Sacred Sins by Nora Roberts Page A

expecting you. She's with a patient at the moment. If you won't mind waiting, I could get you some coffee.”
    “Just hot water.” Ed drew a tea bag out of his pocket.
    The secretary didn't show even a flicker of reaction. “Of course.”
    “You're a constant embarrassment to me,” Ben muttered as she slipped into a small side room.
    “I'm not pumping caffeine into my system just to be socially acceptable.” With his bag of herbs dangling from his hand, he looked around the room. “How about this place? Classy.”
    “Yeah.” Ben took another look around. “Fits her.”
    “I don't know why that gives you such a problem,” Ed said mildly as he studied a Monet print, sunrise on the water, all softly blurred colors with a touch of fire. He liked it as he liked most art, because someone had had the imagination and skill to create it. His views on the human race were pretty much the same. “A good-looking, classy woman with a sharp mind shouldn't intimidate a man who has a strong sense of his own worth.”
    “Christ, you should be writing a column.”
    Just then the door to Tess's office opened. Mrs. Halderman came out, her sable tossed over one arm. Seeing the men, she stopped, smiled, then touched her tongue to her top lip the way a young girl might when she spotted a bowl of chocolate ice cream. “Hello.”
    Ben hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “Hello.”
    “Are you waiting to see Dr. Court?”
    “That's right.”
    She stayed where she was a moment, then let her eyes widen as she studied Ed. “My, my, you're a big one, aren't you?”
    Ed swallowed a small obstruction in his throat. “Yes, ma'am.”

    “I'm just fascinated by… big men.” She crossed to him, letting her eyes sweep up and flutter. “They always make me feel so helpless and feminine. Just how tall are you, Mister…?”
    Grinning, with his thumbs still hooked in his pockets, Ben walked to Tess's door and left Ed to sink or swim.
    She was sitting behind her desk, head back, eyes closed. Her hair was up again, but she didn't look unapproachable. Tired, he thought, and not just physically. As he watched, she lifted a hand to her temple and pressed at the beginnings of a headache.
    “Looks like you could use an aspirin, Doc.”
    She opened her eyes. Her head came up again, as though she didn't find it acceptable to rest except in private. Though she was small, the desk didn't dwarf her. She looked completely suited to it, and to the black-framed degree at her back.
    “I don't like to take pills.”
    “Just prescribe them?”
    Her back angled a little straighter. “You weren't waiting long, were you? I need my briefcase.”
    As she started to rise, he walked over to the desk. “We've got a few minutes. Rough day?”
    “A little. You?”
    “Hardly shot anybody at all.” He picked up a chunk of amethyst from her desk and passed it from hand to hand. “I meant to tell you, you did good this morning.”
    She picked up a pencil, ran it through her fingers, then set it down again. Apparently the next confrontation would be postponed. “Thanks. So did you.”
    He hitched himself onto the corner of her desk, discovering he could relax in her office, psychiatrist or not. There were no ghosts here, no regrets. “How do you feel about Saturday matinees?”
    “Open minded.”
    He had to grin. “Figured you would be. They're playing a couple of classic Vincent Price films.”

    “House of Wax?”
    “And The Fly . Interested?”
    “I might be.” Now she did rise. The headache was only a dull, easily ignored throb in one temple. “If it included popcorn.”
    “It even includes pizza after.”
    “I'm sold.”
    “Tess.” He put a hand on her arm, though he still found the trim gray suit she wore intimidating. “About last night…”
    “I thought we both already apologized for that.”
    “Yeah.” She didn't look weary or vulnerable now, but in control. Untouched, untouchable. He backed off, still holding the chunk of amethyst in his