Silk Confessions

“You’re living on a diet of popcorn and water.” He slid into the red, high-backed chair in front of the computer and told himself that finding out more about Tempest was part of his job. The fact that he happened to be enjoying himself was a bonus. “You must know that’s exactly what I’d expect from you highbrow types. You probably had a half ounce of cottage cheese on a lettuce leaf for lunch, right?”

“Wrong again.” She set down their popcorn on a foldout shelf before pulling over one of the dining room chairs to sit beside him. Before she lowered herself into the chair, she whistled to Eloise and tossed the dog a pink Milk-Bone.

“I bet I’m not far off.” Wes concentrated on the scent of popcorn in an effort to shut out the soft fragrance of the woman making herself comfortable next to him.

She sure didn’t seem like the prostitution type, even with the high percentage of lacy undergarments still strewn around her apartment like visual sex triggers guaranteed to make him start drooling. And she didn’t seem to be hiding anything, either. Other than her lunch menu, of course.

“I skipped lunch actually,” she finally admitted, her gaze fixed on the computer screen as he pulled up the “Properties” information box on the unnamed document informing Tempest she was in the wrong business.

“Even worse than a lettuce leaf.” He tossed a handful of popcorn in his mouth and jotted down the time the document had been created. 12:53 pm. “You said you got home around two?”

“I got to the building at five minutes before two. My meeting ran late today and then Eloise stopped to beg the hot pretzel vendor for a treat.” She glared at Eloise who sniffed the floor for any leftover crumbs.

“It’s no wonder your dog has to beg on the street if you feed her like you feed yourself.” He cracked open his bottle of water and took a swig before digging into the popcorn bowl again. “But it’s a damn good thing you didn’t get here any sooner today since you missed your uninvited guest by less than an hour.”

Wes didn’t want to think about how different his day would have been if he’d been called to Tempest’s apartment on an assault case. Or worse.

His popcorn stuck in his throat.

“Tell me why you think MatingGame is involved in prostitution.” Tempest tucked her feet underneath her thighs, folding herself up into a more comfortable position on her chair.

Not that he’d let his gaze wander over her delectable body. He was simply making smart cop observations.

Yeah, that was it.

“Anonymous tip.” He clicked through a few more screens before opening her browser and surfing to the MatingGame site. “Add that to the fact that our murder victim had a reputation for visiting prostitutes every Saturday night, and then this past Saturday his appointment book had an entry to meet someone he designated simply as a blonde from MatingGame.”

She wriggled in her seat beside him, the wooden dining room chair squeaking as she moved.

“Maybe he got tired of paying for sex and decided to use a more tried and true means of getting horizontal.” She reached over him to point out a little red box at the bottom of the MatingGame home page. “Click here to move straight to the dating profiles.”

“I don’t get paid to come up with the most creative scenarios for a crime. I follow the obvious path first.” Wes took a deep breath to steel himself against the surge of hunger brought on by the soft shift of her body beside his. She was close enough that he could hear the whisper of fabric as she moved. Her shoulder brushed his arm as she leaned in front of him, and he could have sworn one wayward curl of her dark hair skimmed his cheek.

Of course, the breath that he hoped would steel his nerves only filled his nostrils with her warm, nutty scent—something sultry and feminine and definitely edible. Whatever it was, he damn well wanted a taste.

He clicked the red box she’d indicated with a vengeance, hoping like hell she wouldn’t have any reason to point to the computer screen again. How could a man keep his mind on work with such an abundance of soft femininity leaning and bending and stretching beside him?

“Are you comfortable yet?” He turned on her, not meaning to glare, but didn’t she realize how distracting all that wriggling could be?

“You got the good chair.” Frowning, she looped an arm over the back of the wooden seat. “I can’t sit still if I’m not comfy.”

Damnation. He stood, silently rolling the red office chair toward her until she swapped places with him. He dragged the wooden chair in front of the computer and turned it around so he could straddle the seat. They would both be better off if he didn’t get too relaxed in her living room anyhow.

“So the obvious answer is that his MatingGame date was a prostitute?” She reached over him again to tap the blank screen with one manicured finger. “I think the women’s profiles are on the left. Sorry my dial-up connection is slow, but you can go ahead and click here and it will advance you to the next screen.”

This wasn’t going to work. Wes was choking on his own lust. The women he’d slept with in the last eighteen months hadn’t been people he’d pursued. They’d shown interest in him, he’d succumbed to biology. The encounters had been simple. Neat. Easy.

And completely unlike the heat licking over him because of one curvy, wriggly, delicious-smelling woman. It would be different if he could just take her right now and get it over with. Right there, in her red chair, where she’d damn well be comfortable.

Only she wouldn’t stay comfortable for long. If he had his way, she’d be sighing, moaning and writhing all over him until she’d achieved body-rocking sexual bliss.

While they waited for the page to load on the screen, Wes downed the rest of his bottle of water but didn’t come close to dousing the heat inspired by Tempest Boucher.

“There we go,” she murmured as thumbnail photos of dozens of women appeared on the monitor. “I haven’t looked at the site in quite a while, but if I remember correctly, these are the dating profiles for every woman in the system except for the clients who sign up for the Blind Date service. When we took over the company, we helped MatingGame make sure all the e-mail addresses were verified to cut down on bogus profiles. I can’t imagine women who were prostituting themselves would give out information where they could be tracked.”

“You’d be surprised.” Forcing himself to concentrate on his case, Wes enlarged two of the profiles for closer inspection. “The city has slacked off on prosecuting crimes some people argue are victimless. Because of the lack of vigilance, escort services thrive and they can be very aggressive about advertising.”

She frowned. “I’ve never studied the site that thoroughly from anything but a business point of view, but I know firsthand that valid relationships have formed through the help of MatingGame. One of the company accountants got married last fall to a guy she met through the service.”

“Probably most of it is legit. My guess is that there’s a protected link, some hidden branch of the business that hires out escorts.” He scanned the profiles he’d pulled, not really sure what he was looking for. His professional hunger to solve the mystery seemed to be slowly giving way to a different kind of hunger that wouldn’t do either of them any good.

“Preferences—threesomes, foursomes and more.” Tempest read aloud one of the entries in the provocative profiles designed to generate plenty of interest for people looking for a date. She sounded vaguely scandalized, but that didn’t stop her from reaching for the mouse once again. “Do you think she’ll just pick one guy or will she choose four and ask them all to meet her at once?”

“Wait.” Wes restrained her wrist, unable to sit still while she stretched her delectable body in front of him for the third time. “I’ll get it.”

She froze there, body unmoving, her pulse pounding beneath the slight pressure of his thumb. “I just wanted to see what came up when you clicked on the hyperlink for threesomes. I guess I didn’t realize people were so…specific about what they wanted in a partner.”

“But if we start following all the options that catch our attention we’ll be here all night.” He held her wrist, held her gaze, hoping all the while she’d comprehend his real meaning.

It would have required a supreme act of willpower not to skim his thumb over the silky skin. And after wrestling his growing attraction to Tempest over the last few hours, Wes found he no longer possessed the restraint. He traced a line down the delicate tendons there, absorbing the smooth perfection of her.

Her lips parted, her faded lipstick revealing the natural color of her soft pink mouth beneath. Hypnotized by the perfect shape of the lush Cupid’s bow, Wes hovered closer until Tempest pulled away.

“Then I guess we’d better keep our attention more strictly focused.” Freeing her wrist, she reached for her water bottle and unscrewed the top. “I’ll check out the threesomes later.”

Wes wanted to redirect his thoughts but couldn’t seem to force himself to turn back to the computer. Lust still surged through him like the Eighth Avenue Express and she just shrugged it aside, as if it was all in a day’s work for a pampered, privileged heiress. Did she get off on making men drool and then leaving them wanting?

He didn’t know what games this woman was playing, but he damn well wouldn’t be leaving her apartment until he found out.

AS SHE STARED BACK into the stormiest gray eyes she’d ever seen, Tempest decided Wes looked angry. No, more like quietly seething.

Well—newsflash—she wasn’t exactly thrilled to have him waltz in here and take over her home, her computer and her hormones, either.

“Seems to me you’ve made concentration impossible.” Wes shoved aside their popcorn bowls before taking her water bottle from her hand, carefully screwing on the top, and pushing that away, too. “Has it ever occurred to you all that stretching and reaching over me combined with your infernal fascination with threesomes just might distract a man?”

“I am not fascinated by—” How dare he? Of all the presumptuous, arrogant things to insinuate. “Are you accusing me of flirting with you?”

“What would you call it?” He didn’t raise his voice, instead keeping his tone very, very soft. “I’m not opposed to starting something between us if the appropriate time arises after I close my case. But I’ll be damned if I’ll let you get away with a lot of suggestive talk and sidling up close only to have you leave me high and dry and completely incapable of getting any work done.”

“You think I’m playing the tease?” And didn’t that just beat all? “I was nice enough to make you popcorn and I didn’t even say a word when you took over my computer keys like you own them, even though I’m more familiar with my computer and this Web site than you are. Can I help it if I’m a little impatient to get through our work for the night so I can clean up the rest of the apartment and get back to my life?”

“But not impatient enough to point out the threesomes link?” He eased back ever so slightly, his self-assured body language somehow conveying a smugness that he’d made his point.

“So sue me for a prurient streak.” She had so not been flirting with him.

Had she?

Forcing herself to consider the notion, she wondered if her sexual impulses could conspire to act without her explicit permission? What if her artistic persona and businesswoman facade hid yet another facet—a decadent and determined inner seductress? She’d blossomed into a daytime TV heroine in record time today. All she needed was a bout with amnesia.