

  Jocilynne Sommersby paced. Having learned nothing at the restaurant, she took to spending the next several evenings sitting in a custom van across the street hoping to catch sight of him walking in—nothing.

  "Joci, are you sure about this?” Joseph asked.

  "Yes, he's a regular from what his friend said the other night when we met them."

  "Wouldn't Penny know? Maybe she can get hold of his friend."

  "I asked her. Once he dropped her at her place, he left because he had to cover somebody's shift."

  "Why don't you just leave whatever he left and his description with the bartender and get it back to him that way?"

  "But I want to make sure he gets it."

  "Leave a note with it and put your phone number on it so he can call you when he gets it."

  Jocilynne acted like she was thinking about his suggestion.

  "That might be an option,” she lied, her frustration evident.

  "Joci, you can't keep this up,” he told her. “I know the cops are going to figure out we've been here in this van for the last several nights and become suspicious if somebody else doesn't."

  "You worry too much."

  "No, I don't,” he protested.

  "Nobody's..."

  "Open up,” a stern voice demanded, “Philadelphia Police."

  * * * *

  Reed could not wait for their dinner to be over so they could go somewhere and be alone together. Granted they had the porch to themselves but it wasn't private. He even considered taking her home.

  Yes, it's love at first sight...

  The thought scared him at the same time it ran wild in his mind and joined thoughts about what they could be doing to each other. His cock agreed though he did his best to control his desires. He wanted to please her more than anything—one of the most arousing sensations ever.

  "What are you thinking about?” she asked him.

  "I'm n
ot so sure you want to know."

  "I command you to tell me."

  "You asked for it,” he said, looking out toward the torchlit bank.

  "Well?"

  "All I want to do is get you alone somewhere and..."

  "I've had the same thoughts."

  "What?"

  "I believe in several things—gut instinct, love at first sight, needing someone I've only just met so much it hurt when you left the table for a few moments earlier—shall I go on? The first one has never let me down. In fact, it told me my feelings of love for you when I first saw you yesterday would become a part of my life for a long time to come, but the feeling of emptiness when you left to go to the men's room earlier is new and I've never felt that way about anyone before."

  "It's strange because I usually don't bring anyone home—not even the guys I'm close to at the station and definitely no women until I'm absolutely sure something's there. I want to take you home."

  "And how many times have you felt that?"

  "Once."

  "What happened?"

  "She transferred from Drexel where we went to school to Cal Poly Tech."

  "And?"

  "I heard she married one of her teachers and they have two sons."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be. If we had stayed together, you and I wouldn't be here right now."

  "And Little Miss Riding Crop?"

  "Scared me,” he admitted.

  "Why?"

  "I did some research the other night. A guy I know—thanks to an odor of gas investigation at his adult bookstore—sent me to see Mistress Brandy. I wanted to see what I might be getting into. She told me about Lynne Sommersby."

  "How did she hear? We're all so very private about this."

  "She's had to fix some of Lynne's conquests."

  "I'd heard about a Dom in the area who left her dates in emotional upheaval."

  "I'm living proof."

  "And how do you feel about this Mistress Brandy?"

  "To quote a famous song—I Only Have Eyes For You."

  "Good,” Chelsea said. “Now, what do we do about right now?"

  He held his hand out to her and they left the restaurant. He walked her to her Corvette, making sure she got into her car without a problem. He ran to his Jag, slid behind the wheel then led Chelsea to his home—the place where the real Reed Carrington lived. But do I really know the real me yet and if I don't, can Chelsea help me through this?