Joanne Rock - Silk Confessions

“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.

Maybe she had fallen through the damn sand in the hourglass at 2:00 p.m. today. Instead of transitioning from businesswoman Tempest to artist Tempest this afternoon as usual, she’d walked into a time fugue and ended up in the middle of the drama.