Manhattan Flame (A Bridge & Tunnel Romance Book 2) by Mira Gibson Page A
Authors: Mira Gibson
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reminded her of first kisses to come.
Quietly and in a tone so deep and smooth that she felt herself floating towards him, he said, “Let me talk to my guy in evidence. I’ll text you.”
There wasn’t one part of Tasha that didn’t want to invite him up, rip his uniform off, and make up for the many months she’d gone without a man in her life, but she held her tongue and breathed a sigh of relief when he glanced at his wristwatch.
“You won’t be late?” she asked.
“I’ll be fine,” he said, holding her gaze.
She lingered, trying not to be obvious about drinking in the sight of him, and just as she felt the urge to cave, lean in, and press her lips to his no matter how impulsive it would seem, she turned for the door, feeling his eyes on her as she keyed into the building.
The glass door drifted shut, as she glanced over her shoulder at him. He was watching her too, tucking his hands into his slacks and clenching his jaw in a way that reminded her of the danger she might be in.
But her last thought before padding off through the lobby for the stairs was of the hope that he might text her before she fell asleep.
Chapter Five
Tasha examined the sleek telephoto lens in her hands from where she stood in the Canon DSLR section of B & H Photo—the largest photography store in Manhattan—and couldn’t believe its price tag. After doing some quick math in her head to figure out whether or not she could swing it, she decided she would have to and placed it in her shopping basket next to the Canon camera body she had already selected.
As she meandered down the aisle, weaving between browsing shoppers, Kevin’s alarming text message nagged at her from the back of her mind.
Asleep last night, she had been woken by the stark buzz of her cell phone, which she has set on her bed while dozing off. Bleary eyed and swiping the screen, she had recognized his number right away, but the message itself hadn’t computed. Not immediately.
You’re right. You’re being stalked. I chased him to his vehicle and got the plate.
She’d written him back almost instantly and spent hours waiting on edge for his response.
It was four in the afternoon now and he still hadn’t gotten back to her.
She glanced around the massive store, scanning the faces, but none belonged to the Russian man who had been trailing after her ever since she’d documented the murder at the pier. She would’ve liked to think that was because Kevin had tracked him down and arrested him, but she wasn’t feeling very optimistic about it.
From the top of the escalator, Greer rounded into the DSLR section and soon Jennifer appeared, hurrying after her.
Breathlessly, Greer said, “The train took forever,” and then eyed the contents of Tasha’s shopping basket. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us sooner.”
Jennifer added, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, meeting each of their gazes. “I was a ways away from it all.” She was tempted to mention she was being stalked and quite frankly on edge because of it, but she didn’t want to worry them so instead said, “One of the officers at the station is taking an interest and handling things.”
Jennifer angled her dark eyes up at Tasha and cocked her eyebrow, questioning her with, “Handling what? You’re buying a new camera.”
Greer shot their Asian friend a steely glance as if to say, You're not helping , then asked, “Will you get your camera back eventually? Because you can always sell it and offset the cost of this one.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that,” she said, trying not to sound defeated. As she led them through the aisle, doubling-back towards the escalators, she vented over her shoulder. “Those cops, man. They took one look at me and thought the worst.”
Stepping onto the escalator, she turned to face her friends. Greer hopped on next, and after a slight hesitation, Jennifer followed, asking, “What are they, racist or something?”
“Or
Quietly and in a tone so deep and smooth that she felt herself floating towards him, he said, “Let me talk to my guy in evidence. I’ll text you.”
There wasn’t one part of Tasha that didn’t want to invite him up, rip his uniform off, and make up for the many months she’d gone without a man in her life, but she held her tongue and breathed a sigh of relief when he glanced at his wristwatch.
“You won’t be late?” she asked.
“I’ll be fine,” he said, holding her gaze.
She lingered, trying not to be obvious about drinking in the sight of him, and just as she felt the urge to cave, lean in, and press her lips to his no matter how impulsive it would seem, she turned for the door, feeling his eyes on her as she keyed into the building.
The glass door drifted shut, as she glanced over her shoulder at him. He was watching her too, tucking his hands into his slacks and clenching his jaw in a way that reminded her of the danger she might be in.
But her last thought before padding off through the lobby for the stairs was of the hope that he might text her before she fell asleep.
Chapter Five
Tasha examined the sleek telephoto lens in her hands from where she stood in the Canon DSLR section of B & H Photo—the largest photography store in Manhattan—and couldn’t believe its price tag. After doing some quick math in her head to figure out whether or not she could swing it, she decided she would have to and placed it in her shopping basket next to the Canon camera body she had already selected.
As she meandered down the aisle, weaving between browsing shoppers, Kevin’s alarming text message nagged at her from the back of her mind.
Asleep last night, she had been woken by the stark buzz of her cell phone, which she has set on her bed while dozing off. Bleary eyed and swiping the screen, she had recognized his number right away, but the message itself hadn’t computed. Not immediately.
You’re right. You’re being stalked. I chased him to his vehicle and got the plate.
She’d written him back almost instantly and spent hours waiting on edge for his response.
It was four in the afternoon now and he still hadn’t gotten back to her.
She glanced around the massive store, scanning the faces, but none belonged to the Russian man who had been trailing after her ever since she’d documented the murder at the pier. She would’ve liked to think that was because Kevin had tracked him down and arrested him, but she wasn’t feeling very optimistic about it.
From the top of the escalator, Greer rounded into the DSLR section and soon Jennifer appeared, hurrying after her.
Breathlessly, Greer said, “The train took forever,” and then eyed the contents of Tasha’s shopping basket. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us sooner.”
Jennifer added, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, meeting each of their gazes. “I was a ways away from it all.” She was tempted to mention she was being stalked and quite frankly on edge because of it, but she didn’t want to worry them so instead said, “One of the officers at the station is taking an interest and handling things.”
Jennifer angled her dark eyes up at Tasha and cocked her eyebrow, questioning her with, “Handling what? You’re buying a new camera.”
Greer shot their Asian friend a steely glance as if to say, You're not helping , then asked, “Will you get your camera back eventually? Because you can always sell it and offset the cost of this one.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that,” she said, trying not to sound defeated. As she led them through the aisle, doubling-back towards the escalators, she vented over her shoulder. “Those cops, man. They took one look at me and thought the worst.”
Stepping onto the escalator, she turned to face her friends. Greer hopped on next, and after a slight hesitation, Jennifer followed, asking, “What are they, racist or something?”
“Or
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