Free A Man for All Seasons by Diana Palmer Page B

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    Bib shook hands with him. “Do you ever miss the old days, when we hung around the record shop hoping to meet women?”
    â€œI miss sleeping a whole night,” Marc said enigmatically, and grinned. “See you.”
    He got into his black sports utility vehicle and drove away, the smile fading from his lips as he pulled out onto the highway. Silvia’s attitude bothered him. She was a strong-willed woman, and most of the time she was an asset to Bib. But he couldn’t help recalling her violent outburst when he mentioned that he was investigating Dale Jennings’s murder—or that it had been Silvia’s testimony that had resulted in Dale’s conviction for Henry Garner’s murder.
    Marc had been so upset over Josette’s accusationabout Webb and the revelation about the truth of her rape charges at the age of fifteen, that much of the murder trial had escaped his notice. He’d misjudged her and caused her untold misery and shame about that long-ago rape trial. Despite his anger at her allegations against Bib Webb, he’d been devastated at having misjudged her so badly. But any idea he’d had about apologizing had gone by the board. She’d looked at him in that courtroom at Jennings’s trial as if she hated him. Probably she did. He’d just walked out on her, with no explanation at all.
    Worse, he’d been more than a little in love with her just before the Jennings trial got underway. He hadn’t been as angry about her allegations as he had been angry at himself, for being such a poor judge of character. He’d gone through the trial in a fog and, afterward, he’d left town, to spend two miserable years with the FBI.
    Now he was home again and the whole damned mess was being resurrected. Josette had no time for him. He could see the contempt in her eyes when she looked at him, feel her anger. He didn’t blame her. She had every right to consider him the enemy. She would do her best to put Bib Webb under investigation, and hewould do his best to stop her. After all that time, they were still on opposite sides.
    He stopped at a traffic light and a passing glance at a young girl in a long, flowered dress reminded him of his last date with Josette. She’d just graduated from college and he’d been there, along with her parents, for the ceremony. That night, he’d taken her out to a very fancy restaurant. She’d worn a long black silk dress with exotic flowers hand-painted on the fabric. Her long blond hair had been in a neat chignon at the nape of her neck. She’d looked absolutely exquisite.
    After dinner, he’d taken her back to his apartment. Up until then, there had been brief, clinging kisses and love play that neither of them carried to the inevitable conclusion. He still hadn’t believed her rape story, although the woman he was getting to know didn’t seem the sort to tell lies. He’d reminded himself that plenty of women who looked innocent, weren’t.
    His suspicions increased when she went with him to his apartment. She hadn’t protested being alone with him. He’d put on some slow dance music and shed his dinner jacket, moving her close to his crisp, white cotton shirt. Against it, he could feel the soft press of her breasts under the thin fabric. He hadn’t felt a bra, and that had aroused him, quickly and uncomfortably.
    But instead of backing away, to keep her ignorant of the effect she had on him, he’d let her feel it. He could still remember being surprised at the faint shock in her wide, dark eyes, the tremor that ran through her. She’d started to speak, but he bent and took the husky words right inside his hungry mouth.
    He was slow, and deliberate, and thorough in his ardor. Her innocence was no match for his years of experience with women. He had her on his couch in no time, bare to the waist. While his mouth fed hungrily on her small, firm breasts, his hand had