by Nora Roberts
“Why? I thought most people went for the happy ending.”
“They do. But in soaps, a character loses the edge if he or she isn’t dealing with some crisis or tragedy.” She sampled the paella and sighed her satisfaction. “That’s why Elana’s been married twice, had amnesia, was sexually assaulted, had two miscarriages and a nervous breakdown, went temporarily blind, shot a former lover in self-defense, overcame a gambling addiction, had twins who were kidnapped by a psychotic nurse—and recovered them only after a long, heartrending and perilous search through the South American jungles.” She took another glorious bite. “Not necessarily in that order.”
Before Alex could ask who Elana was, Lola was setting down fresh drinks. “You watch ‘Secret Sins’?” she asked Bess.
“Religiously. You?”
“Well, yeah.” She shrugged, knowing there were several patrons in the bar who’d rag her about it. “I got hooked when I was in the hospital having my youngest. He’s ten now. That was back when Elana was a first-year resident at Millbrook Memorial and in love with Jack Banner. He was a great character.”
“One of the best,” Bess agreed. “Brooding and self-destructive.”
“I was really sorry when he died in that warehouse fire. I didn’t think Elana would ever get over it.”
“She’s a tough lady,” Bess commented.
“Had to be.” When someone called her, Lola waved to them to wait. “If it hadn’t been for her, Storm would never have gotten himself together and become the man he is today.”
“You like Storm?”
“Oh, man, who wouldn’t?” With a chuckle, Lola rolled her eyes. “The guy’s every woman’s fantasy, you know? I’m really pulling for him and Jade. They deserve some happiness, after everything they’ve been through. Jeez, all right, Harry, I’m on my way. Enjoy your dinner,” she said to Bess, and hurried off.
Bess turned to Alex with a smile. “You look confused.”
He only shook his head. “You two were talking about those characters as though they were real people.”
“But they are,” Bess told him, and scooped up some shrimp. “For an hour a day, five days a week. Didn’t you ever believe in Batman, or Sam Spade? Scarlett O’Hara, Indiana Jones?”
“It’s fiction.”
“Good fiction creates its own reality. That’s entertainment.” Picking up the saltshaker, she grinned. “Come on, Alexi, even a cop needs to fantasize now and then.”
He looked at her long enough to make her pulse dance. “I do my share.”
Bess swallowed the tequila, but its zing paled beside the one that Alex’s quiet statement had streaking through her. “You’ll have to tell me about that sometime.” She glanced around at the sound of piano music.
Against the far wall was a huge upright. A slimly built, sandy-haired young man was caressing blues out of the keys.
“That’s Nick,” Alex told her.
“Really?” Bess angled her chair around for a better look. “He’s very good.”
“Yeah. He talked Zack into putting a piano in the bar about a year ago. Rachel and Muldoon tried to get him to go back to school, get more training, but no dice.”
“Some things can’t be taught,” Bess murmured.
“Looks like. Anyway, he still works in the kitchen with Rio, and comes out and plays when the mood strikes.”
“And has every female in the joint mooning over him.”
“He’s just a kid,” Alex said quickly—too quickly.
With her tongue in her cheek, Bess turned back. “Younger men have their own appeal to the experienced woman. In fact, right now Jessica is embroiled in a passionate affair with Tod—who’s ten years her junior. The mail is running five to one in favor.”
“We were talking about you.”
She only smiled. “Were we?”
Zack walked over to slap Alex on the back. “How’s the meal?”
“It’s terrific.” Bess held out a hand. “You’re Zack? I’m Bess.”
“Nice to see you.” Zack kept a hand on Alex’s shoulder after giving Bess’s a quick squeeze. “You must be the Bess Rachel ran into down at the station.”
“I must be. You have a great place here. Now that I’ve found it, I’ll be back.”
“That’s what we like to hear.” His blue eyes sparkled with friendly curiosity. “Alex doesn’t bring his ladies around very often. He likes to keep us guessing.”
She couldn’t help but respond to the humor in Zack’s eyes. “Is that so?”
“Ease off, Muldoon,” Alex muttered.
“He’s still sore at me for stealing his baby sister.”
Alex sent him an arched look. “I just figured she had better taste.” He lifted his beer. “Speaking of which.” He gestured with the mug.
Bess saw Zack’s eyes change and, recognizing love, her heart sighed. It didn’t surprise her when Rachel came to the table.
“What’s this?” Rachel demanded. “A party, and nobody invited me?”
“Sit,” Zack and Alex said in unison.
“I’m tired of sitting.” Ignoring them both, she turned to Bess. “Nice to see you again.” She took a deep, appreciative sniff. “Rio’s paella. Incredible, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. Alex was just telling me how the two of you met.”
“Oh?” Rachel’s brow lifted.
“Why don’t you join us and give me your side of it?”
Twenty minutes later, Alex was forced to admit that Bess’s casual friendliness had gotten Rachel to sit down and relax in a way neither he nor Zack would have been able to with their demanding concern.
For a woman who was so full of energy and verve, she had a knack for putting people at ease, he noted.
A gift for listening to details and asking just the right question. And for entertaining, he mused—effortlessly.
It didn’t surprise him that she was able to talk music with Nick when he was called over to join them, or food with Rio when she asked to go back into the kitchen to compliment him on the meal. He wasn’t surprised when she and Rachel made a date to meet for lunch the following week.
“I like your family,” Bess stated as they settled into a cab.
“You’ve only met a fraction of it.”
“Well, I like the ones I’ve met. How much more do you have?”
“My parents. Another sister, her husband, their three kids. A brother, his wife, and their kid. What about you?”
“Hmm?”
“Family.”
“Oh. I was an only child. Do they all live in New York?”
“All but Natasha.” He toyed with the curls at the nape of her neck. “You don’t talk about yourself.”
“Are you kidding?” She laughed, though she wanted to curl like a cat into the fingers brushing her skin. “I never stop talking.”
“You ask questions. You talk about things, other people, your characters. But you don’t talk about Bess.”
She should have known a cop would notice what most people didn’t. “We haven’t had that many conversations,” she pointed out. When she turned her head, her mouth was close to his. She wanted to kiss him, Bess thought. It wasn’t merely to distract him. After all, she had nothing to hide. But she didn’t speak, only moved her lips to his.
The fingers at the back of her neck tensed as he changed the angle of the kiss and the mood of it. It was light and friendly only for an instant. Then it darkened, deepened, lengthened. Mixed with the taste, the texture, were hints of what was to come.
There’s a storm brewing, Bess thought dizzily. And, oh, she’d never been able to resist a storm.
Her heart was knocking by the time his lips moved to her temple. “You know how to change the subject, McNee.”
“What subject?”
His hand slid to her throat, cupped there. He felt the pigeon beat of her rapid pulse. The rhythm of it was as seductive as jungle drums. “You. Now I’m only more curious.”
“There’s not that much to tell.” Uneas
y and confused by the sensation, she drew back as the cab pulled to the curb. “Looks like we’re here.” She slid across the seat while Alex paid the driver. Her knees were a little weak, she realized. Another first. Alexi Stanislaski was going to require some thought. “You don’t have to walk me up,” she said, surprised that it unnerved her to see the cab pull away and leave the two of them alone on the shadowy sidewalk.
“Which means you’re not going to ask me in.”
“No.” She smiled a little, running her fingers up and down the strap of her bag. But she wanted to. It was amazing to her just how much she wanted to. “I think it would be smarter if I didn’t.”
He accepted that, because the choice had to be hers. And the prospect of changing her mind along the way was tremendously appealing. “We’ll do this again.”
“Yes.”
He closed a hand over her restless one, brought it to his lips. “Soon.”
She felt something, a small, vague ache centered in her heart. Confused by it, she slipped her hand away. “All right. Soon. Good night.”
“Hold it.” Before she could turn away, he took her face in his hands, held it there for a moment before lowering his mouth to hers.
The pressure was whisper-light, persuasive, invasive. Even as she responded, the kiss had that odd ache spreading. Helpless, she brought her hands to his wrists, clinging to them for balance. Though his mouth remained beautifully gentle, the pulse she felt beneath her fingers raced in time with her own.
Then he let her go, stepped back. His eyes stared into hers. “Good night,” he said.
She managed a nod before hurrying inside.
There was something about Bess, Alex thought as he waited patiently for the light in her apartment to come on. Something. He’d just have to find out what it was.
CHAPTER FIVE
The last person Bess expected to see when she left her office a few days later was Rosalie. Even in the bustling crowds of midtown, the woman stood out. After a moment of blank surprise, Bess smiled and crossed the sidewalk.
“Hi. Were you waiting for me?”
“Yeah.”
“You should have come in.” Bess adjusted the weight of her bag and briefcase.
“I figured it would be better for you if I waited out here.”
“Don’t be silly…” Her words trailed off as she tried to see through and around Rosalie’s huge tinted glasses. Those sunburst colors around the left eye weren’t all cosmetics. Bess’s friendly smile faded. “What happened to you?”
Rosalie shrugged. “Bobby. He was a little ticked off about the other night.”
“That’s despicable.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“Bastard.” She said it between her teeth, but overlying her fury was a terrible sense of guilt. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was my fault.”
“Ain’t nobody’s fault, girlfriend. Just the way things are.”
“It’s not the way they should be. And if I hadn’t…” She let that go, knowing you could only go back and change things in scripts. “Do you want to go to the police? I’ll go with you. We could—”
“Hell, no.” Rosalie let out what passed for a laugh. “I’d get a lot worse than a sore eye if I tried that. And if you think there’s a cop alive who gives a damn about a hooker with a black eye, you are as dumb as you look.”
Alex would care, Bess thought. She refused to believe otherwise. “We’ll do whatever you want.”
Rosalie pulled out a cigarette, cocking her hip as she lit it. “Listen, you said you’d pay me to talk. I figure I can use the extra money. And I’m on my own time.”
“All right.” Ideas were beginning to stir. “How much do you average a night?”
As a matter of course, Rosalie started to inflate it, but found the lie stuck in her throat. “After Bobby takes his cut, about seventy-five. Maybe a hundred. Business isn’t as good as it used to be.”
“We’ll talk.” Distracted, Bess searched for a cab. “We’ll never get a taxi at this hour,” she mumbled. “I live uptown about twenty blocks. Do you mind walking?”
This time Rosalie laughed full and long. “Girl, walking the streets comes natural to me.”
Once they reached Bess’s apartment, Rosalie tipped down her shaded glasses and whistled. Unable to resist, she walked to one of the wide windows. She could see a swatch of the East River through other buildings. The sound of traffic was so muted, it was almost musical. A far cry from the clatter and roar she lived with every day.
“My, oh, my, you do live high.”
“How about dinner?” Automatically Bess stepped out of her shoes. “We’ll order in.” Red meat, Bess thought. At the moment, she could have eaten it raw. “Sit down, I’ll get us some wine.”
Wine, Rosalie thought as she stretched out on the plump cushions of the pit. She figured that sounded just dandy. “You pay for all this just writing stuff?”
“Mostly.” On impulse, Bess chose one of the best bottles in her wine rack. “You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”
Rosalie snorted. “Get real.”
“Good. I want a steak.” After handing Rosalie a glass, she picked up the phone to order dinner.
“I can’t pay for that.”
“I’m buying,” Bess assured her, and curled up on the couch. “I need a consultant, Rosalie.” It was a risk, but so was breathing, she decided. “I’ll give you five hundred a week.”
Rosalie choked on the wine. “Five hundred, just to tell you about turning tricks?”
“No. I want more. I want why. I want you to tell me about the other women. What draws them in. What you’re afraid of, what you’re not. When I ask you a question, I’ll want an answer.” Her voice was brisk now, all business. “I’ll know if you lie.”
Rosalie’s eyes were shrewd and steady. “You need all that for a TV show?”
“You’d be surprised.” It had gone well beyond the show. The bruise on Rosalie’s face grated on her. She had caused it, Bess reflected. She would find a way to fix it. “I’m buying a lot of your time for five hundred a week, Rosalie. You might want to take a little vacation from Bobby.”
“What I do after I talk to you is for me to say.”
“Absolutely. But if you decided you wanted to take a break from the streets, and if you needed a place to stay while you did, I could help you.”
“Why?”
Bess smiled. “Why not? It wouldn’t cost me any more.”
Intrigued, Rosalie considered. “I’ll think about it.”
“Fine. We can get started right away.” She rose to gather up pads, pencils, her tape recorder. “Remember, this is daytime TV, and we can only do so much. I’ll have to filter down a great deal of what you tell me. Why don’t I fill you in on the story line?”
Rosalie merely shrugged. “It’s your nickel.”
“Yes, it is.” She settled down again, and was weaving the complex and overlapping relationships of Millbrook—to Rosalie’s confusion and fascination—when she heard the buzzer for her private elevator. Still talking, she walked over to release the security lock. “So, anyway, the Josie personality is dynamically opposed to Jade. The stronger she gets, the more confused and frightened Jade becomes. She doesn’t remember where she’s been when Josie comes out. And the lapses are getting longer.”
“Sounds like the lady needs a shrink.”
“Actually, she’ll go to Elana—she’s a psychiatrist—but that’s down the road a bit. And under hypnosis— Ah, here’s the food.” At the elevator’s ding, Bess opened the door. The smile froze on her face.
“Alexi.”
“Don’t you bother to ask who it is before you let someone come up?” He shook his head before he caught her chin in his hand and kissed her.
“Yes—that is, not when I’m expecting someone. What are you doing here?”
“Kissing you?” And, at that moment, she wasn’t as responsive as he’d come to expect. Then it occurred to him that she’d said she was expecting someon
e. A man? A date? A lover? His eyes cooled as he stepped back. “I guess I should have called first.”
“No. I mean, yes. That is…are you off tonight?”
“I go back on in a couple hours.”
“Oh. Well.” The buzzer sounded again.
“You could always tell him I’m the plumber.”
Baffled, she stepped back inside to release the elevator. “Tell who what?”
“The guy on his way up.”
“Why should I tell the delivery boy you’re a plumber?”
“Delivery boy?” A sound inside the apartment had him edging closer. He wasn’t jealous, damn it, he was just curious. “I guess you’ve already got company,” he began, and pushed the door wider.
“Actually, I do.” Giving up, Bess gestured him inside. “We were just about to have some dinner.”
He looked over at the couch just as Rosalie stood. Caught between them, Bess felt herself battered by double waves of hostility.
“What the hell is she doing here?”
“You called the cops,” Rosalie said accusingly before Bess could answer. “You called the damn cops.”
“No. No, I didn’t.”
Rosalie was already striding across the room. Bess knew that if the woman made it to the door she would have lost her chance. “Rosalie.” She grabbed her arm. “I didn’t call him.”
“And why the hell didn’t you?” Alex tossed back.
“Because it’s none of your business.” Still gripping Rosalie, Bess swirled on him. “This is my home, and she’s my guest.”
“And you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”
Sizing up the situation, Rosalie relaxed fractionally. “You two got a thing?”
“Yes,” Alex shot back.
“No,” Bess snapped, then sighed. “Something in between the two,” she mumbled. She snatched her wallet out of her bag as she heard the elevator ding. “Excuse me. That’s dinner.”
While she herded the delivery boy inside to set up the meal, Alex and Rosalie stood eyeing each other with mutual dislike and suspicion.
“What’s the game, Rosalie?”
