Trust Me

bring your clients home with you?” Tony asked.
    Stark folded his arms across his chest and propped one shoulder against the nearest wall. He regarded Tony with a cold, unblinking gaze. “Since she realized that a woman living alone can never be too careful.”
    “You think it’s your job to protect her?” Tony jerked at the fastenings of the red and black studded vest. “Think again. I’m the one who saved her life when she was five years old, pal. I’ve been taking care of her ever since. She doesn’t need a knight in shining armor. She’s got me.”
    “Please, Tony, don’t make a scene,” Desdemona pleaded. “This is awkward enough as it is.”
    “Yeah, I can see that.” Tony held up the leather vest, mask, and velvet whip. “Guess your big brother is in the way tonight, huh?”
    “Tony…”
    “You’ve changed during the past few months, kid,” Tony tossed the leather gear aside in disgust. “Tell me, is the pit bull, here, the guy who introduced you to the fancy sex toys?”
    “That’s enough, Tony,” Desdemona said sharply.
    “Which one of you uses the whip?” Tony drawled.
    “We like to take turns,” Stark said.

6

    Stark closed the door on the sullen-faced Tony. He took some satisfaction from the knowledge that the other man was temporarily out of the picture even though he suspected that the real battle had just begun. He watched as Desdemona hurried around the room, scooping up the leather accessories.
    “This is so embarrassing,” she said. “I don’t know what to say.”
    Stark eyed the erotic gear piled high in her arms. “Say you’ll get your locks changed as soon as possible.”
    She gave him a quick, surprised glance. “Because of Tony? There’s no need. He’s family.”
    “A stepbrother, you said?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Not a blood relation, then?” Stark asked carefully.
    She scowled. “Well, I guess not, if you’re speaking in the strictly technical sense of the word.”
    “I usually speak in the strictly technical sense.”
    “Tony is my brother in every way that counts,” Desdemona said forcefully. “We grew up together.”
    Stark realized he had struck a nerve. “I didn’t intend to start an argument about it. I just wondered, that’s all.”
    Desdemona eyed him uncertainly for a moment and then appeared to relent. Her eyes softened. “My mother married his father when I was five. Tony was nine at the time. His mother had died when he was a baby.”
    “He said he saved your life when you were five years old.”
    Shadows swirled in Desdemona’s turquoise eyes, the same dark shadows Stark had seen there a few minutes earlier when they had stood together in the close confines of the elevator.
    “It’s true.” Desdemona turned away quickly. “But it’s another long story. I’d really rather not go into it tonight. Excuse me while I put these things away.”
    Stark watched her hurry across the hardwood floor. When she disappeared behind the sliding panel of a shoji screen, he switched his attention to the rest of the loft.
    The first thing he noticed was that there were no defined rooms. Raw brick walls formed the perimeter on three sides. Windows lined the entire front of the loft. Opaque shoji screens provided privacy for the bedroom area. A waist-high counter made of glass bricks marked off the kitchen. The bath was concealed behind more glass bricks and another shoji screen.
    It was an open, airy, unconfined living space. A good place for a woman who did not like to spend too much time in small, close places such as elevators.
    Stark walked around the corner of the low, glass brick counter and found the shiny black espresso machine. He located the dark-roasted coffee in a glass jar nearby.
    Stark studied the machine for a moment. It was similar to the one he owned. He was good with high-tech gadgets.
    He went to work.
    “Whew. What a way to end an evening.” Desdemona gave him an apologetic smile as she emerged from behind the shoji screen. “For a Wainwright, Tony sometimes exhibits lousy timing. Here, let me make the coffee. You’re supposed to be my guest.”
    “I’m almost finished.” Stark pulled a lever. The espresso machine hissed and steamed like a small, electronic dragon.
    “So I see.” Desdemona smiled uncertainly. “Okay, thanks.” She sat down on one of the stools on the other side of the kitchen counter.
    “Your stepbrother said something about having just returned from L.A.”
    “Yes. He went down there