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Dangerous Desires
by Dawn Altieri
 
Copyright © 2020 by Dawn Altieri. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Chapter One

“Don’t tell me you didn’t go out with anyone this weekend.”

Emma Sloane fought the urge to laugh. Her coworker and best friend Lauren Reed meant well, even if she didn’t realize the hopelessness of her mission.

After leaving the offices of MacMillan Investments, Emma had headed to the bustling Union Square Greenmarket with Lauren—their usual Monday evening routine, doing a little shopping, a little man-watching, and then stopping at the gourmet beverage booth where Lauren was currently harassing Emma over her nonexistent love life.

Lauren tipped the carafe of hazelnut creamer into her coffee. “By the time we left the office Friday, you had six messages on Lovematch. Six, Em.”

Actually, fourteen the last time Emma checked, but Lauren didn’t need to know that.

She snapped a lid onto her cup of English Breakfast tea, lifted her eyes skyward, and tapped her finger against her lips. “Let’s see, I caught up on my laundry and gave myself a manicure…” She slipped a lock of her long dark brown hair behind her ear. “Nope. Didn’t go out with anyone.”

Lauren grumbled and shook her head, sending her shoulder-length golden curls into a tizzy. “I filled out the questionnaire for you, loaned you my killer little black dress, and took that smoking hot photo for your profile. What else do I have to do? Date the guys?”

Emma smirked but didn’t answer. It wasn’t a bad suggestion.

“You are answering one of those guys tomorrow,” Lauren said, her voice stern, “even if I have to write the message myself. Seriously, Em, you have to put a little effort into this.”

Maybe she should answer some of them. But then Lauren might expect her to go out with the guys, too. Lauren made the whole dating thing seem easy. Outgoing and confident, the leggy blonde knew how to get exactly what she wanted—something Emma still hadn’t quite figured out, in love or any other aspect of her life.

“I don’t have time for that at the office,” Emma said, hoisting her canvas bag full of vegetables higher on her shoulder.

“Why, because you’re so dedicated to your job?” It was no secret how much Emma longed for a different career. “Think of how much more productive”—Lauren threw up fingers quotes with her free hand as they merged into the flow of shoppers—“you could be if you blew off some steam with a hot date once in a while.”

Leave it to Lauren to mock Emma’s respectable work ethic. There was nothing wrong with being conscientious about her job. Even if her job bored the hell out of her and she’d give it up in a second.

Besides, the thought of a hot date set Emma’s nerves on edge. She hadn’t been with a man since Justin passed away almost three years ago, mere weeks before they were to be married. The pain of losing him was the worst she’d ever experienced. She had no desire to go through any of it again. She’d been doing just fine on her own.

Lauren shielded her eyes from the sun with her free hand. “Where’s that hot guy with the pickle stand?”

“He was closer to the corner of Sixteenth Street last time we were here.” Emma snickered. “I’m sure he’s got a gherkin with your name on it.”

“Screw that,” Lauren said with a wave of her hand. “My money’s on a big juicy kosher dill.”

“You’re terrible.” Emma glanced around, surveying the other vendors’ offerings. “Do you mind if we head over there by the flowers?”

“Here we go,” Lauren said with a roll of her eyes. “The crazy plant lady has emerged from winter hibernation.”

Emma playfully nudged her shoulder before they crossed the path. Trays of colorful petunias and violas covered the asphalt. “That’s not true. You know I’m just as crazy in the winter, too.”

She picked up a small tray loaded with bright pink petunias and turned it side to side to be sure the batch was healthy, excited at the prospect of watching them grow on her balcony. Her mother had ridiculed her love of flowers and gardening and had squashed her dream of becoming a landscape designer. Instead, she’d strong-armed Emma into majoring in finance, a field her mother assured her meant more money—and more men with money. Men who would take care of Emma, just as Evelyn Sloane’s string of wealthy husbands had taken care of her. Until they didn’t.

Emma would have dropped out after one semester if she hadn’t met Justin. He’d convinced her to stick with him at the business school, and now she was stuck, all right. Alone and mired in a job she didn’t want, with no other experience or education to fall back on. Her life needed a whole new direction, but fear and complacency had kept her paralyzed, unable to talk herself into taking the risk to start over and fulfill her own dreams.

She grabbed a second tray of colorful blooms. “You should get a few of these for your place. They’d really liven things up.”

“My place gets all the livening up it needs, Em. Don’t you worry about that.” They rounded the first row of plants toward a table of cut flowers. “There he is,” Lauren said, pointing to the next row of booths. “Hurry up, girl. I need to see a man about a pickle.”

“Go,” Emma said with a chuckle. “I’m going to pay for these and then I’m heading home.”

The market was filled with some of Manhattan’s finest-looking men on a beautiful May evening, yet all she could think about was getting home to plant the flowers out on her balcony.

Maybe she needed more help than she thought.

Lauren sauntered off with a wave. Emma settled her purchases, then as an afterthought she picked up a business card from a box next to the cashier stand. There had to be some way she could apply her talents to the floral industry. The card included an email address. She could reach out to someone, maybe send a resumé… She shoved the card into her purse. One of these days, she swore she’d do it.

She made her way through the crowded sidewalks toward her apartment, struggling to balance the plants, her groceries, and her purse. She could grab a cab, but at the rate traffic was moving, she’d make it home faster if she walked. Maybe that wasn’t the best decision with everything she had to carry, but New York City was alive with people enjoying the warmest evening spring had offered so far. The fresh air carried a promise of invigoration and renewal she desperately needed.

The sky took on an orange glow as the sun dipped between skyscrapers. As she traversed the last few blocks toward her apartment building, darkness settled in more quickly than she’d expected. She headed up the steps to the building’s entrance and shifted everything to one arm so she could access the keypad next to the door with the other hand.

“Need help with that?”

She turned at the odd, raspy sound close behind her, like that of a man trying to disguise his voice. A tall, muscular figure emerged from behind the potted shrubbery, dressed all in black and wearing a ski mask that revealed nothing but his hazel green eyes.

A ski mask? In May?

He gripped her elbow and she gasped. The tray of flowers crashed to the concrete. Her bag of vegetables tumbled to the ground and scattered in every direction. She managed a muffled cry as he slapped a work glove-covered hand over her mouth, filling her nose with the stench of rubber.

He spun her back to his chest and choked off her air with a thick arm around her neck. “Shut up,” he snarled. The malicious command vibrated off her skin, sending a cold chill down her spine. He stepped backward as if to drag her toward the corner of the building.

“Hey!” Mrs. Henderson from 5B hurried toward them, still in her scrubs after her shift at New York Presbyterian. “Get your hands off her!”

The man released Emma so quickly she fell backward and landed hard on the stone planter box next to the doorway. He stood frozen, his furious gaze fixed on her like a wild animal who’d lost its prey and couldn’t decide whether or not to give up. She fought to memorize anything she could about him, but it was all a blur once he turned and took off down the sidewalk.

Mrs. Henderson reached her side, grabbed her hands, and steadied her. “Emma, are you all right?”

“Yeah,” she said as she stared down the street after her attacker, fighting for breath. “I’m okay.”

But who the hell was that?

And oh my God. Had he just tried to abduct her?