Death Is the Last Lover — Henry Kane

''Are you a ladykiller?'' the vision asked. She had skin like cream, hair like jet, and a body that could turn any male into an instant sex-maniac. With a wicked little smile, she moved closer to Peter Chambers. ''I devour ladykillers,'' she murmured.

A hot bout of serious slaughter and insincere sex in which Manhattan's sleuth-about-town Peter Chambers investigates the early death of a dancehall hostess who would do anything for love . . . and much much more for money.