Convincing Alex by Nora Roberts

trying to figure the tip? There you go.”
    â€œThanks, lady.” The delivery boy tucked the bills away. “Enjoy your dinner.”
    â€œThere’s enough for three,” Bess stated, turning toward Alex. “But you’re not going to stay if you’re rude.”
    â€œRude?” The single word bounced off her ceiling. He was beside her in two strides. “You think it’s rude for me to ask you if you’ve lost your mind when I walk in and find you’ve invited a hooker to dinner?”
    Her eyes narrowed. “Out.”
    â€œDamn it, Bess…”
    â€œI said out.” She gave him a hefty shove toward the door. “We went on one date,” she reminded him. “ One. Maybe I entertained the idea of something more, but that gives you no right to come into my house and tell me what to do and who to talk with.”
    He grabbed her hand before she could push him again. “One has nothing to do with the other.”
    â€œYou’re right. Absolutely right. What I should have said is that I run my life, Detective.” She snatched her hand away so that she could poke a finger at his chest. “Me. Alone. Get the picture?”
    â€œYeah.” He wondered how she’d like a nice clip on that pointy little chin of hers. “I’ve got a picture for you.” He hauled her up and kissed her hard. No gentle touch, no finesse. All steam heat. It lasted only seconds, but he succeeded in shocking her speechless. “Things change, McNee.” Dark, furious eyes pinned her to the spot. “Get used to it.”
    With that, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
    â€œWell.” Bess took one breath, then another. Her throat felt scalded. “Of all the incredible nerve. Who the hell does he think he is, marching in here that way?” Hands on her hips, she spun to face Rosalie. “Did you see that?”
    â€œHard to miss it.” Grinning, Rosalie snatched a french fry from a plate.
    â€œIf he thinks he’s getting away with that—that attitude —he’s very much mistaken.”
    â€œMan’s nuts about you.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œGirl, that was one lovesick puppy.”
    Bess snatched up her wine and gulped. “Don’t be ridiculous. He was just showing off.”
    â€œUh-huh. If I had me a man who looked at me like that, I’d do one of two things.”
    â€œWhich are?”
    â€œI’d either sit back and enjoy, or I’d run for my life.”
    Frowning, Bess sat down and picked up her fork. “I don’t like to be pushed.”
    â€œSeems to me it depends on who’s doing the pushing.” She sat, as well, and dug right into her steak. “He sure is one fine-looking man—for a cop.”
    Bess stabbed at her salad. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
    â€œYou’re paying the tab,” Rosalie said agreeably.
    With a grunt of assent, Bess tried to eat. Damn cop, she thought. He’d ruined her appetite.
    Â 
    There was something to be said for beating the hell out of inanimate objects. Alex had always found the therapy of a pair of boxing gloves and a punching bag immeasurably rewarding. With those so easily accessible, he could never figure out why so many people felt the need for a psychiatrist’s couch.
    Until recently.
    Twenty minutes of sweating and pounding hadn’t relieved his basic frustration. He often used the gym—in the middle of a difficult case, when one went wrong, when a good arrest turned sour in court. The same ingredients had worked equally well for himwhenever he’d fought with family, or friends, or had female problems.
    Not this time.
    Whatever hold Bess McNee had on him, Alex couldn’t seem to punch himself out of it.
    â€œSo much energy, so early.”
    The familiar voice had Alex blinking away the sweat that had dripped through his headband into his eyes. His brother Mikhail, and Alex’s