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Very nice indeed.
"I think you need to come for a ride on one of my bikes. That'll change your tune."
The image of pressing close to his leather-clad body as we roared through the streets on his noisy machine had my pulse rate tripping - but I wasn't sure if it was excitement or panic. I mean, I liked looking - a lot - but I didn't feel ready for anything more right now. A quick dance with a stranger during the moon heat was safe enough for both my wounded heart and my emotions.
This wolf was not.
I stepped back, and waved him on ahead. "Cars are safer."
"That's the problem. There's no direct thrill."
"There is with sports cars."
"It's not the same, trust me." He glanced down at me, eyebrow raised. "And how can a guardian afford to get around in a sports car?"
"She can't. But I've been in them."
"Not the same." He began climbing the building's outside steps to the first floor, leaving me rather ideally placed for some butt-viewing action. "Denny's apartment is the end one. He hated having neighbors on both sides."
"Did the cops talk to the neighbor he has got?"
He shrugged, making the leather jacket ripple rather nicely. "They weren't exactly telling me much." He threw a grin over his shoulder. "But that could have something to do with me calling them pricks who wouldn't know a murder if it slapped them in the face."
"Could be," I agreed dryly.
We reached the end of the balcony. He stopped and opened a door that looked freshly painted. The air that flooded out was filled with the scent of roses and death.
I stepped past Ben into the apartment. It wasn't exactly a huge place, but it was neat and bright, thanks to the white walls and the skylights. The first room was a living room and kitchen combined, and the whole area was extraordinarily clean. Even the sink gleamed.
I scanned the scenery photos on the walls, wondering if he'd shot them himself, then said, "Where was he found?"
"In the first bedroom."
I walked around the L-shaped sofa and headed toward the first door. The smell of death was sharper the closer I got to the bedroom, and my skin crawled. Not because of the death scent, but because there was something else here, something that felt wrong.
I stopped just inside the doorway, briefly noting the blood splatters on the walls and the wide dark stain on the carpet before my gaze was drawn to the heavy-looking hook hanging from the ceiling above the stain.
"That where it happened?" Stupid question, but sometimes they just had to be asked.
"Yes."
Ben had stopped right behind me, and the thick, warm heat of him flowed over me, drowning my senses and sending desire prickling across my skin. Not what I needed right now.
Or later, for that matter.
I turned around and lightly pressed my fingers into his stomach. Felt the steel of muscle underneath the cotton T-shirt. "You need to step back. You're overwhelming my senses."
"I think that's the nicest thing a woman has said to me in a while."
He didn't move, but then again, I wasn't pushing very hard. Not yet.
I snorted softly. "Somehow, I'm doubting that."
"You'd be surprised." He took several steps back. The richness of his aroma abated enough to allow more of the room's flavors in. "We strippers are taken for granted more often than not."
"I thought you didn't do much stripping now." I turned around and took a step forward, distancing myself a little more and trying to catch the source of that tenuous, unsettling scent.
"I don't. But I wasn't always a manager."
