Silent Confessions

But all that was just an excuse, a blatant justification for the real truth—that instinct, primal, pure and dangerous, had taken over. Here was a man who’d made her blood burn since the first moment she saw him, who in five minutes had left her with damp panties and a yearning for more. And that was only after talking business. Just imagine if they’d actually been discussing erotica....

Perhaps she was behaving foolishly, but she wanted to keep him around, even if only for a few more hours.

Slowly, she laid the card back on the table. “It looks like you win, Detective. Class begins promptly at eight.”

chapter four (#ulink_e851aec8-1891-5088-93f8-64a6a0341396)

Jack looked up from the pile of papers on his desk to glance at the clock on the wall.

“It’s five minutes later than the last time you looked,” Donovan said, hanging up his phone.

“What?”

“The time. Every time I look up you’re checking out the damn clock. What? You got a hot date tonight?”

“Unfortunately, it’s not a date,” Jack said, immediately regretting opening his mouth.

“Unfortunately?” Donovan repeated, inflection rising. “What exactly do you have planned for this evening? And does she have a sister?”

Jack laughed. “Mindy cast aside already?”

“Cindy,” Donovan corrected him, “and no. Actually things are pretty smooth in Cindy-land.”

“I’m shocked. Almost an entire week with the same woman.”

Donovan shrugged. “So maybe hell’s got a few icicles these days.”

“No shit?” Jack knew he sounded incredulous, but his partner had always said he’d settle down with a woman when hell freezes over. If the devil was wearing snow pants, Donovan must have it bad.

Donovan twisted a paper clip as he shuffled a little on his feet. “She’s a good gal, you know? And last night, she called me after her shift. Said she felt like hell and could we reschedule. I ended up taking a movie over there and making her some chicken soup and we just sat on the couch. You know, watching the flick.” Another shrug. “It was nice.”

Jack looked his buddy in the eye. “I’m happy for you,” he said.

“Yeah, well, it’s always nice to know where your next lay is coming from,” Donovan said, but Jack wasn’t buying. His partner looked too happy. Too content. Hell, the man was in love. And damned if Jack didn’t envy him just a little bit.

Shit.

“So what’s this nondate you’ve got tonight?” Donovan asked.

Jack reached into his desk and pulled out the old catalog Veronica had given him. Homework, she’d called it.

“Archer’s Rare Books and Manuscripts.” Donovan read the cover. “Winter catalog.” He flipped to a random page and his eyebrows shot up before he looked at Jack over the top of the slick pages. “Our nudie postcards.”

Jack took the catalog back. “Not ours. But some. According to Miss Archer, the postcards aren’t hard to come by. And the one left in Mrs. Crawley’s mailbox isn’t valuable.”

Even though “class” didn’t start until that evening, Jack had pressed Veronica for a few answers before he’d left. And he had to admit, the woman knew her stuff.

“So this gal’s willing to help us out?”

Jack nodded. “Yup. I’m meeting with her tonight.”

“Is she a babe?”

“Excuse me?”

“Just wondering if I should hope your nondate takes on a few twists.”

Jack aimed a stern look his partner’s way. “If you’re looking for something to do...”

“Got plenty,” Donovan rushed to say, but he didn’t walk away. Jack glared, and Donovan laughed.

“What?” Jack snapped.

“I was right, man. She is a babe. I can see it in your eyes.”

Jack scowled but didn’t answer. Hell, what could he say? Because the truth was, Veronica Archer was a babe. And Jack was counting the hours until his private lesson commenced.

* * *

Marina gently lifted the book, tracing her finger over the green-and-white wrapper protected by clear Mylar. After a moment, she sighed. “I wish I could afford it,” she said. “But I don’t think my bank account could stand the extra strain.”

Ronnie sighed, too. At more than five thousand dollars, the first edition of Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer was one of the few books in stock that garnered a price significant enough to make a dent in her monthly bottom line, and yet not so expensive that it would only sell at auction.

Considering the sorry state of the store’s balance sheet at the moment, she’d really hoped the woman would splurge.

Carefully, she replaced the book in the glass case, then twisted the key in the lock. “We also have one copy of the first U.S. edition. It’s in excellent condition and it’s several thousand less. Would you like to take a look?”

Marina licked her lips, and Ronnie knew she had a sale. The woman was itching to buy something, but had to find that happy medium between a fun splurge and a foolish purchase.

“Well, maybe I could just take a peek,” she said, “if it isn’t too much trouble.” She turned to look behind her, to where the small group of people were milling about near the faux fireplace. “It’s tonight’s discussion topic, right?”

“That’s right,” Ronnie said. For about a year now, she’d been conducting minilectures after hours at the store about some of the more accessible famous works of erotica. “But you hardly need a collectible edition to participate. I’ve got ten paperback copies to share.”

“Oh, no,” the woman said. “I just meant that you’re sure to pique my interest. Last time when you talked about The Boudoir and The Pearl I went straight to my computer and bought copies of the reissued collections.”

This was the third lecture that Ronnie could remember Marina attending, but this was the first time she’d spoken with her. Not unusual. Considering the nature of the talks, Ronnie kept the lectures extremely informal. Folks introduced themselves using only a first name. They could participate or they could hover in the back, listen, then slink out as soon as the lecture was over. Most mingled, but she had a few hoverers, too.

The woman’s cheeks tinged slightly with pink. “The thing is, I already have this in paperback. And, well, I’ve read it a lot. And I’m thinking I’d like something more collectible. Does that make sense?”

“Of course,” Ronnie said. “Wait right here and I’ll get it for you. It’s on the second floor.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” the woman said. “I mean, if the lecture’s about to start.”

Ronnie just shook her head. “We’ve got a few minutes.” She headed into the break room toward the stairs. Her heels clicked on the flooring, and the electrician, Ethan, looked up from the breaker box beside the refrigerator. “Almost done?” she asked.

“With the alarm, yeah. But...” He trailed off into a shrug, then ran his hands down his legs, as if wiping sweat from his palms.

She frowned. His “but” sounded expensive. “What?”