Silk Confessions Read Online Free PDF Page A

didn’t have a damn thing to do with prostitution, MatingGame, Boucher Enterprises or even her ransacked apartment.
    “I don’t care about busting prostitutes.” He lowered his voice to a pitch that seemed just right for how close their bodies loomed and all wrong for a detached, intelligent conversation between strangers.
    “You don’t?” Tempest cringed inwardly to hear her own voice hit a soft note. What was she thinking to en gage in guy-girl games with the cop investigating a break-in?
    Bad, bad idea.
    “No. I’m trying to catch the murderer masquerading as a prostitute.”
    His words reverberated in her ears, his point resonating until the meaning loomed large and ugly just out side the kitchenette area of her apartment. She blinked hard to gather her bearings, but when she opened her eyes her world still seemed slightly off-kilter and her stress headache now pounded to the forefront of her brain.
    Body language be damned, she needed breathing room.
    “I think I’d better sit down.” Tempest sidled past him, attempting to get her bearings away from the con fusing heat that flared between them. She stepped on a piece of statuary, the broken clay crushing into dust on the hardwood floor beneath her sneaker.
    “I need your help, Tempest.” He was right behind her, following her toward the sofa.
    Her apartment seemed to shrink with him in it, his presence big and male and dominating her scrambled thoughts.
    “I don’t know how I can help you, Detective, and I sure don’t understand how having my apartment broken into relates to murder.” She paused beside the sofa, un willing to take a seat if it meant this man would insinuate himself beside her. She couldn’t think with him so close.
    “You can help me.” His gray eyes seemed so confident. So certain. “And you can start by calling me Wes.”
    “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” She needed barriers to ward off the train wreck certain to ensue if she ever acted on her newfound lust for one of New York’s finest.
    She dated artists. Men who weren’t afraid to explore their creative side, or at very least, their sensitive side.Wesley—Wes—didn’t look like the type to get in touch with his emotions anytime soon.
    “It’s an excellent idea because you and I are going to get to know each other a hell of a lot better for the next few days—weeks—however long it takes for me to catch my bad guy.” He frowned. “Or bad girl in this case.”
    “That’s impossible.” No way, no how, would she allow herself to get any closer to this man. She’d already experienced the sizzle of his briefest touch. How could she ward off that kind of sexual firepower for days—possibly weeks—on end? “I’ve got a multimillion dollar company to run. A CEO to hire. Do you have any idea how much my father’s death has compromised his business and all the people who count on Boucher to make their living?”
    “No. But I have a fair idea that your earnings will continue to go down once it’s made public that the Boucher heiress can’t make time in her busy schedule to help police catch a killer.”
    His words delivered a resounding slap to her conscience, a plea she couldn’t very well deny. No matter that her life had been turned upside down, or that her bid for independence from her powerful family would be put on hold until she could recreate her inventory of artworks. She needed to pull her head out of her own problems and remind her body that Wes Shaw was off-limits long enough to help him find his criminal.
    She was so caught up in her own thoughts, she didn’t realize Wes reached for her until his hands were on her upper arms, the fabric of her crimson jacket practically incinerating beneath that simple touch.
    “Please, Tempest.” His gray gaze jump-started an erratic and totally juvenile beating of her heart. “Help me.”
    She was in over her head with this man after knowinghim for less than two hours. But he needed her help and she