Imaginary Lines (New York Leopards 3)

“None you bothered bringing home to meet your mother,” I countered.

“I introduced her to two when she was out here!”

“Only one was on purpose, though,” I reminded him. “Kelly was an accident.” I exaggerated a wince. “That must have been embarrassing, you and your mom walking into your apartment to find it filled with...Kelly and whipping cream.”

His wince was real. “That made the rounds of the entire town?”

“Oh, the entire Bay, I’m afraid. And parts of Oakland.”

He shook his head. “You have a cruel streak, Miss Rosenfeld.”

I took a sip of my drink. “What nonsense. I am merely the deliverer of truth.”

He regarded me with a smile. “You probably think you know everything about me.”

“Oh, but I do, Abraham Krasner.”

He shook his head slowly. “You only know what my mom knows.”

I scoffed. “And what else is there?”

He reached across the table and lifted my hand in his. Both of our palms faced upward. His dwarfed mine, and I stilled, flutters cascading through me in a way I’d never quite forgotten. His dark eyes held mine and his thumb slowly circled the center of my palm. His callused skin was rough against my sensitive lifelines.

My breath caught. My blood pulsed tangibly in my wrist. “What are you doing?”

“There are some things about me even you don’t know about, Tamar Rosenfeld.”

How was it possible that he was only holding my hand and I was getting turned on? I slowly withdrew my hand and pressed it against my thigh. My eyes were wide and I tried desperately to think of something to say. “Um... Fine. Prove me wrong. Tell me a secret.”

I would’ve had to have been the least observant reporter ever if I didn’t notice how his eyes dipped to my lips, and then even further. And I’d have to be a liar if I said it didn’t send a curl of satisfaction twining through me.

But those dark, downward-tilting eyes were back on mine in a heartbeat. “And what do I get out

of it?”

“What do you want?”

“One of your secrets, of course.”

I leaned forward. “Ah, but I have no secrets.”

“Everyone has secrets.”

I searched his eyes, but he seemed deadly serious. I straightened in surprise. “All right. We’ll trade.”

“You go first.”

“You go first.”

I toyed with protesting, but I was too curious about what deep, dark secret Abraham had to risk him changing his mind. “Fine.”

The only problem with going first was that I now had to summon a secret to mind. Honest to God, I wasn’t sure I had any. My job was to be a levelheaded, objective reporter, and as such I could tell that nothing bad had ever happened to me.

I opened my mouth and hoped something would float out. “I’m afraid I’m destined for mediocrity.”

That sounded dramatic, even to me, but Abe didn’t call me on it. Instead, he studied me. “Why do you say that?”

I shrugged. “You know. General malaise of spirit. I hear New Yorkers find ennui fashionable.”