"I'm sure B. D. has some comfortable place where I can wait for my wife without intruding, if that's necessary. As I recall, he has a very spacious home."
She didn't bother to grumble. "I guess you know him."
"Of course. We're competitors—not unfriendly ones."
She blew out a breath as she sat up and eyed him. "I'll see if the lawyer approves it, so pending that, fine. And maybe later, you'll give me your opinion of the Branson brothers."
"Darling, I'm always delighted to help."
"Yeah." This time she did grumble. "That's what worries me."
*** CHAPTER FIVE ***
Eve fidgeted in the back of the limo. It wasn't the mode of transport she'd have chosen when she considered herself on duty. The fact was, she preferred being at the wheel when she was on the clock. There was something just plain decadent about streaming along in a mile-long limo under any circumstances, but in the middle of an investigation, it was, well, embarrassing.
Not that she would use the words decadent or embarrassing to Roarke. He'd enjoy her dilemma entirely too much.
At least the long, somewhat severe black dress she wore was suitable enough for both a will reading and a business dinner. It was straight and simple, covering her from neck to ankle. She considered it practical, if foolishly expensive.
But there was no place to strap on her weapon without looking ridiculous, no place for her badge but the silly little evening purse.
When she squirmed again, Roarke draped an arm over the backseat and smiled at her. "Problem?"
"Cops don't wear virgin wool and ride in limos."
"Cops who are married to me do." He skimmed a finger over the cuff beneath the sleeve of her coat. He enjoyed the way the dress looked on her—long, straight, unadorned so that the body under it was quietly showcased. "How do you suppose they know the sheep are virgins?"
"Ha ha. We could have taken my ride."
"Though your current vehicle is a vast improvement over your last, it hardly provides this kind of comfort. And we wouldn't have been able to fully enjoy the wines that will be served with dinner. Most importantly…" He lifted her hand, nipped at her knuckles. "I wouldn't be able to nibble on you along the way."
"I'm on duty here."
"No, you're not. Your shift ended an hour ago."
She smirked at him. "I took an hour's personal time, didn't I?"
"So you did." He shifted closer, and his hand slid up her thigh. "You can go back on the clock when we get there, but for now…"
She narrowed her eyes as the car swung to the curb. "I haven't gone off the clock, ace. Move your hand, or I'll have to arrest you for assaulting an officer."
"When we get home, will you read me my rights and interrogate me?"
She snorted out a laugh. "Pervert," she muttered and climbed out of the car.
"You smell better than a cop's supposed to." He sniffed at her as they walked toward the dignified entrance of the brownstone.
"You squirted that stuff on me before I could dodge." He tickled her neck, made her jerk back. "You're awfully playful tonight, Roarke."
"I had a very satisfying lunch," he said soberly. "Put me in a cheerful mood."
She had to grin, then cleared her throat. "Well, shake it off, this isn't exactly a festive occasion."
"No, it's not." He stroked an absent hand down her hair before ringing the bell. "I'm sorry about J. C."
"You knew him, too."
"Well enough to like him. He was an affable sort of man."