French Silk(103)

"Oh for Christ's sake!" Having listened with diminishing patience, he now raked all ten fingers through his hair, then propped his hands on his hips. "Precisely when was this confession supposed to take place, Claire? During foreplay? Or at the moment of climax, did I expect you to scream, 'I'm guilty'? No, wait, I've got it. I was hoping that once we'd screwed ourselves senseless, you'd talk in your sleep, right?"

"This isn't funny."

"You're damn right it's not," he shouted.

"If you wanted to catch your murderer so badly, why be so insidious? Why didn't you just arrest me?"

"Hasn't it occurred to you what a conflict of interests this creates for me? For weeks I've been wrestling with it. Last night I wanted to make love to you more than I wanted an indictment."

"Liar."

He advanced on her, his stride long and angry. "If you think the reason I wanted to sleep with you had anything to do with this murder case, then your memory is shorter than the time it takes you to come."

Her palm connected hard with his bristly jaw, making a sharp, cracking sound. "Get out of my sight."

He caught her wrist and yanked her hard against him. Anger seethed in his eyes. For a moment Claire thought he might return her slap. Finally he spoke, but his lips were thin and hard and barely moved to form the words. "Gladly, Miss Laurent."

Before he went through the French doors, he turned. "You know what's really got your goat, Claire? You're mad at yourself for showing me the real you. You're angry because you let down your guard, because you liked everything we did so damn much. You loved it, from the first kiss to the last sigh. And the only one lying about it is you—to yourself."

"What do you want to hear?" she lashed out. "That you're a terrific lover? Does your male ego require morning-after accolades? Okay, I'll say it. It was bloody wonderful. You knew all the right buttons to push, when to be aggressive, when to be passive."

"Thanks."

"It's not a compliment. A technique as smooth as yours must have taken years of practice to develop. How many other female suspects have you bedded, hmm? Is that how you count coup? Not whether or not you send them to prison, but if you've managed to screw them first!"

"Listen," he said through clenched teeth, "I've never had to f*ck my way into getting a conviction."

"Oh no?"

"No. I've never had to resort to tricks. I'm too good at what I do."

"Well, if you're so damn good, Mr. Cassidy, go about your business and get the hell out of my bedroom!"





* * *



Chapter 21

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"You look fabulous" Joshua Wilde breezed into Ariel's hospital room pushing a wheelchair. The nursing staff had informed him that she was dressed and waiting to be escorted outside, where a throng of journalists was clambering to take pictures and question her about this latest episode in her dramatic life. "Your chariot awaits, madam."

Ariel snapped the latches on her suitcase. "Is the chariot necessary?"

"Hospital policy. Besides, it has such a biblical ring."

She frowned at him over her shoulder.

Josh accepted her foul disposition with equanimity. He looked inordinately handsome and dashing this morning. As usual, he was wearing his chic clothing with flair and his hair was well groomed and shiny, one long wave dipping low over his brow. But there was an uncharacteristic spring in his step. The last few days of rest and relaxation had rejuvenated him.

Even though Ariel was still dressed in unrelieved mourning black, she looked remarkably attractive for someone just discharged from the hospital. A beautician had been brought in to shampoo and blow-dry her long platinum hair. She'd applied her own cosmetics and had purposefully failed to put cover-up over the faint shadows beneath her large blue eyes. The haunting effect would remind her adoring public just how grueling her recent ordeal had been.

She wasn't especially glad to see Josh and was determined not to share his cheerful mood. "You're grinning like a goose. What about?"

"Nothing," he replied pleasantly. "Just generally happy."

"While I've been cooped up in here, you must have spent the entire time playing the piano."

"Practically around the clock." He pilfered a banana from a lavish fruit basket, peeled it, and bit off a large chunk. "Didn't play one gospel tune, either."

"All that classical junk," she muttered, as she checked her reflection one last time in her compact mirror. "I'm almost glad I wasn't there to hear it."

"I sounded pretty good, if I do say so myself."

She closed her compact with an economic flick of her wrist and dropped it into her handbag. "Keep your fingers limber because in a few days you won't be playing for pleasure anymore. You'll be pounding out gospel again."

Josh's smile faltered. He tossed the banana peel onto her bedtray. "What do you mean 'in a few days'? The doctors said you should have total rest for at least another month."

"I don't care what they said. By the end of next week I want another prayer meeting scheduled. We had so much momentum going, then this." She slapped her stomach as though punishing the child she carried. "We've got to get back on track. The sooner the better. I don't intend to let up, until Cassidy, or whoever's in charge of the investigation now, puts somebody on trial for Jackson's murder.