She took his hand and slid out of the banquette. He led her to the floor. It was odd to realize this was the first time he’d been able to dance in his own club strictly for pleasure.

And pleasure it was. The sweet fit of her body against his own was almost painful, although he wished when he’d programmed the music, he’d avoided this off-the-charts sentimental Ed Sheeran ballad. On the other hand, it suited his mood.

“This is just weird,” she said, resting the top of her head against the side of his jaw and leaning even closer into him.

“If only you weren’t such a romantic.”

She laughed. Why did he keep worrying about leading her on when she had her feet so firmly planted on the ground and her head so far below the clouds?

They danced in silence, their hands clasped, their bodies swaying, breathing in each other’s air. The Sheeran song ended and Etta James began to sing “At Last.” He drew her back to the banquette.

She nibbled at the appetizers, taking those dainty bites that always threw him off. He needed to tell her what her trust meant to him. Instead, he asked her to take him through everything she’d done from the time the police had carted him away to their meeting with Deidre.

“I’ll give you the best first.” She told him about finding the man Mrs.Berkovitz thought was her dead husband.

“Incredible,” he said as she finished. “And how much did Mrs.B. pay you to do this job for her?”

“A hundred dollars. I was planning to take her out to dinner, but now I’m hoping I can take them both out.”

“You have a good heart, Piper Dove.”

She speared a cheese cube. “And flexible ethics.”

He rose to fetch the bottle of cabernet from the bar. “Go ahead. Get it all out.”

“I don’t want to.”

“That bad?”

“Depends on how you feel about breaking and entering, not to mention burglary. I also lied to your accuser about the money transfer, but I don’t feel bad about that. Then there’s your ring...”

He set the bottle on the table. “Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on yourself?”

“The end justifies the means? I’d like to believe that, but I can’t.”

“You’re a high achiever, Pipe. It’s the way you’re made.” The way Duke Dove had made her.

She gave him a bright, phony smile. “No more depressing talk. Tell me about jail. Did anybody try to make you his bitch?”

“I was held in a conference room filled with cops who wanted a replay of last year’s Super Bowl. So that would be a no.”

“Disappointing.”

He shoved an olive in her mouth.