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CHAPTER ONE
Her hair was shaped in a kind of midnight-blue cap that fit the shape of her head and the long silky fringe obUterated her eyebrows, emphasizing the depths of her large violet eyes. She was wearing a pair of harem-style pajamas made from a sheer polka-dotted silk and— guessed—a body stocking underneath, but the fading early evening sunlight made it hard to tell for sure. Her legs were long and elegant, her breasts fuU and frisky under the thin silk, and her hips were curved deeply enough to make a sultan's Turkish delight. She looked at me for a long moment over the rim of a king-sized martini, then bared her teeth; no smile—she just bared her teeth.
"You're Holman?" Her voice was cool and had a languid sound to it, like a small waterfall that makes no splash.
"Rick Holman," I said, because I always like to get on an informal basis with any sexy-looking brunette right from the start.
"I'm Chloe Benton." She nodded toward an empty basket-weave chair—a replica of the one she was sitting
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