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“It’s t
he training. Cops have to be stoic.”
He reached out, ran a hand over the grass, and plucked up her shield. “Your badge, Lieutenant.”
She snickered, slapped him on the ass. “Get off me. You weigh a ton.”
“Keep sweet-talking me, and God knows what could happen.” Lazily, he rolled aside, noted that the sky had gone from cloudy blue to pearl gray. “I’m starving. You distracted me, and now it’s well past dinnertime.”
“It’s going to be a little more past.” She sat up and began to tug on her clothes. “You had your sex, pal. Now it’s my turn. We have to talk.”
“We could talk over dinner.” He sighed when she sent him a steely stare. “Or we could talk here. Problem?” he asked and skimmed his thumb over the dent in her chin.
“Let’s just say I have some questions.”
“I might have the answers. What are they?”
“To begin with—” She broke off, blew out a breath. He was sitting there, mostly naked, looking very much like a sleek, well-satisfied cat. “Put some clothes on, will you? You’re going to distract me.” She tossed his shirt at him when he only grinned. “Mavis was waiting for me when I got home.”
“Oh.” He shook out his shirt, noted its deplorable condition, but slipped it on. “Why didn’t she stay?”
“She’s got a gig at the Down and Dirty. Roarke, why didn’t you tell me you own Eclectic?”
“It’s not a secret.” He hitched into his slacks, then handed her her weapon harness. “I own a number of things.”
“You know what I’m talking about.” She would be patient here, Eve told herself, because it was a delicate area for everyone. “Eclectic’s offered Mavis a contract.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I know you know,” she snapped, slapping away his hand as he attempted to smooth down her hair. “Damn it, Roarke, you could have told me. I’d have been prepared when she asked me about it.”
“Asked you what? It’s a standard contract. She’ll certainly want an agent or representative to look it over, but—”
“Did you do it for me?” she interrupted, and her eyes were focused on his face.
“Did I do what for you?”
Now her teeth went on edge. “Offer Mavis the recording contract.”
He folded his hands, cocked his head. “You’re not planning on giving up law enforcement to be a theatrical agent, are you?”
“No, of course not. I—”
“Well then, it has nothing to do with you.”
“You’re not going to sit there and tell me you like Mavis’s music.”
“Music is a term I’m not sure applies to Mavis’s talents.”
“There.” She jabbed a finger into his chest.
“That talent, however, is—I believe—commercial. Eclectic’s purpose is to produce and distribute commercial recording artists.”
She sat back, tapped her finger on her knee. “So it’s a business thing. Straight business.”
“Naturally. I take business very seriously.”
“You could be snowing me,” she said after a moment. “You’re good enough.”
