Page 5 of Convincing Alex (Stanislaskis #4)

Two huge windows let the lights of the city in. More partygoers sat on the pillow-plumped window seats, balancing plates and

glasses on their laps.

Paintings were scattered over the ivory-toned walls. Vivid, frenetic modern art, mind-bending surrealism. There was enough

color to make his head swim. Yet, through the crowd and the clashing tones, he saw her. Dancing seductively with a distinguished-looking

man in a gray pin-striped suit.

She wore an excuse for a dress, the color of crushed purple grapes. He wondered, irritated, if she owned anything that covered

those legs. This number certainly didn’t. Nor did it cover much territory at all, the way it dipped to the waist in the back,

skimmed above mid-thigh and left her shoulders bare, but for skinny, glittery straps. Multihued gemstones fell in a rope from

her earlobes to those nicely sloped shoulders. Her feet were bare.

She looked, Alex thought as his stomach muscles twisted themselves into nasty knots, outrageously alluring.

“Oh, Lord, there’s Jade. Oh, and Storm and Vicki. Dr. Carstairs, too.” Holly’s fingers dug into her husband’s arm. “It’s Amelia.”

“Who?”

“‘Secret Sins,’ dummy.” She gave Judd a playful punch. “The whole cast’s here.”

“That’s not all.” Because he remembered in time he was supposed to be jaded, Judd stopped himself from pointing and inclined

his head. “That’s Lawrence D. Strater dancing with our hostess. The L.D. Strater, of Strater Industries. The Fortune 500 ’s darling. The mayor’s over in that corner, talking with Hannah Loy, the grand old lady of Broadway.” His excitement began

to hum in his voice as he continued to scan the room. “Man, there are enough luminaries in this room to light every borough

in New York.”

But Alex hadn’t noticed. Furthermore, he didn’t give a damn. His attention was focused on Bess. She’d stopped dancing, and

had leaned up to whisper something in her partner’s ear that made him laugh before he kissed her. Smack on the lips.

She kissed him back, too, her hands lightly intimate at his waist, before she turned and spotted the new arrivals. She waved,

made her excuses, then scooted and dodged her way through the crowd toward them.

“You made it.” She gave both Alex and Judd a friendly peck on the cheek before holding out both hands to Holly. “Nice to meet

you.”

“My wife, Holly, this is Bess McNee.”

“Thanks for asking us.” Holly caught herself starting to stutter, as she had the first time she faced a classroom of ten-year-olds.

She flushed.

“My pleasure.” Bess gave her hands a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s get you something to eat and drink.” She gestured toward a

long table by the wall. Instead of the useless finger food and fancy, unrecognizable dishes Alex had expected, it was laden

with big pots of spaghetti, mountains of garlic bread, and generous trays of antipasti.

“It’s Italian night,” she explained, grabbing a plate and heaping it high. “There’s plenty of wine and beer, and a full bar.”

She handed the plate to Holly and began to dish up another. “The desserts are on the other side of the room. They’re unbelievable.”

As she passed Judd a plate, she noted the gleam in Holly’s eyes. “Would you like to meet some of the cast?”

“Oh, I...” The hell with sophistication. “Yes. I’d love it.”

“Great. Excuse us. Help yourself, Alexi.”

“This is really something,” Judd said over a mouthful of spaghetti.

“Something,” Alex agreed. Deciding to make the best of it, he fixed himself a plate.

He wasn’t going to stay. But the food was great. In any case, he didn’t have anything else to do. It didn’t hurt to hang around

and rub elbows with the fast and famous while he was helping himself to a good hot meal. It certainly made a change from his

daily routine of wading through misery and bitterness.

After washing down spaghetti with some good red wine, he found himself a spot on a window seat where he could sit back and

watch the show.

Bess dropped down beside him, clinked her glass against his. “Best seat in the house.”

“Some house.”

“Yeah, I like it. I’ll show you the rest later, if you want.” She broke off a tiny piece of the pastry on his plate and sampled

it. “Great stuff.”

“Yeah. You got a little... here.” Before his good sense could take over, he rubbed a bit of the rich cream from her lip.

Watching her, he licked it from the pad of his thumb. And tasted her. “It’s not bad.”

For a moment she wondered if the circuits in her brain had crossed. Something certainly had sent out a spark. She managed

a small sound of agreement as she flicked her tongue to the corner of her mouth. And tasted him.

“Your, ah, partner’s wife. Holly.” Small talk, any talk, had always come easily to her. She wasn’t sure why she was laboring

now.

“What about her?”

“Who? Oh, right. Holly. She’s nice. I can’t imagine what it would be like to teach fifth-graders.”

“I’m sure you’ll ask her.”

“I already did.” At ease again, she smiled at him. Something about that sarcastic edge to his voice made her relax and enjoy.

“Come on, Alexi. We may be in different professions, but both of them require a certain amount of curiosity about human nature.

Aren’t you sitting here right now wondering about all of these people, and what they’re doing at my party?”

“Not as much as I’m wondering what I’m doing at your party.” He swirled the wine in his glass before sipping. When he drank, his eyes stayed on hers. Watchful.

She liked that. She liked that very much, the way he could sit so still, energy humming from every pore, while he watched.

While he waited. Bess was willing to admit that one of her biggest failings was being unable to wait for anything.

“You were curious,” she told him.

“Some.”

Her skirt hitched up another inch when she curled her legs up on the seat. “I’d be happy to tell you whatever you want to

know, in exchange for your help. You see that guy over there, the gorgeous one with the blonde hanging on his biceps?”

Alex scanned, homed in. “Yeah. I wouldn’t say he was gorgeous.”

“You’re not a woman. That’s my detective, Storm Warfield, the black sheep of the snooty, disgustingly rich Warfield clan,

the rebel, the volatile brother of the long-suffering Elana Warfield Stafford Carstairs. He’s recently pulled himself out

of the destructive affair with the wicked, wily Vicki. The blonde crawling up his chest. They’re an item off-camera, but on,

Storm is madly in love with the tragedy-prone and ethereal Jade, who is, of course, torn between her feelings for him and

her misplaced loyalty to the maniacally clever and dastardly Brock Carstairs—half brother to Elana’s stalwart husband Dr.

Maxwell Carstairs. Max was once married to Jade’s formerly conniving but now repentant sister, Flame, who was killed in a

Peruvian earthquake soon after the birth of her son—who may or may not be her husband’s child. Naturally, the body was never

recovered.”

“Either I’ve had too much wine, or you’re making me dizzy.”

Bess smiled and gave him a companionable pat on the thigh that sent his blood pressure soaring. “It’s really not that complicated,

once you know the players. But I want you for Storm.”

Alex sent the actor a considering look. “I don’t think he’s my type.”

“Your professional expertise, Detective. I need an informal technical advisor. My producer’d be happy to compensate you for

your time—particularly since we’ve been number one in the ratings for the past nine months.” Someone called her name, and

Bess sent a quick wave. “Looks like it’s going to start to thin out. Listen, can you hang around until I’ve finished playing

hostess?”

She popped up and was gone before he could answer. After a moment, Alex set the rest of the dessert aside and rose. If he

was going to see the party through, he might as well enjoy himself.

As she saw to the rest of her guests, Bess kept an eye on him. Once he decided to relax, she noted, he made the most of it.

It didn’t surprise her that he knew how to flirt, or that several women in the room made a point of wandering in his direction.

Not even Lori—no pushover in the men department—was unaffected.

“So, that’s the one who busted you?” Lori asked her, popping a plump olive into her mouth.

“What do you think?”

Lori chewed, savored, swallowed. “Yum-yum.”

With a laugh, Bess chose a wedge of cheese. “I assume that’s a comment on the man, not my buffet.”

“You bet. And the best part is, he’s not an actor.”

“Still sore?” Bess murmured.

Lori shrugged, but her gaze cut over to Steven Marshall, alias Brock Carstairs. “I never give him, or his weenie little brain,

a thought. No sensible woman would spend her life competing with an actor’s ego for attention.”

“Sense has nothing to do with it.”

Lori looked away, because it hurt, more than she could bear to admit, to watch Steven while he was so busy ignoring her. “This

from the queen of the bungled relationships.”

“I don’t bungle them, I enjoy them.”

“I hasten to remind you that two of your former fiancés are in this room.”

“It’s a big party. Besides, I wasn’t engaged to Lawrence.”

“He gave you a ring with a rock the size of a Buick.”

“A token of his esteem,” Bess said blithely. “I never agreed to marry him. And Charlie and I...” She waved to Charles Stutman,

esteemed playwright. “We were only engaged for a few months. We both agreed Gabrielle was perfect for him and parted the closest

of friends.”

“It was the first time I’d heard of a woman being best man at her former fiancé’s wedding,” Lori admitted. “I don’t know how

you do it. You don’t angst over men, and they never toss blame your way when things fall apart.”

“Because I end up being a pal.” Bess’s lips curved. For the briefest of moments, there was something wistful in the smile.

“Not always a position a woman craves, but it seems to suit me.”

“Going to be pals with the cop?”

Once again Bess found herself searching the remaining guests for Alex. She found him, dancing slow and close with a sultry

brunette. “It would help if he’d bring himself to like me a little. I think it’s going to take some work.”

“I’ve never known you to fail. I’ve got to go. See you Monday.”

“Okay.” Bess was astute enough to glance over in Steven’s direction as Lori left. She was also clear-sighted enough to see

the expression of misery in his eyes as he watched Lori walk to the elevator.

People were much too hard on themselves, she thought with a sigh. Love, she was certain, was a complicated and painful process

only if you wanted it to be. And she should know, she mused as she took another sip of wine. She had slipped painlessly in

and out of love for years.

As she set the glass aside, Alex caught her eye. There was a quick, surprising tremor around her heart. But it was gone quickly

as someone swept her up into a dance.