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“He was a person of interest.”
“It’s romantic.”
“Most people don’t find being a person of interest in a homicide investigation romantic.”
“A man would when the interest is coming from a beautiful investigator. He’s a lucky man.”
“He’s lucky he didn’t do the murder,” Eve said and made Julian laugh.
“I’d say you both are.”
“You’re right.” And she liked him better for saying it.
“How did you become a cop?”
“I graduated from the Police Academy.”
“But why?” He angled toward her, his mostly untouched glass of wine in his hand. “And a murder cop—that’s the term, right? Did you always want to be one?”
Well, hell, it did seem sincere. She eased off the sarcasm. “As long as I can remember.”
“That was Marlo’s take, and how she’s playing you. With that intensity and drive, that cop-to-the-core attitude. I’m trying to bring the same sort of package to Roarke—a man of power, wealth, mystery. Marlo and I agreed, early on, that the two of you are the heart of the story. The center of it.”
“I’d say the Icoves were the center.”
“I think of them more as the guts of it. What was it Marlo said, the cancer in the belly. I think.” He shrugged. “But your love story is the heart.”
“Our—” She found herself tongue-tied between horror and embarrassment.
“That shouldn’t throw you.” Julian laid a hand over hers. “Real love is beautiful. And … elusive, don’t you think?”
“Julian has a romantic’s soul.” Seated between Roundtree and Roarke across the table, Marlo sent Julian a twinkling smile. “But he’s not wrong.”
Julian twinkled right back at her, shifting that you’re-my-world focus on a dime. “Romance makes everything sweeter.”
“And you’ve got a serious sweet tooth,” Marlo countered.
“I do. The love story aspects of the script are my favorite scenes to play.”
“Oh God” was all Eve could manage.
“These two have the chemistry,” Roundtree commented. “They’re going to burn up the screens.”
“Oh God,” Eve repeated, and this time Roarke laughed.
“Steady, Lieutenant.”
“See how he says that.” Obviously delighted, Julian squeezed Eve’s hand before he leaned forward, his gaze riveted on Roarke now. “Lieutenant,” he repeated, giving the word Roarke inflection. “It’s loving and hot and intimate all at the same time.”
“It’s my rank,” Eve muttered.
“He respects your rank. You respect her rank,” he said to Roarke, wound up now, “as much as you love her.”
“Not quite,” Roarke corrected.
“No, you’re right, you’re right, but it’s up there. And you like each other. And the trust. The two of you going down into that secret lab, risking your lives—”
“Oh for Christ’s sake, give the ass-kissing a rest, Julian.” K.T. knocked back a slug of wine, then slapped her glass on the table. She actually snapped her fingers at one of the servers so he would deal with the refill. “Even your mouth ought to be tired of puckering up by now.”
