Some Gave All by Nancy Holder

women’s go-to for all things caffeine, which only added to the
yes
of him. They’d been going out for two weeks now, and she was truly touched by the interest he’d been taking in her project.
    “Try the walk again,” she urged him.
    He pushed out his hip. He had the cutest butt. “We say chi-chis in the south,” he said. “We have a more polite aesthetic.”
    Heather grinned and rolled her eyes. “‘Polite aesthetic.’ If this was a sitcom, you’d be my stereotypical gay best friend.”
    “But it’s not a sitcom, darlin’. It’s real life.” He gave her a long, slow grin. “And you
know
that I’m not gay.”
    He seductively slid the corset around his chest to reach the linen fasteners she’d invented just for the piece. They intersected and formed square knots that would not pull apart unless you pinched them together.
Another
fashion first. She was born for this. He undid the first one and rolled his hips in a circle.
    “Way not gay,” he murmured, sipping his wine. He undid another fastener and rolled his hips the other way, as if he were circling a hula hoop. As comical as his striptease was, Heather couldn’t help a little tremor of excitement. In addition to a body to die for, Walker totally knew his way around the bedroom. After having her heart broken back in Florida, Heather was up for someone who thoroughly enjoyed being with her and told her she was beautiful at exactly the right moment.
    “Walker, please, we need to work. This is my entry,” she said, and he smiled languidly.
    “Maybe we need to work on mine.” He waggled his brows and unfastened another loop.
    She giggled. This was fun. She loved having fun.
    “And you need more wine,” he added as the corset began to slide to the ground.
    “Oh, careful!” Heather cried. “I’ve spent a hundred hours on that!”
    She swooped down to retrieve it, nearly spilling wine on it, and as she straightened, the chartreuse skirt splashed to the floor like a waterfall. Walker stood proudly in his underwear, all the more endearing because they were clean baggy boxers with a splash of red paint on them. He painted. He was a serious visual artist. He was amazing with oils, and she loved that he worked late at night in his boxers. She hadn’t been to his place but he’d told her it was a cold-water flat, like a garret back in Paris. He was quirky and artistic.
    “Careful with the hundred-hour dress,” he intoned, and gently lifted her creation off the floor. He carefully folded it and held it out to her with a bow. She curtseyed and took it from him. Then he drained his wine glass, set it down, picked her up in his arms, and carried her toward her bedroom.
    “
Entering
the hallway,” he said. He turned. “
Entering
your bedroom.
Entering…
”
    She kissed him. He returned the favor. Then he carried her to her bed and set her down. Blissed-out, Heather arranged her fashion items on her nightstand and held out her arms.
    “You’re the best,” she said.
    “Boom-ba-ba-boom.” He thrust his hips from side to side. The mattress dipped beneath his weight.
    “We left kind of a mess in the front room,” she said.
    “Later, busy brain. Hip thrusters, we are go for launch!” He kissed her again.
    And again and again and again.
    This cannot be more perfect
, Heather thought happily.
All my planets are in alignment. Nothing’s going to mess this up.
    * * *
    “Hey, buddy,” Vincent said on the other end of the line. He was in the Bronx, waiting his turn to investigate the Patel crime scene. “Are there any cameras at east one-sixty-first? I’ve been looking and I don’t see any.”
    J.T. sat at command central in the once-abandoned gentlemen’s club that was his, and formerly Vincent’s, home and hacked into the highly illegal-to-use surveillance system as he had done so many times before. Maybe now that Tess was the precinct captain, she could bail him out if he ever got arrested by the NSA.
    The keyboard clacked like a concerto as he