Silk Confessions by Joanne Rock Page B

arm of your everyday, aver age cop. Some of the tension in his neck eased. “And if you think I’m studly after a quickie on the conference table, just wait until you see what I can do when I have more time.”
    “What makes you think you’ll ever have another chance, Detective?” She arched a delicate eyebrow and failed to hide a smile.
    “I’m on to you now.” He tugged at her scarf as she pushed the button for a private elevator that stopped in her office. “You might look like an uptown girl, but you’ve got downtown, kinky tastes all the way. You can bet I’ll find more ways to use that against you.”
    Her breath hitched just enough to make him want to kiss her again, but the elevator chose that moment to announce its arrival with a short chime. They left the building via her high-speed express car that took them directly to street level.
    Her world probably boasted plenty of professional perks he couldn’t even wrap his head around, another little reminder of how different they were.
    As if her warning about the media hadn’t damn well been bad enough. He’d barely had time to wonder how they would face that kind of attention when the elevator doors opened in the lobby and cameras flashed in his face. A crush of reporters moved toward them, although Wes could only make them out in silhouette thanks to the blind spots dancing around his vision. Questions fired at them from all sides while portable floodlights drowned them in a white-hot blaze.
    “Do you know who broke into your apartment, Tempest?” A woman’s shrill voice shouted from the crowd.
    “Who’s your friend, Tempest?” Another voice—gruff and male—assailed Wes’s ears.
    “Is it true police are investigating one of Boucher’s companies?”
    Still partially blinded, Wes barreled his way into the throng, figuring anyone dumb enough to plant them selves in front of an elevator deserved the trampling. How could she live with this kind of personal invasion all the time?
    “No comment.” He barked out the same words ten times over as he called on old college football skills to block and dodge his way through the crowd of camera-happy reporters and so-called journalists. Amazing what constituted news these days.
    Tucking Tempest under his arm, he protected her the same way he’d protected the ball on numerous carries down the backfield in the days when life hadn’t been so complicated. Although he was guessing she wouldn’t appreciate the pigskin comparison, the tactic worked beautifully. She was in the end zone—his car, rather—in no time.
    He slid into the driver’s seat in time to see her pulling down the visors and turning her head to the side, obviously a pro at deflecting media attention. Shoving his unmarked Ford into gear, he drove uptown.
    “Short of beating them off with a stick, I’d say we handled that as best as could be expected, wouldn’t you?” He relaxed into his seat as they put a few blocks between themselves and Tempest’s inquisitors.
    “You sound like you enjoyed it.” Only then did he detect the subtle sniffle behind her words.
    “Are you upset?” He flipped the visors back up to get more light in the car so he could see her better in thetwilight of a short winter’s day. She looked a little glassy-eyed. Hell, yeah, she was upset. He’d been too busy playing his position to notice. “I just assumed you didn’t want to talk to them about the case, so I figured you’d want to get out of there posthaste.”
    “Of course I did. I’m just sorry you had to deal with it.” She cast a dire look across the front seat. “They’ve obviously discovered my connection to the studio in Chelsea now. You realize they’ll know who you are by tomorrow morning’s early edition, right?”
    “I don’t care.” At least, not as much as he’d expected he would. Besides, he’d seen firsthand that she could use his help dodging reporters, and somehow that put him more at ease.
    “You don’t?”
    “I’ve