In Death 26 - Strangers in Death

lot reasons.”
    “And women can fake enthusiasm, or lack thereof. It’s tougher for a guy, seeing as you wear your enthusiasm or lack thereof between your legs.”
    “She has such a way with words,” Roarke commented. “And imagery.”
    “She ever fake it with you, Charles? You’ve been in the game long enough. You’d know. You’re too professional not to.”
    “No, she didn’t, and yes, you’re right, I would’ve known. Clients do, occasionally, and it would be my job to determine whether to let it go, or to explore the reasons why they didn’t, or couldn’t orgasm.” His brow knitted as he sipped champagne. “And now that you bring it up, I expected her to have some trouble there, at least the first time or two. Nerves, shyness. But she responded easily.”
    “You said you get a nice percentage of clients through recommendations, referrals. Did she ever send anyone to you?”
    “As a matter of fact, yes. I think she sent a couple clients. One-timers. I don’t remember right off, but I can look it up for you.”
    “Do that.” She brooded a moment, trying to think if there was any angle she’d missed. “Okay. Back to pie.” She took a good forkful, sampled. “Holy hell. Speaking of orgasms.”
    “A subject of which I never tire.” Roarke took a bite himself. “Well now, this is miraculous. Where did you get it?”
    “This kid’s granny baked it. Talk amongst yourselves. The pie and I are busy.” She got down to it, bite by tart and frothy bite. Until some bit of conversation intruded on her concentration.
    “An option for you,” Roarke continued. “As you consider the where and when of it.”
    “A wedding here? In the gardens? I don’t know what to say. Charles?”
    He smiled at Louise. “Bride’s choice.”
    “Then I know exactly what to say. Yes. It’s my second best yes of the night! Yes, thank you so much.”
    “That’s fine then. Come around whenever you like to have a look around. Summerset would be a help to you there. It’s a lovely spot for a wedding.” Roarke looked over at Eve. “And, I think, a lucky one.”
    “Yeah. It’s pretty damn lucky.”
     
    W hen the happy couple left, Eve walked back up with Roarke. “One question,” she began. “Does having a wedding here mean I have to do stuff?”
    “Stuff, as in?”
    “Screw around with caterers and florists and decorators.”
    “I believe Louise will want full control there.”
    “Thank God.”
    “Of course, as matron of honor, you’ll have certain duties.”
    “What? Duties? You stand there in a fancy dress, probably holding a bunch of flowers.”
    He patted her shoulder as they turned into her office. “You keep thinking that, darling, for as long as it comforts you.”
    She scowled, pulled at her hair. “It’s like Mavis having a baby, isn’t it? I have to do all this stuff because they’re doing all this stuff, which is completely—when you think about it— their stuff, but it gets to be my stuff because somehow or other they got to be my stuff.”
    “The fact I followed that clearly from point to point proves you’re my stuff.”
    “I’m not thinking about it. I’m just not. It makes the backsides of my eyes ache. Computer, display last run.”
    Blowing out a breath, she dropped down at her desk to get back to murder. That was the stuff she understood.
    Shortly after one A.M. , she roused when Roarke slid an arm under her knees. “Damn it, I dropped out. Just for a minute. You don’t have to…” But when he picked her up, she shrugged a shoulder. “Okay, what the hell. I got two more possibles. Not as strong as Petrelli, but possibles.
    “Mmm.” Her voice was slurry, a sign she’d not only hit the wall but slid bonelessly under it.
    “Need interviews, then could run some probabilities. Gotta hammer the crack,” Eve continued.
    “Absolutely. I’ll fetch you a nice big hammer first thing in the morning.”
    “Got hundreds left to run. Longer it takes, longer she has to patch up the damn hole. Not going to run though, no sir, not going to run.”
    “No, indeed.” He carried her up to the bed, laid her down. As he started to unbutton her jeans, she sat up, patted his hand away.
    “I can do it. You get ideas.”
    “Yet somehow I can resist them when my wife’s all but comatose. Heroic of me.”
    She smiled sleepily as she wiggled out of the jeans. “Better not forget that, ’cause I’m sleeping naked.” She tossed aside the sweatshirt, then climbed under the fluffy