Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Frankie

When Jay and I first step into the ballroom, I feel out of place in this elegant red dress. It's gorgeous and didn't break the bank, which makes it even more beautiful. It's not me, then again, it's not like there's a huge call for me to wear an evening gown to a crime scene, so maybe it is me.

With that thought in mind, I straighten my posture and decide to embrace the look. It's not every day I get to feel this glamorous and showcase my feminine side, so even though the Police Union Ball is the last place I want to be tonight, I'm going to have fun and enjoy feeling beautiful.

I take my time at the entrance of the ballroom to scan the crowd, a mix of police officers and detectives mingling with the brass, local and state politicians, wealthy individuals, and even a few celebrities who proudly support law enforcement.

There are coworkers I know in their best but ill-fitting suits, their wives and fellow female officers in beautiful gowns, smiling and chatting with donors. No police event is complete without affluent badge bunnies with deep pockets.

I just have to get through a few hours before I can leave without catching shit from my captain tomorrow. I take a deep breath and take several steps forward, exhaling as I spot a waiter with a tray of champagne flutes.

"Thank you," I say as I accept a flute from the disinterested server and drink it down.

The place is crowded, and as soon as I spot another server, I grab another champagne flute, but I take my time enjoying this one.

A loud wolf whistle sounds behind me, and I roll my eyes. "Wow, you clean up nice." The sound of Amelia's voice puts me at ease, and I turn to see her wearing a big smile that's nearly as sparkly as her gold dress.

"I could say the same to you, Ames. Are you looking to bag a rich benefactor?"

She rolls her eyes. "I'll settle for gorgeous and hung with excellent communication skills and a high emotional quotient." Her laughter draws a few looks, but she's oblivious. "Love the dress."

"Thanks," I say, twirling to show off the slinky silhouette. "It was beautiful and on sale, two things I look for when it comes to impractical clothing choices."

Amelia leans in with a conspiratorial smile. "Well, it's certainly working based on the way all the men are checking you out. Almost makes me wish I hadn't spent so much time getting dolled up."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, please. You're always dressed up and looking fantastic. You know it."

She gives me a satisfied smile. "It's nice to hear, anyway." Amelia lets out a sigh and stands beside me to look over the crowd. "There are some good-looking guys in here tonight," she whispers.

"And many of them are law enforcement, so be careful."

"Because you're calling dibs? Or some other reason?" Her brows arch, and she leans in, hungry for all the gossip.

"Because shitting where you eat can make things complicated. Trust me." I think of Nate and that damn lingerie. Again.

"Noted. But maybe I'm looking for tonight and not forever." She wiggles her auburn brows, laughing and drawing stares.

"In that case, have at it," I tell her just as my gaze lands on a good-looking man who can't seem to keep his eyes off me. But a deeper look reveals he's not just totally fucking gorgeous—he's also familiar. I search my memory for recent faces and smile because he's the rich prick from Beans & Things.

"Whoa," Amelia sighs. "How do you know him ?"

Something about Amelia's tone draws my attention back to her. "Do you know him?" It would be just my luck that this handsome man is one of her former conquests.

Amelia's eyes go wide. "You don't know Damien Wolfe?"

I frown. "I know the name, sure. Some rich tech guy who's going to change the world or something. Right? But that guy over there spilled coffee on me a few days ago." I know the name because he's always in the news. But unless it helps me solve a murder, I don't bother myself with celebrity news and gossip. "Didn't know they grew tech nerds so hot, though."

"Well, he can't take his eyes off you, and he's coming this way, so shoot your shot, Frankie."

I hear her words and feel it when she bumps my shoulder with hers. Giddiness radiating from her body. But I can't take my eyes off the tech nerd, Damien Wolfe, as he quickly approaches me.

"Fancy meeting you here," he says when he reaches us, his voice low and deep, hitting all the right pleasure centers.

"Too fancy to let you spill more coffee on me," I reply with a smile.

His smile gets bigger, and at that moment, I realize I may have judged him too harshly at our first meeting. A man who can laugh at himself is a rare breed.

"I am truly sorry about that." He holds out a hand. "Damien Wolfe. Supporter of law enforcement."

I smile and extend my hand. "Francesca DeMarco, law enforcement. And this is my friend, Dr. Amelia Novak."

He shakes my hand, and a jolt of electricity courses between us, so intense I have to steady myself to keep from pulling away. Then he turns to Amelia, nodding warmly as he shakes her hand. "The pleasure is mine," he says, before his gaze returns to me.

"I'll just slip out," Amelia says with a playful grin, pretending to be the awkward third wheel.

"Nice meeting you, Amelia," Damien replies, and I silently credit his mother for raising him with good manners.

"Go for it," Amelia mouths behind him before she spins and takes off toward a group of tuxedos.

I turn another smile to Damien, who still looks at me as if I'm on tonight's menu. "So, a supporter of law enforcement?"

He nods slowly. "I am, yes. In fact, I saw you on the news a few days ago at a crime scene, and I'm curious…" The words come slowly, and I brace myself.

Most men are either dismissive of my career or entirely too interested. I have an ugly feeling that Mr. Wolfe is the latter, which makes him just too damn good to be true.

"Curious about what?" I hold my breath and run through my list of ready answers to morbid questions.

Damien leans in, and I can see that his hazel eyes aren't a blend of colors so much as several rings that gently blend to create a brilliant shade of golden brown.

"How do you process it all? I mean, all the violence and trauma, the sadness and the grieving families, it must be difficult."

His question surprises me, and I realize that, yet again, I have misjudged him. I shrug off his curious look with a friendly smile.

"It's part of the job. Some days, I process it with humor. Other days I cry for the senseless loss of life. Mostly, I just do my damnedest to get justice for the victims."

His smile grows brighter and more captivating with each passing second. I'm momentarily surprised by it, but it's his strikingly good looks that leave me completely distracted. "Francesca," he begins in a voice dripping with honey.

"Frankie," I quickly correct him. "Call me Frankie." What is it about this man that's affecting me? Usually, I'm an ice queen when it comes to men, but right now, I feel like a giant puddle of goo.

"Frankie," he practically growls. "Have dinner with me." It's more of a command than a request, and instead of being put off, I'm intrigued. Hell, I'm hungry for him.

"Dinner." I let the word linger between us. Our eyes lock in an intense staring contest that's making me too warm. I think about it for a long moment, weighing my options. What would I have to talk about with a gorgeous, globe-trotting billionaire? In a word, nothing. Then again, maybe I should adopt Amelia's mindset. Damien doesn't have to be Mr. Right. He could simply be Mr. Right Now. "Dinner. Huh?"

He nods, his smile twisting into a lopsided grin. "Yes, dinner."

I have to be honest. His voice alone is having an aphrodisiac effect on me. "Dinner sounds nice." I fish a business card from the tiny, useless box that passes for my purse this evening and press it into his palm. "Call or text me, and we'll figure out an evening that fits both of our schedules."

He holds the card between his index and middle fingers before tucking it into his jacket pocket. "Talk to you soon, Frankie. Very soon."

My breath catches in my throat as I watch him walk away. He's a big man, tall and broad with long legs. And I'll bet good money that the tuxedo isn't just his but made to fit his body perfectly.

My fingers twitch with the desire to touch his body over that tuxedo to see if it's as hard as it looks. I bet it is. I grab another drink and go find my coworkers to waste some time with before I can make up an excuse to go home.

"You clean up nice, DeMarco."

I roll my eyes at the narcotics detective who can't take his eyes off my cleavage. "Thanks. Wish I could say the same for you."

He laughs. "Seriously, you look incredible in that dress."

"Thank you. I heard there's an heiress here who wants to know all about going undercover."

His eyes light up. "Seriously? Don't fuck with me, Frankie."

I smile. "Blonde and busty in a long silver dress with a slit. Go get her."

He takes off and I relax, knowing I won't have to deal with his drunken antics an hour from now.

"That was a nice thing you did," Jay whispers in my ear.

"I didn't do it for him. I did it for me." I flash a smile as Jay sits down with a soft grunt.

"Worried he might forget about your right hook again?"

I smile. "Worried? Not at all. Having fun?"

"Not even a little bit. Cassandra is making lasagna tonight, so I'm thinking about grabbing a six-pack and going to her place."

I roll my eyes. "A six-pack with lasagna? Take red wine. And why didn't you bring her with you? The food here is amazing."

"I asked her, but she's not ready to meet the crew yet."

I nod. "Smart lady."

"So, you'll find another ride home, and I can cut out now?"

I shrug. "Yeah, I can grab an Uber. Go have fun with your smart new lady." I'm jealous as hell because I want to leave, too. But I haven't even put in face time with the captain, so he can see that I got dolled up and did the whole dog and pony show.

"I will. Thanks, Frankie." Without another word, Jay gets up, strolling toward the captain who's holding court with a commander and a few sergeants.

Before I can do the same, a journalist steps in front of me. "Detective DeMarco, I'm Sarah Murphy from?—"

"I know who you are, Miss Murphy. You do the crime beat for the Times."

"That's right. I'd like to do a profile on you for the paper."

I frown. "Why? No one gives a damn about the life of a cop." Most days people don't even want to be bothered with law enforcement, not even when they need us. Luckily, homicide detectives are often exempt from that hate.

She laughs. "Usually, I would agree, but when the detective is beautiful, smart, and heading up a possible serial killer case, everyone will be interested. You are single-handedly keeping the city safe."

A loud bark of laughter escapes, and when I scan the room, my gaze connects with Damien's. "I wouldn't say that at all. My partner is the lead on this case, and we have an entire team helping."

"Modest, too. Think about it," she says, pressing a business card into my hand before she spots someone more interesting and darts off.

Thank fucking goodness.

Seventy-five minutes into the ball, and I'm making my way to the door because it wouldn't look good if I'm seen running at full speed toward the nearest exit. I smile and offer my thanks to donors and farewells to other cops, edging closer and closer to the exit.

"DeMarco."

Dammit. I turn with a smile. "Yes, Captain?"

"Thanks for coming tonight. You snagged a big donation from Mr. Wolfe, and I hear you're sitting down with the Times for an interview."

"No, she railroaded me. I haven't agreed to anything yet."

"You should. But we can talk about it later. I just wanted you to know I see you, and I'm fine with you leaving. Early."

Of course. "Thanks, Captain. Enjoy the rest of your night." I rush through the ballroom doors and run smack into a warm, broad chest emanating a deliciously masculine scent. "Excuse me."

"We meet again, Francesca."

I look up into Damien's teasing hazel eyes and smile. "Frankie. We do, but only to say goodbye."

"So soon?" He seems genuinely disappointed, which I think is weird, but okay.

"Yeah, these types of events aren't really my scene. I've made my appearance and now I'm heading home."

"Would you like a ride?"

Hell, yes, I do, but how does he know? "Uhhh," I choke. I know better. And why does this man leave me speechless?

"I promise to keep my hands to myself." He puts one hand over his heart and holds the other up like he's about to be sworn into court. "Promise."

The gesture makes me laugh. "I have a gun in my purse, so yeah, I'll accept your offer." I must be crazy. Just because he's hotter than sin, rich, and charming doesn't mean he's not dangerous. Probably more dangerous than the average-looking non-billionaires roaming the planet freely.

"Feel free to let your partner know that I'm giving you a ride home," he says with a gleam in his eyes. "You know, just in case you're worried about your safety. Or your honor."

His comment catches me off guard, but I can't deny he's got a point. I fish my phone out and shoot Jay a quick message about my ride home. "All right, lead the way."

He clasps my hand, his touch both authoritative and tender. "Follow me."

When we reach the valet station, I'm hardly shocked to see a pricey electric luxury vehicle roll up. "A Taycan? Now you're just showing off."

His hazel eyes widen. "And you know cars, which means I'm halfway in love with you already."

Another chuckle escapes me as I slide into the passenger seat, reveling in the supple leather embracing me. The seat's warmth and plushness, coupled with that opulent scent, is divine. "Sweet ride. What made you go electric?"

"Speed."

"Okay," I say. "Good answer. Top speed?"

"Close to one-sixty. Want to test it out?" There's a teasing glint in his eyes that's absolutely contagious.

"You know I am the law."

He laughs. "You're a homicide detective, not a traffic cop, Frankie."

"Good point, but also no. I'd prefer to make it home in one piece."

"Excellent point. It is one beautiful piece, too."

I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. "By the way, you'll need my address to get there." I rattle off my address, and he speaks it into the navigation system without missing a beat.

He gives me a sidelong glance, a smirk playing on his lips. "All set. Let's get you home safely, beautiful Frankie." His eyes darken as we merge into traffic.

Damn. His words send a shiver of lust down my spine. "You're just saying that because I'm in this fancy dress."

"I saw you on TV, remember? Gray suit with a light purple blouse. It showed off just enough of everything." His smile grows before his gaze flicks back to the road.

I laugh again. "So, you hear about a murder and you're sizing up the cop investigating it?"

He dismisses it casually. "Why not? There's always some murder or another in this city, right? I like staying informed about my city."

"Unfortunately," I agree easily. "But the question still stands."

"In the spirit of honesty," he begins, handling the steering wheel like a champ even if he is going about fifteen miles over the speed limit. "The newscaster was talking, but your face was on the screen, so I muted her and watched you."

"Like a stalker."

He laughs. "Like a very observant man," he counters. "It's all about perspective."

"If you say so, Damien."

"I do. Where would you like to go on our date?"

I turn to him with a playful, almost flirty smile. "Aren't you supposed to figure that out?"

"Sure, but I haven't gotten to know you well enough to know what you like and, more importantly, what you don't like."

"Fine. I love Mexican food the best, followed by Italian and Greek. Pretty much anything Asian except sushi. I like my meat cooked." I realize what I say seconds later, but Damien doesn't comment on it.

"Thanks for the help." His smile is sincere, not playful or teasing, and not flirtatious. "I hate guessing games."

"Me too, so I'll ask, why me?"

His brows dip. "Why you, what?"

"Why do you want to go out with me?" I'm not fishing for compliments. I just like to know where I stand. "Be honest."

He's quiet for a full minute, following the navigation system and efficiently weaving through traffic. At a stoplight, he turns to me. "For starters, you're gorgeous as hell. Been having the dirtiest thoughts about you all evening," he admits. "For another, you're smart and capable. And tough. I like a tough woman, and I like it more that you don't treat me like I'm special just because I have a lot of money."

"You have a lot of money?" I laugh at his shocked look. "At least three people asked me how I know a billionaire tech genius."

His brows lift, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. "They called me a genius?"

I stare at him for a second and then burst out laughing. "Seriously?"

"What? It's always nice to hear," he insists with a chuckle.

All too soon, we're turning onto my block, and disappointment washes over me. The evening will soon be over and for the first time in a long damn time, I'm sad to see a man go.

"Hey, Frankie. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, just thinking about how surprising this evening has been." That's all I'm willing to admit, at least to Damien.

"It's been surprising for me, too. Usually, I hate these things. Everyone either has their hand out for money or photos, or they're looking to snag a rich husband."

"Poor little rich tech genius?"

He laughs, totally not offended by my teasing, which is a point in his favor. "No, just exhausting. Tonight was exhilarating, and I think it's all because of you."

The car comes to a stop at the curb right in front of my house, and I sigh before I turn to Damien, smiling. "I guess we'll find out if you ever figure out where you're taking me for dinner, Mr. Wolfe." With those words, I step from the car and close the door with a reluctant sigh.

"Frankie, wait up!" Damien jumps out of the car and catches up to me. "I'll walk you to your door."

It's an unexpected gesture. Most men assume I can fend for myself—which I can—but it's nice of him to offer. "That's sweet."

"That's me, a sweet billionaire tech genius." He laughs before his hand goes to the small of my back. "Nice place."

"It is, and it's mine." It's what matters to me most, that I have a place that is all mine.

We reach my doorstep too soon, and I turn to look up at Damien. "Thanks for the ride. And the walk to the door."

"My pleasure." His smile is warm as he leans forward, and I think, no, I know he's going to kiss me.

My body heats up until I feel a bead of sweat slide down my spine in anticipation of the feel of his lips, soft and thick, against my own. It's been too fucking long since I've had a man between my thighs, making me writhe and moan with pleasure. And now that the chance is here, I'm hungry for it.

But Damien's lips never touch mine. His lips land on my forehead in a kiss that's so tenderly sweet, so soft and equally hot that my panties go up in flames.

"Good night, Frankie. Sweet dreams."

My gaze stays on him as he jogs down the four steps that take him back to his sleek black car. He slides behind the steering wheel and turns to me, motioning for me to go inside. With a smile, I do just that, realizing I can't hear his electric car pulling away.

I'm so fucking giddy as I push the door closed, I can't stand it. My smile is so wide that my cheeks ache, but I temper my glee with a big dose of reality. I'm a broke-ass homicide detective, a cop, and he's rich and famous, plus a legit genius. We have nothing in common.

Nothing at all.

"Except for sizzling chemistry," I say, because it feels like a key factor. "He's probably just being nice," I say to myself because that's what rich guys do. They're either ruthless or too kind, too nice, to stay on the right side of the law.

My fingertips brush against my forehead, thinking about the kiss because there was nothing nice about that kiss. It was an intense forehead kiss, and it surprised me. Nothing ever surprises me. Rarely, anyway.

I wonder what else Mr. Wolfe has up his sleeve.

I bet Google knows.