Nora Roberts - Sacred Sins

“Oh, for God’s sake.” She pushed past him, took hold of the freshly pressed sleeve of his jacket, and yanked him into the hall.

“Dinner at my place?”

Setting her teeth, Tess switched off the light, closed the door, and locked it. “Frank, why don’t you take your sexual delusions and write a book? It might keep you out of trouble.” She whipped past him and punched the button for the elevator.

“You could be chapter one.”

She took a long breath, counted backward from ten, and discovered, to her amazement, that it did nothing to calm her. When the doors slid open she stepped inside, turned, and blocked the opening. “If you like the shape of your nose, Frank, don’t try to get on this elevator with me.”

“How about dinner and a hot tub?” he said as the doors started to close. “I know a great place for Chicken Kiev.”

“Stuff it,” she muttered, then leaned against the back wall.

She was nearly home before she started to laugh. It was possible, if she put her mind to it, to forget about the police car behind her, to block out the fact that on the third floor of her building cops were drinking coffee and watching the early news. A two-car accident on Twenty-third held her up an extra fifteen minutes but didn’t spoil the mood she was building.

She was humming when she unlocked the door to her apartment. After wishing briefly that she’d thought to pick up fresh flowers, she went straight to the bedroom and stripped. She chose the silk kimono again, then dumped a double shot of bubble bath under the stream of water pulsing into the tub. She took the time to put an album on the stereo. Phil Collins bounced out, happy to be alive and in love.

So was she, Tess thought as she lowered herself into the steaming water. And tonight she was going to enjoy every minute of it.

When Ben used his key to get in, he felt he was home. The furniture wasn’t his, and he hadn’t picked out the paintings, but he was home. The cardboard box was warm on the bottom, where he held it. He set it on the dining room table, on top of the linen placement he imagined had taken some little French nun the better part of a week to embroider, and wished he could crawl into bed and sleep around the clock.

He put the paper bag he carried next to the pizza before he stripped out of his coat and let it fall over the back of a chair. Peeling off his shoulder holster, he dropped it on the seat.

He could smell her. Even here, barely three steps inside the door, he could smell her. Soft, subtle, elegant. Drawing her in, he found fatigue warring against a need he’d yet to find a way to curb. Tess?

“Back here. I’m in the tub. I’ll be out in a minute.”

He followed her scent and the sound of water. “Hi.”

When she glanced up at him, he believed he saw her color rise a bit. Funny lady, he thought as he moved over to sit on the edge of the tub. She could make a man pant in bed, but she blushed when he caught her in a bubble bath.

“I didn’t know how long you’d be.” She stopped herself from sinking farther under the cover of bubbles.

“Just had to tie up a few things.”

Embarrassment faded as quickly as it had come. “It was a rough one, wasn’t it? You look exhausted.”

“Let’s just say it was one of the less pleasant days on the job.”

“Want to talk about it?”

He thought of the blood. Even in his business you didn’t often see that much. “No, not now.”

She sat up to reach over and touch his face. “There’s room in here for two, if you’re friendly. Why don’t you take Dr. Court’s reliable prescription for overwork?”

“The pizza’ll get cold.”

“I love cold pizza.” She began to unbutton his shirt. “You know, I had a rather strange day myself, ending with an invitation for Chicken Kiev and a hot tub.”

“Oh?” He rose to unsnap his pants. The feeling that went through him was ugly, and unrecognizable to a man who’d never experienced basic jealousy before. “Doesn’t seem too smart to turn that down for cold pizza and bubbles.”

“More fool me for refusing an evening with the handsome, successful, and excruciatingly boring Dr. Fuller.”

“More your type,” Ben muttered, sitting on the John to pull off his shoes.

“Boring’s more my type?” Tess lifted a brow as she leaned back. “Thank you very much.”

“I mean the doctor, the three-piece suits, the Gold American Express Card.”

“I see.” Amused, she began to soap her leg. “You don’t have a gold card?”

“I’m lucky Sears still lets me charge my underwear.”

“Well, in that case, I don’t know if I should invite you into my tub.”

He stood, naked but for the jeans riding low at his hips. “I’m serious, Tess.”

“I can see that.” She took a handful of bubbles and studied them. “I guess that means you see me as a shallow, materialistic, status-minded woman who’s willing to slum it occasionally for good sex.”

“I don’t mean anything like that.” Frustrated, he sat on the lip of the tub again. “Look, I’ve got a job that means I deal with slime almost on a daily basis.”

Her hand was wet and very gentle when she set it on his. “It was a filthy day, wasn’t it?”

“That has nothing to do with it.” He took her hand in his a moment, studying it. It was rather small and narrow, delicate at the wrist. “My father sold used cars in a dealership that was barely on the right side of the tracks in the suburbs. He owned three sport coats and drove a DeSoto. My mother baked cookies. If a cookie could be baked, she did it. Their idea of a night on the town was the Knights of Columbus hall. I punched my way through high school, crammed my way through college for a couple of years then the Academy, and I’ve spent the rest of my life looking at dead bodies.”

“Are you trying to convince me that you’re not good enough for me because of cultural, educational, and genealogical differences?”

“Don’t start that shit with me.”

“All right. Let’s try another approach.” She pulled him into the tub.

“What the hell are you doing?” He spit out bubbles. “I’m still dressed.”

“I can’t help it if you’re slow.” Before he could regain his bal-ance, she slid her arms around him and closed her mouth over his. Often, even a psychiatrist knows it’s action rather than words that gets to the core. She felt the tension ebb and flow before he reached for her. “Ben?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think it’s relevant, at the moment, that your father sold used cars and mine didn’t?”

“No.”

“Good.” She drew back, and laughing, brushed bubbles from his chin. “Now, how are we going to manage to get your pants off?”

The pizza was STONE cold, but they didn’t leave a crumb. Ben waited until she’d dumped the carton.

“I bought you a present.”

“You did?” Surprised, and foolishly pleased, she looked at the paper bag he offered. “Why?”

“Questions, always questions.” Then he drew it back as she reached for it. “You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

He moved closer, close enough to slip an arm around her waist. The scent of the bath was on both of them. Her hair was pinned up and damp. “Well, I think I’m going out of my head. Yes, I think I’m going out of my head, over you.”

She let her eyes close slowly for the kiss. “Little Anthony,” she murmured, playing the tune over in her head. “Was it 1961, ‘62?”

“I figured you being a shrink, you’d fall for that approach.”

“You’re right.”

“Don’t you want your present?”

“Umm-hmm. But I think you have to let me go so I can open the bag.”