The bar at the InterCon is as good a place as any for a quiet drink and I took the opportunity to experiment. The cocktail list was comprehensive and I decided on a Caprioska. Cold. Lethal. Just what I needed and so thoroughly deserved and besides, all that vitamin C almost makes it healthy. Sighing, I kicked off my shoes, placed my briefcase on the table and was soon absorbed in reviewing my notes. So many dead ends. So many people wanted him dead. So why were we worrying about who had shot a dying or already dead man? And a prostitute that no-one had come forward to “claim”. I felt sorry for Chelsea.
What was I missing? There was something about those two spoilt brats upstairs that I’d missed. What was it? My hair fell down again, so this time when I twisted it up I skewered it with my pen. So much for sophisticated elegance. It doesn’t work for me, so why kid myself?
The Caprioska worked its magic. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and leant back against my seat. One more day and I hadn’t shot anyone. But I hadn’t worked out who shot Jimbo. And Chelsea. Poor Chelsea. On the other hand, my sex life was going very well. But if it was so great, why did just the thought of Jace Jameson give me butterflies in my bottie?
I sensed his presence before I heard him. “My favourite detective.”
I opened my eyes as Jace Jameson slid next to me on the banquette, placing his drink next to mine on the table and flashing me a smile that lit up all my dark and empty spaces.
“So tell me, Detective Griffiths. Are you on duty?”
He was dressed in a soft black leather jacket, black silk t-shirt and faded blue jeans. I couldn’t see his shoes but he looked like he’d just stepped out of GQ and he smelt of man musk and citrus. Flustered, I tried not to stutter. “Definitely off duty, Mr Jameson. How was your father’s wake?”
“I can think of nothing worse than wasting a perfectly good afternoon being nice to a pub full of drunks and people who don’t know me but think they have to suck up to me. There were about four people there that I really like, and we had dinner together last night. The rest don’t matter.”
“I’m so sorry that your father fell out of his coffin. Is Bradley OK?”
“He had a heart attack. The last few weeks have been hard on him, and then I heard that he got some bad news about his daughter just before the funeral started. Don’t know what happened there, but he was evidently pretty cut up.”
Did Bradley learn about Brooke and Jimbo? I played dumb. There was no need to upset Jace, too.
“Where is he now?” I asked.
“St Vincent’s.”
“He’s in good hands. Who’s his doctor?”
“Christian Barker. He’s supposed to be the best.”
I smiled. “Chris is my best friend. I’ve known him since forever. We have coffee together most mornings.”
He raised one perfect eyebrow. “Really?”
“Not what you think. We share the same taste in men.”
“Well, in that case, he can live. I just hope the caffeine doesn’t give him the shakes.”
“He tells me it actually steadies his hands.”
“So tell me, detective. Are you waiting for someone?”
“Me? No. I’m just taking it easy. It’s been a long day and I deserve some time off for good behaviour. TGIF and all that.”
“And what about bad behaviour, detective? Can I interest you in some bad behaviour?” He picked up the cocktail menu.
Oh my god. He’s flirting with me.
“That’s very tempting. What do you suggest, Mr Jameson?” I can flirt back. I can do that.
“Well, ma’am, I reckon you might enjoy a Cowboy,” he drawled. “Or what about an Orgasm? I could definitely organise at least one of those for you I think you’d like a Screamer? His eyes sparkled and crinkled at the edges and I felt a blush heading north from my toes. So wicked.
“What do you suggest, Mr Jameson?”
He made an elaborate show of consulting the menu.
“Well, I’m always partial to a Long Sloe Comfortable Screw Against the Wall, and I just love the idea of Sex on the Beach. But then, of course, nothing beats a Slippery Nipple. That’s always nice.” His eyes were twinkling as he put the menu down on the table and took my hand in his. “You may think an Afternoon Delight is very pleasant, but at the moment I recommend some good old Jameson’s. Not necessarily straight up. We could always add some ice cubes, or you might like to pour it over something.”
My face was burning. “And how do I get some Jameson’s? I can get very thirsty, you know.”
He laughed. “I’m still homeless, so I keep a suite here, detective. Would you like to ask me some more questions upstairs? We could … interrogate … each other. I promise I’ll give you my full cooperation.”
I felt the world come to a screeching halt. In every woman’s life there comes a time when you have to say to hell with it and grab an opportunity, and this was it. I finished my drink, closed my briefcase, and stood up. “In that case, I need you to come with me, Mr Jameson. Now.”
My face flaming with a combination of alcohol, excitement and anticipation, I led the way to the lift. Jace pushed the button for the twenty-ninth floor, and leant back against the wall, his eyes on mine. We didn’t talk. I couldn’t, and he didn’t need to.
He opened the door to the suite, and pulled me inside. I dropped my briefcase and grabbed his belt, yanking him to me. His mouth claimed mine, and his tongue pushed against mine, tasting of good whiskey and promising sex.
He pressed me against the door, holding me at arm’s length while he stroked my neck, moving down to the buttons on my shirt. Deftly, he undid the buttons with one hand and pushed my shirt off my shoulders. I was so glad that I’d worn new undies. His tongue licked my face as I fumbled with his belt and I felt his hands moving over my body, removing my shirt and skirt. Gasping for breath, I finally undid that blasted belt and started on the buttons on his jeans. Why, oh why, do men buy those ridiculous pants with buttoned flies? I managed to get his jeans past his hips, and observed an erection that was well and truly under construction. He grinned at me and kicked off his shoes, then stepped out of his jeans. No socks.
“Ah, that’s much better.” He cupped my chin and kissed me lightly, his tongue tracing the corner of my lips.
“Before we go any further, can I ask you a personal question, detective?” he breathed into my ear.
“What? Now?” He wanted to talk. Now?
“Have you always been a woman?”
”Ever since I can remember.”