voice continued on in a weary monotone. “I have nothing to do with murders or solving crimes unless they are related to Internet pornography, and I don’t read novels because I don’t have the time to.”
“Internet pornography?” I asked coming back to the chaise.
“Yes,” he said without opening his eye. I folded the cloth and laid it on his cheek, accepting his murmured thanks without comment.
“You mean like those online sex sites and stuff? The ones with the women bumping and grinding to web cams?”
“Some. Our department focuses mainly on the pedophile sites.”
“Oh.” I nudged his hip with my knee. He scooted over a bit, his good eye open to watch me sit down beside him. “That’s a good job to have. I mean—it’s not good that it exists, but it’s good that you’re doing it. I bet you take a lot of satisfaction in getting those slime balls sent to jail.”
He pinned me with an emerald-eyed gaze. “It’s very satisfying, yes.”
I couldn’t help myself. I reached out to smooth the faint lines between his eyebrows. His eye warily watched my hand withdraw, almost as if he expected a blow. I folded my hands together in my lap to keep from touching him. “Even my husband Matt, who was the biggest workaholic in the continental United States, took time out occasionally to play, although his idea of having funwas sweating on a racquetball court. What do you do for fun if you don’t read?”
“Your husband?”
I nodded, tightening my grip on my hands. That look of puzzlement he was wearing was just so damn adorable!
“Isabella said you were interested in meeting available men. I assumed that’s why you wanted to meet Karl—”
“Ex-husband,” I interrupted him, smiling at my own foolish thoughts. His interest in my marital state didn’t mean anything—no matter what he claimed, he was a detective, and everybody knows detectives detect when they come across something that doesn’t add up. “So what do you do?”
“For fun?”
“Yep.”
He closed his eye again. “I don’t indulge in frivolous pastimes.”
“Well, that lets out running around the neighborhood clad in nothing but a pair of frilly knickers and a fright wig, but there must be something you do for entertainment.”
“No.”
I resisted the urge to peel his eyelid back; his jaw was set so firmly it’s a wonder he got that one word out.
“What do you do when you’re at home? What do you watch on TV?”
“I don’t have one.”
“And you don’t read for pleasure? Anything? ”
“No.”
“Oh. How about music? You must like some sort of music.”
The eye opened. “I don’t listen to music, I don’t haveany hobbies, and I don’t care to be interrogated about this any further.”
Well, that put me in my place.
“Sorry,” I said, and rose to clean up all of the bits of my hair he had cut off. Prickly, prickly, prickly—that was his early warning system coming into effect, my inner voice warned. Don’t think about getting too close to this one—just when you think he’s eating out of your hand, he’ll snap your arm off.
“What did you think of Karl?”
I frowned at the wicker wastebasket as I tossed my hair into it, then turned back to assess his expression. His voice had a slightly apologetic tone to it, and was a good deal warmer than the previous sentence he’d spoken. “Why do you ask?”
“You were there to meet him, weren’t you? Isabella said she’d asked you there for that purpose. I merely wondered what you thought.”
I took a few cautious steps toward Alex. Why on earth had he taken his yummy Rickman voice and turned it into a sterile, emotionless parody? “Karl? I think he’s not in the remotest sense of the word perfect.”
His good eye opened and watched me as I again seated myself carefully next to him and reached out to flip the dishcloth over to the cool side. “That’s all? He’s not perfect?”
I nodded, letting my fingers gently graze the bruised area, then
“Internet pornography?” I asked coming back to the chaise.
“Yes,” he said without opening his eye. I folded the cloth and laid it on his cheek, accepting his murmured thanks without comment.
“You mean like those online sex sites and stuff? The ones with the women bumping and grinding to web cams?”
“Some. Our department focuses mainly on the pedophile sites.”
“Oh.” I nudged his hip with my knee. He scooted over a bit, his good eye open to watch me sit down beside him. “That’s a good job to have. I mean—it’s not good that it exists, but it’s good that you’re doing it. I bet you take a lot of satisfaction in getting those slime balls sent to jail.”
He pinned me with an emerald-eyed gaze. “It’s very satisfying, yes.”
I couldn’t help myself. I reached out to smooth the faint lines between his eyebrows. His eye warily watched my hand withdraw, almost as if he expected a blow. I folded my hands together in my lap to keep from touching him. “Even my husband Matt, who was the biggest workaholic in the continental United States, took time out occasionally to play, although his idea of having funwas sweating on a racquetball court. What do you do for fun if you don’t read?”
“Your husband?”
I nodded, tightening my grip on my hands. That look of puzzlement he was wearing was just so damn adorable!
“Isabella said you were interested in meeting available men. I assumed that’s why you wanted to meet Karl—”
“Ex-husband,” I interrupted him, smiling at my own foolish thoughts. His interest in my marital state didn’t mean anything—no matter what he claimed, he was a detective, and everybody knows detectives detect when they come across something that doesn’t add up. “So what do you do?”
“For fun?”
“Yep.”
He closed his eye again. “I don’t indulge in frivolous pastimes.”
“Well, that lets out running around the neighborhood clad in nothing but a pair of frilly knickers and a fright wig, but there must be something you do for entertainment.”
“No.”
I resisted the urge to peel his eyelid back; his jaw was set so firmly it’s a wonder he got that one word out.
“What do you do when you’re at home? What do you watch on TV?”
“I don’t have one.”
“And you don’t read for pleasure? Anything? ”
“No.”
“Oh. How about music? You must like some sort of music.”
The eye opened. “I don’t listen to music, I don’t haveany hobbies, and I don’t care to be interrogated about this any further.”
Well, that put me in my place.
“Sorry,” I said, and rose to clean up all of the bits of my hair he had cut off. Prickly, prickly, prickly—that was his early warning system coming into effect, my inner voice warned. Don’t think about getting too close to this one—just when you think he’s eating out of your hand, he’ll snap your arm off.
“What did you think of Karl?”
I frowned at the wicker wastebasket as I tossed my hair into it, then turned back to assess his expression. His voice had a slightly apologetic tone to it, and was a good deal warmer than the previous sentence he’d spoken. “Why do you ask?”
“You were there to meet him, weren’t you? Isabella said she’d asked you there for that purpose. I merely wondered what you thought.”
I took a few cautious steps toward Alex. Why on earth had he taken his yummy Rickman voice and turned it into a sterile, emotionless parody? “Karl? I think he’s not in the remotest sense of the word perfect.”
His good eye opened and watched me as I again seated myself carefully next to him and reached out to flip the dishcloth over to the cool side. “That’s all? He’s not perfect?”
I nodded, letting my fingers gently graze the bruised area, then
Similar Books
