Silk Confessions

by Joanne Rock

  She couldn’t think of anything she wanted more right now than to expose herself to this man’s hot gaze. Heat bubbled deep inside her and she welcomed the chance to bury old insecurities and fears forever. She thought she’d been finding herself by buying a downtown studio and defiantly watching soap operas before she threw herself into her artwork every weekend?

  Ha! Wes Shaw was artwork in motion.

  With him, she lived her hopes and dreams instead of imagining a world she’d never touched before. This moment with Wes was the real deal—the heat, the hunger, the wanting. She needed him so badly she could taste him even before he kissed her.

  As the knot on her coat loosened, she pressed her self against the wall, fingers gripping along a mortar seam between bricks. She had to hold on to something before her trembling legs gave way beneath her.

  When the belt slipped free completely, the coat hung around her, slightly parted but not enough that he would see anything in the shadows. A thin slice of cool night air drifted through that opening, heightening her anticipation.

  “I’m waiting.” Hardly daring to breathe in the tension-fogged air between them, Tempest bent one knee slightly and nudged a bare leg through the open slit. Her calf caught a shaft of light filtering into the alley from the streetlamp, her skin pale and luminous in the surrounding darkness.

  Wes’s hands plunged through the coat all at once, finding her belly and smoothing up, down, palming a breast at the same time he curved a hand around her hip. Releasing her hold on the wall, she twined her arms around his neck, falling into the hard planes of his body. His heat seared her, igniting a forbidden sizzle. Her breasts molded to him, heart beating so hard she could swear it pounded directly on his chest.

  The coat cloaked her back and sides, even as it completely exposed her front. The full drape of the garment under her arms made her feel like a bat creature, a naughty, naked vampire on the loose.

  For good measure, she shoved aside his jacket and nipped Wes’s shoulder through his shirt, sinking her teeth lightly into his hot skin.

  His touch grew rougher, more insistent, fingers sliding over the curve of her bottom to lift her against him. The delicious friction against her most tender parts only made her crave more of his wicked touch. Her moan echoed in the narrow alleyway before drowning in the honk of a cab out on the street.

  A new fervor swirled low within her until her thighs twitched. She reached for his hand, determined to place his fingers where she needed them most.

  His groan made her pause, her ragged breathing loud in her own ears.

  “What?”

  He stared down at her with enough blaze in his eyes to scorch her before he blinked slowly, deliberately, until some of that fire was banked. Marginally con trolled.

  “We’ve got to get out of here.” Wes tried to edge away but her arms refused to release him.

  “We only just got here.” She gave a little shimmy, rolling her hips against his in an unmistakable message. “Besides, I’m the woman who won you fair and square from all the other females swarming around you today. I think I deserve my prize, KingKong.”

  Stroking her tongue up his jaw, she tugged at his tie, ready for more of him. She had no idea where this week’s unexpected sexfest with him was going, but she didn’t want it to end yet. He’d touched off some hunger within she hadn’t known she possessed and now that the yawning ache had been unleashed, she knew he was the only man capable of fulfilling her.

  She’d seen her parents be selfish all their lives, put ting their own needs above their marriage. Above her. When would it be her turn to indulge in what she wanted? Just this once—for a few more days, a few more weeks—she planned to live like a hedonist and soak up every sensual touch of Wes Shaw’s very capable hands. He would be her private indulgence.

  “We can’t risk it.” His words confused her, but she wouldn’t have stopped touching him until he backed away again—farther this time. “Someone might see us and if anyone recognizes you…”

  He didn’t need to complete the thought since she knew too well how devastating a naked tryst in the alley would be for her family’s business. She damned his practicality even as she appreciated the cool head.

  So much for her attempts to be selfish.

  “You’re right.” To her horror, her voice broke. Oh God, she couldn’t be that upset about delayed completion, could she? Obviously her emotions had gotten all tangled up where Wes was concerned despite her best efforts. Hoping to hide her slip, she reached for the belt on her coat, covering her gaffe with a flurry of sudden activity. “We can go to my house, if you want. The new security system is already in place at the Chelsea apartment.”

  He was so quiet, so still, she realized how presumptuous—and eager—she sounded. He peered down at her with an inscrutable expression on his face, studying her carefully.

  Coat secured around her waist, she blasted forward toward the street, more determined than ever not to romanticize her time with Wes. She had vowed to take control of her own life as one of her New Year’s resolutions, and this would be a fine time to prove to her self she didn’t need anyone. “Then again you probably have things to do and that’s fine, too. I should grab a cab and call it a night.”

  Wes caught her before she emerged into the light.

  “I want to be with you.” His words whispered over her ear with unexpected warmth, igniting shivery tingles down her neck until her skin tightened.

  Relief, hope, anticipation—too many emotions scrambled inside her, making her aware of how much power she’d given him over her. Bad decision, Tempest. A woman didn’t find emotional security and independence by making herself sexually reliant on a way-too-sexy detective.

  As long as she kept it short-term, she could handle it. Heaven knew she would have traded her shares in Boucher Enterprises to have her cake and eat it, too, when it came to Wes.

  “You do?” She closed her eyes for just a moment, soaking in the musky scent of his aftershave and the sharp cut of his angled jaw against her cheek.

  “Trust me, I would have never risked my badge and your public image to cop a feel in an alley if you didn’t make me crazy.” He squeezed her tighter against him, allowing her to experience exactly how crazy she made him. The proof nudged insistently against her bottom.

  “I never thought about the risk to your career.” She stiffened in his grasp, uncomfortable with the idea of putting him in danger because of her newfound lust.

  “It probably wouldn’t have been a big deal, but when a detective is tapped for any kind of misbehavior, the department becomes very unhappy.” He threaded his fingers through her hair and tipped her head back, ex posing her neck for a kiss. “We shouldn’t let the nudity go public again.”

  Eyes sliding closed at the lash of his tongue on her throat, Tempest nodded. She could be indulgent. Selfish. Take what Wes had to offer for a little longer be fore she morphed into the independent superwoman of her New Year’s goals.

  “Got it. Private shows only. Now what do you say, Detective, your place or mine?”

  MINE.

  Wes had to continually hold himself back from speaking the word aloud when he was around this woman because he wanted to wrap her up and take her home, shield her from the eyes of the rest of the world so he could keep her for his alone.

  A healthy, normal male desire?

  Hell, no. He’d never been so possessive with any female in his life. And he had the misfortune of two notably bad relationships to teach him that no person can ever truly belong to another. So this caveman urge he battled around Tempest was stupid. Primitive.

  Undeniable.

  “Let’s go to yours.” He forced himself to articulate his choice very clearly, concentrating hard on not giving in to the urge to haul her back to his place. Hers would be safer, less intimate. “I can give the new security system the once-over.”

  “As long as I get more than a once-over.” Her white teeth flashed in the shadows as she smiled.

 
; “I can assure you more than once. But keep in mind I’m not one of these mythical soap opera studs who can go nonstop all night and then shower you with rose petals in the morning.” Releasing her from his hold, he drew her out of the alley and into the street, relieved to see no reporters, no cameras.

  “That’s okay. I’m not much for rose petals anyway, since Eloise is allergic to flowers.” She hugged her arms around her waist, her brown curls skimming the collar of her coat. “Why don’t you just do what you can for me tonight, and we’ll call it even?”

  “Your dog has allergies?” Grateful for the reprieve from talking about sex when he wasn’t free to act on it, Wes hailed a cab at the street corner.

  “She’s a very unique animal.” Tempest fluffed her hair and slid into the taxi, her long, bare legs giving him a view he wouldn’t soon forget.

  Seating himself beside her, Wes gave the driver the address of the Chelsea apartment a few blocks away. He’d walked to Mick’s Grill from the precinct earlier, leaving the car for Vanessa to use. Now, settling inside the darkened interior, he fought to keep his hands off Tempest.

  Because the next time he touched her, he wouldn’t stop until he’d gotten his fill. He didn’t know how she’d wound herself up in his thoughts so thoroughly that he could barely escape, but maybe once he’d caught who ever trashed her apartment, he’d be able to find his footing alone again.

  Not exactly an inspiring thought, but Vanessa had nailed it on the head when she accused him of being too cynical to forge any kind of relationship these days. He didn’t possess the kind of trust necessary to play much of a role in Tempest’s life.

  Hell, he didn’t know if he even possessed enough trust to make a good partner for Vanessa. Not that she ever complained. But she damn well deserved someone to watch her back more than Wes had for the past year and a half.

  That was going to change. He might not ever be the marrying kind, but he could damn well get his head out of his ass long enough to be a solid partner and an even better cop again. Spending time with Tempest had made him see how antisocial he’d become in the past two years and recognize that he didn’t want to tread any further down that path.

  As the cab rolled to a stop up the street from Tem pest’s building, she pulled out her wallet, offending him to his caveman core.

  “Your money’s no good with me.” He paid the driver and helped her from the car while scowling at a handful of photographers who lurked around the doors to her building a few doors up.

  “But you bought my drink.” She still waved her wallet around like a magic wand to soothe over life’s rough spots. She hadn’t noticed the looming members of the media—yet. “It’s only fair I get the cab. I don’t want you to think I’m a moocher.”

  Grateful the cab hadn’t let them out under a street light, Wes tucked her under his arm and pulled the collar of her trench coat up high around the lower part of her face.

  “Who do you think has to worry more about mooching in this relationship? Me or you?” He plucked the pink leather zipper pouch from her fingers and jammed it back into a staid brown purse. Just like Tempest, her bag looked no-nonsense at a quick glance and hid a softer inside. “Besides, I’m a single cop whose only real bill to pay has been a hefty dog food tab. I think I can afford to keep you in vodka tonics and popcorn for a little while. Now hold on tight because we’ve got to get past a few camera lenses.”

  She muttered a couple curse words under her breath, a testament to how nervous the press attention made her. Determined to get her past the reporter vultures who now knew where she spent her free time, Wes ushered her toward her building. They passed a homeless guy sleeping on a hunk of cardboard beneath an awning and a couple dressed in sweats walked their dogs in the un seasonably mild winter weather, carrying a steaming box of take-out pizza between them.

  Darting around the press hounds and into the building with only a few flashbulbs blinding him in the process, Wes caught himself envisioning him and Tempest walking together like that. As if they belonged together.

  His wrist itched where his tattoo rested, reminding him of the poison ivy effect of women in his life. A knee-jerk reaction after all these years, no doubt. Logically, he knew New York was filled with great women. It was finding the right one that seemed more daunting than tracking a killer.

  Tempest wasn’t the kind of woman he would have ever pictured himself with, but he had to admit, he’d never been with a woman who would give up roses be cause her dog had allergies. Maybe there was a chance…

  Maybe he’d suddenly morph into a stand-up guy willing to put his neck in the noose for incredible sex and a few good laughs? Seemed bloody unlikely. Hell, he put himself on the line enough at work without dishing up his guts in his personal life, too.

  “Is that how long you see us lasting?” Tempest smoothed the collar of the coat back into place once they were safely inside the building. “A little while?”

  “You’d get sick of me if I stuck around any longer than that.” His gaze scanned the flight of stairs and the rows of mailboxes just inside the front door. Except for an old Beatles tune drifting from one of the apartments downstairs, all was quiet tonight.

  “Is that what your girlfriends say when they leave you? They’re sick of you?” She started for the stairs but he drew her back, pointing to the elevator which seemed a safer route. Staircases were notorious locations for crime because they were usually more isolated. Did she usually take the stairs by herself?

  “No. Usually they say something to the effect of, ‘Hey, Wes, meet Jack, the new man in my life.’” He steered her into the ancient elevator car and pressed the button for the third floor. “But I tend to interpret that as being sick of me.”

  “Hmm.” She fiddled with the lapel of her coat, making him recall exactly what she had on underneath.

  Nothing.

  “What do you mean, hmm? Don’t go playing psychologist on me today.” He pointed a finger in her smiling face. “My partner already took a turn and I think one amateur shrink a day is all I can handle.”

  “I just wondered if you chased away these women on purpose.” Her dark eyes flicked over him with curious intent. “I can’t picture anyone being dumb enough to play you for a fool.”

  The elevator chimed, saving him from having to tackle that one.

  “You’d be surprised.” He held the elevator door while she stepped out, already thinking how many ways he could distract her as soon as they made it to her door. His gaze zeroed in on the belt of the trench coat and he wondered how fast he could have her naked.

  “Oh, my God.” She stopped short in the hallway, the tremor in her voice snagging his attention faster than a felony in progress.

  Reaching her side in two strides, he caught sight of what had her so upset. The door to her apartment had been spray painted with graffiti, spelling out in fire engine–red letters—Home of Whores ’R’ Us.

  Rage spilled over him, an emotion he’d seldom encountered in ten years of crime scenes far more gruesome than the vandalism on Tempest’s door. But this was different. This had happened to her.

  The Chelsea apartment was her home, the place she’d bought to give herself the sense of belonging her family never had. And some worthless jackass had mounted a campaign to steal that from her along with the work that was so important to her.

  “I’ll find whoever did this.” Wes slid an arm around Tempest, yanking himself out of his own fierce thoughts long enough to reassure her. He lowered his voice, tucking her close as he scanned the third floor for any hint of movement. “The paint is still wet, so the perp might be close. Do you know anyone well enough in the building to stay with for a few minutes while I look around?”

  “No.” She shook her head with fast, jerky movements. “No one. And I need to check on Eloise.”

  Her skin had paled, her whispered words breathless with a hint of panic.

  Damn. Investigative work would have to be put on hold.

  “Wait here while I make s
ure the security system is still armed and then we’ll check on her together.” He tested the lock and found it still engaged before obtaining the day’s code from Tempest. She could reprogram later. Right now, he needed to make sure her apartment was safe.

  Safe?

  He knew damn well she wouldn’t rest easy until he caught whoever threatened her. For that matter, he wouldn’t rest easy, either.

  Like it or not, Tempest was about to get the best alarm system on the market. Since her stalker could very well be a killer, Wes would make sure she received around-the-clock watch from New York’s finest.

  Him.

  TEMPEST WATCHED Wes shake hands with a couple of his cop friends two hours later and knew for a fact she’d never be able to get a good night’s sleep in her apartment again. She didn’t care that Wes had just sworn up and down her home hadn’t been broken into this time, she still felt violated. Watched. Vulnerable.

  He’d put in a call to his precinct and wrangled some help lifting prints from her door and an empty can of spray paint found in her hallway, but he wasn’t optimistic they’d get anything. Mostly, he’d said it was important to keep a paper trail of the criminal activity so that when he caught the perpetrator, they’d have the right ammunition to prosecute under the harsher stalker laws.

  Which was all fine and good, but it didn’t give her any assurance she’d be able to sleep here tonight. Or any night for that matter. No matter how many kickboxing classes she attended, she’d never feel strong enough to fight off someone filled with so much hate. Shivering, she tucked her feet between the couch cushions and snuggled closer to Eloise, who she allowed on the furniture only for special occasions.

  Like when she was scared spitless.

  She’d traded in Wes’s trench coat for a pair of sweats and a long sleeved T-shirt that said “Sculptors Do It With Their Hands,” a giveaway from an art workshop she’d attended during college. Somehow the “Whores ’R’ Us” on her doorway had made her want to cover up, sending her running for comfort clothes even though Wes and his cop friends had covered the offending message with black plastic until she could paint over it.