Public Secrets Part 158

before, standing in the same spot, with Emma beside him.

"Of course. It's comforting to know you take your duty seriously."

She turned to the bar, chose a soft drink, and poured it into a gla.s.s.

"You do take your duty seriously, don't you?"

"Yes."

Smiling, Angie held the gla.s.s up. "You're allowed a c.o.ke, right? I'd

like to talk with you for a few minutes. Get to know you." She took a

sip from her own drink, her eyes steady over the rim. "Since you're

going to be taking care of me for a while. Come on." She ran her tongue

over her top lip. Angie considered each word, each move another strand

in the web she enjoyed weaving. There was nothing more satisfying than

catching a man in the soft, sticky web of s.e.x. "I won't bite."

She waited until he'd accepted the gla.s.s before she spread herself

on the sofa. It couldn't be called sitting. She arched her back into

the corner plumped with cushions, stretched her arm lazily over the

back. The silk of her jumpsuit rustled quietly as she crossed her legs.

"Sit down." She sipped her drink again. Beneath the practiced seductive

smile an excitement was building. He was so young, and lean. His body

would be hard as rock. And he'd be eager. Once she eased him over his

initial shyness-that itself an attraction-he'd be beautiful. She

decided he was just into his middle twenties, and able to f.u.c.k for

hours. Angie wagged her fingers at the neighboring cushion. "Tell me

about yourself."

He sat, because he felt like an idiot standing in the middle of the room

with a gla.s.s of c.o.ke in his hand. He wasn't stupid. His initial

impression of her intentions had been right on the mark. The problem

was, he wasn't sure what he wanted to do about it.

"Second-generation cop," he began. "Native Californian." He drank,

telling himself he was relaxed. For Christ's sake, he was twenty-four.

If the amazing Ms. Parks wanted to flirt, he could oblige her. "And a

fan." He smiled. Angie nearly purred.

"Really?"

"I've seen all your movies." Once again, his gaze was drawn to the

portrait.

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah. It's stunning."

Her movements slow and fluid, she reached over to pluck a cigarette from

a Lalique holder. She held it up, watching him until he remembered

himself and reached for the matching table lighter. "Help yourself," she

told him, indicating the cigarettes.

He was already planning on what he would tell the guys in the locker

room. They'd drool with envy at the thought of him sitting on Angie

Parks's sofa. "I've seen it before."

"What's that?"

"The portrait." He drew smoke in and nearly relaxed. "It's funny when

you think of it. I was here, seven or eight years ago, I guess. With

Emma."

Angie's gaze sharpened. "McAvoy?"

"Yeah. I ran into her on the beach one summer. We'd met a few years

before that. I gave her a lift home. Well, here. I think you were in