“To Charles Monroe.”
“Charles.” As it slapped at her out of left field, Eve dragged a hand through her hair. “Son of a bitch.” This was the trouble, she thought, this was the damn problem with making friends. It came back and bit you in the ass. “She’s getting her pipes snaked twice a month by a licensed companion?”
“One would assume she wasn’t paying for a bridge partner.”
“And it just damn well has to be Charles.” She sat back, let it simmer. “Why does a woman who claims to love her husband need to diddle or be diddled by an LC every two weeks?”
“You’re not that naive. You know there are endless reasons for it.”
“Maybe, maybe, but I’m only interested in her reasons.” She rose, thinking she was about to be pried out of the warmth after all. “So I’ll go ask him what they are.”
“Now? Eve, it’s after ten.”
“LCs have flexible hours.”
“And he’s very likely to be out with a client.”
“Or in with one.”
“If you contact him first—”
“He’d have time to prepare. I want him off guard.”
And she had a point. “I’ll drive.”
5
“IF HE’S IN, ISN’T WITH A CLIENT, BUT WITH Louise?” Roarke stepped into the elevator in the elegant lobby of Charles’s apartment building.
Eve shrugged. “It’s not like she doesn’t know what he does for a living.” While she didn’t have any problem seeing how the smart, dedicated Dr. Dimatto fell for Charles—and he for her—she couldn’t quite work out how Louise so easily accepted his work.
“Why doesn’t it bother her? Seriously, it doesn’t. She’s not putting on a front. She’s in a serious relationship with a guy who has sex with other women for a living, and it doesn’t matter to her.”
“I married a cop.” Roarke smiled at her. “We all have our levels of acceptance. He was an LC when they met, just as she was a doctor, and one who often works in dangerous areas of the city.”
She shot him the same easy smile. “So…if I’d been an LC when we met, you wouldn’t have any problem with me banging other guys. Professionally.”
“None at all, as I’d kick your ass and murder all of them. But that’s just my level of acceptance.”
“Yes.” Pleased, she jabbed a finger into his chest. “That makes sense to me.”
“Which is why we’re suited, darling Eve, and neither of us with Charles or Louise. If Louise is here,” he added when the doors opened, “would you like me to take her off somewhere for a bit?”
“Let’s see how it plays.”
“And if he’s with a client—as I believe he only takes females—I’d be happy to engage her elsewhere while you work.”
“Sure, no problem. Remembering those acceptance levels, how suited we are, and how much you like having your balls kicked up to your throat.”
He put an arm around her waist for a sideways hug. “It is true love with us, isn’t it?”
“Hearts and flowers, every day.” She pushed the buzzer on Charles’s apartment door. In less than a minute, she saw the security light blink, flicked her gaze up to the camera. The light steadied to green; the door opened.
“This is a nice surprise. Roarke. Lieutenant Sugar.”
He stepped back in welcome. Charles Monroe was vid-star handsome, with a sheen of urban polish even in the casual at-home loose pants and sweater. His apartment with its strong colors, bold art, deep cushions reflected his easy sophistication and affection for comfort. Music, what Eve thought might’ve been vintage jazz, flowed through the air.
“What can I get you? Some wine? Or how about some Irish coffee?” He glanced around the room as he spoke, as if checking for something he’d misplaced. “God knows it’s cold enough out there.”