Page 7 of Convincing Alex (Stanislaskis #4)

“Yeah.” Very slowly, very deliberately, he slid his arms around her waist, ran his hand up her back, so that her eyes widened

and her skin shivered. “I forgot I like to make my own moves.”

Bess braced for the kind of wild assault that was in his eyes, and was surprised for the third time in as many minutes. He

didn’t swoop or crush, but eased her closer, degree by degree, until she was molded to him. His fingers cruised lazily up

her back until they reached the nape of her neck, where they cupped and held. Still his mouth hovered above her.

His hand moved low, intimately, where skin gave way to silk. “Stand on your toes,” he murmured.

“What?”

“Stand on your toes.” This time, it was his lips that curved.

Dazed, she obeyed, then gave a strangled gasp when he increased the pressure on her back and pressed them center to center.

His eyes stayed open as he moved his mouth to hers, brushing, nipping, then taking, in a dreamy kind of possession that had

her own vision blurring.

The humming in her brain increased until it was a wall of sound, unrecognizable. She was deaf to everything else, even her

own throaty moan as he dipped his tongue between her lips to seduce hers.

It was all slow-motion and soft-focus, but that didn’t stop the heat from building. She could feel the little flames start

to flare where she was pressed most intimately against him, then spread long, patient fingers of fire outward. Everywhere.

He never pushed, he never pressured, he savored, as a man might who had enjoyed a satisfying meal and was content to linger

over a tasty dessert. Even knowing she was being sampled, tested, lazily consumed, she couldn’t protest. For the first time

in her life, Bess understood what it was to be helplessly seduced.

He hadn’t meant to do this. He’d been thinking about doing just this for hours. However much pleasure it gave him to feel

her curvy body melt against his, to hear those small, vulnerable sounds vibrating in her throat, to taste that dizzy passion

on her lips, he knew he’d made a mistake.

She wasn’t his type. And he was going to want more.

The instinct he’d been born with and then honed during his years on the force helped him to hold back that part of himself

that, if let loose, could turn the evening into a disaster for both of them. Still, he lingered another moment, taking himself

to the edge. When his system was churning with her, and his mind was clouded with visions of peeling her out of that swatch

of a dress, he stepped back. He supported her by the elbows until her eyes fluttered open.

They were big and dazed. He clenched his teeth to fight back the urge to pull her to him again and finish what he’d started.

But, however stunned and fragile she looked at the moment, Alex recognized a dangerous woman. He’d been a cop long enough

to know when to face danger, and when to avoid it.

“You, ah...” Where was all her glib repartee? Bess wondered. It was a little difficult to think when she wasn’t sure her

head was still on her shoulders. “Well,” she managed, and settled for that.

“Well.” He let her go and added a cocky grin before he walked back to the elevator. Though his stance was relaxed, he was

praying the elevator would come quickly, before he lost it and crawled back to her door. She was still there when the elevator

rumbled open. Alex let out a quiet, relieved breath as he stepped inside and leaned against the back wall. “See you around,

McNee,” he said as the doors slid shut.

“Yeah.” She stared at the mural-covered walls. “See you around.”

“Holly hasn’t been able to stop talking about that party.” Judd was scarfing down a blueberry muffin as Alex cruised Broadway.

“It made her queen of the teachers’ lounge.”

“I bet.” Alex didn’t want to think about Bess’s party. He especially didn’t want to think about what would be after the party.

Work was what he needed to concentrate on, and right now work meant following up on the few slim leads they’d hassled out

of Domingo.

“If Domingo’s given it to us straight, Angie Horowitz was excited about a new john.” Alex tapped his fingers against the steering

wheel. “He’d hired her two Wednesdays running, dressed good, tipped big.”

Judd nodded as he brushed muffin crumbs from his shirt. “And she was killed on a Wednesday. So was Rita Shaw. It’s still pretty

thin, Alex.”

“So we make it thick.” It continued to frustrate him that they’d wasted time interrogating the desk clerks at the two fleabag

hotels where the bodies had been found. Like most in their profession, the clerks had seen nothing. Heard nothing. Knew nothing.

As for the ladies who worked the streets, however nervous they were, they weren’t ready to trust a badge.

“Tomorrow’s Wednesday,” Judd said helpfully.

“I know what the hell tomorrow is. Do you do anything but eat?”

Judd unwrapped another muffin. “I got low blood sugar. If we’re going to go back and look at the crime scene again, I need

energy.”

“What you need is—” Alex broke off as he glanced past Judd’s profile and into the glaring lights of an all-night diner. He

knew only one person with hair that shade of red. He began to swear, slowly, steadily, as he searched for a parking place.

“You really write for TV?” Rosalie asked.

Bess finished emptying a third container of nondairy product into her coffee. “That’s right.”

“I didn’t think you were a sister.” Interested as much in Bess as in the fifty dollars she’d been paid, Rosalie blew out smoke

rings. “And you want to know what it’s like to turn tricks.”

“I want to know whatever you’re comfortable telling me.” Bess shoved her untouched coffee aside and leaned forward. “I’m not

sitting in judgment or asking for confidences, Rosalie. I’d like your story, if you want to tell it. Or we can stick with

generalities.”

“You figure you can find out what’s going on on the streets by putting on spandex and a wig, like you did the other night?”

“I found out a lot,” Bess said with a smile. “I found out it’s tough to stand in heels on concrete for hours at a time. That

a woman has to lose her sense of self in order to do business. That you don’t look at the faces. The faces don’t matter—the

money does. And what you do isn’t a matter of intimacy, not even a matter of sex—for you—but a matter of control.” She scooted

her coffee back and took a sip. “Am I close?”

For a moment, Rosalie said nothing. “You’re not as stupid as you look.”

“Thanks. I’m always surprising people that way. Especially men.”

“Yeah.” For the first time, Rosalie smiled. Beneath the hard-edged cosmetics and the lines life had etched in her face, she

was a striking woman, not yet thirty. “I’ll tell you this, girlfriend, the men who pay me see a body. They don’t see a mind.

But I got a mind, and I got a plan. I’ve been on the streets five years. I ain’t going to be on them five more.”

“What are you going to do? What do you want to do?”

“When I get enough saved up, I’m going South. Going to get me a trailer in Florida, and a straight job. Maybe selling clothes.

I look real fine in good clothes.” She crushed out her cigarette and lit another. “Lots of us have plans, but don’t make it.

I will. I’m clean,” she said, and lifted her arms, turning them over. It took Bess a minute to realize Rosalie was saying

she wasn’t a user. “One more year, I’m gone. Less than that, if I hook onto a regular john with money. Angie did.”

“Angie?” Bess flipped through her mental file. “Angie Horowitz? Isn’t that the woman who was murdered?”

“Yeah.” Rosalie moistened her lips before sucking in smoke. “She wasn’t careful. I’m always careful.”

“How can you be careful?”

“You keep yourself ready,” Rosalie told her. “Angie, she liked to drink. She’d talk a john into buying a bottle. That’s not

being careful. And this guy, the rich one? He—”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Both Rosalie and Bess looked up. Standing beside the scarred table was a tall man with thin shoulders. There was a cheroot

clamped between his teeth, and a diamond winked on his finger. His face was moon-pale, with furious blue eyes. His hair was

nearly as white, and slicked back, ending in a short ponytail.

“I’m having me a cup of coffee and a smoke, Bobby,” Rosalie told him. But beneath the defiance, Bess recognized the trickle

of fear.

“You get back on the street where you belong.”

“Excuse me.” Bess offered her best smile. “Bobby, is it?”

He cast his icy blue eyes on her. “You looking for work, sweetheart? I’ll tell you right now, I don’t tolerate any loafing.”

“Thank you, but no, I’m not looking. Rosalie was just helping me with a small problem.”

“She doesn’t solve anyone’s problems but mine.” He jerked his head toward the street. “Move it.”

Bess slid out of the booth but held her ground. “This is a public place, and we’re having a conversation.”

“You don’t talk to anybody I don’t tell you to talk to.” Bobby gave Rosalie a hard shove toward the door.

Bess didn’t think, simply reacted. If she detested anything, it was a bully. “Now just a damn minute.” She grabbed his sleeve.

He rounded on her. Other patrons put on their blinders when he pushed her into the table. Bess came up, fists clenched, just

as Alex slammed through the door.

“One move, Bobby,” he said tightly. “Just one move toward her.”

Bobby brushed at his sleeve and shrugged. “I just came in for a cup of coffee. Isn’t that right, Rosalie?”

“Yeah.” Rosalie closed her hand over the business card Bess had slipped her. “We were just having some coffee.”

But Alex’s eyes were all for Bess. She didn’t look pale and frightened. Her eyes were snapping, and her cheeks were flushed

with fury. “Tell me you want to press charges.”

“I’m sorry.” With an effort, Bess relaxed her hands. “We were just having a conversation. Nice talking to you, Rosalie.”

“Sure.” She swaggered out, blowing smoke in Alex’s face for effect.

“Take off.”