“It’s possible, I suppose. Unlikely but possible.” Isabella stopped at apartment 1A, slid her key into the lock, but hesitated before opening the door. “What’re you going to do next?”
He stuffed his hand into his pants pocket and curled his fingers around the wadded napkin. “Oh, I don’t know. I think I’ll go look up the other Mistress Z on the net. The human one. See if I can find an address. I might be in the mood for a spanking.” He winked.
“Now, that I’d kill to see.” His friend’s laughter followed him all the way up the stairs.
Chapter Two
Sylvie couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the same thing. That awful image of the dead man, the empty eye sockets, the horrific expression on his face. And then she saw herself as a child, standing under the freeway overpass, the cardboard sign gripped in her grubby hands, her eyes hollow.
In a desperate attempt to distract herself, she watched infomercials for a while. Kept trying to call Lisa. Gave up after getting her voicemail three times in a row. Would Lisa ever hear about it tomorrow! “She had better be near death’s door,” Sylvie mumbled as she hit the button, cutting off the call before the voicemail kicked in again.
She tried reading, but her brain was too foggy to absorb written words. She flipped through magazines and stared at the pictures blindly. Her fears kept haunting her. That guy’s face.
How long would it take before it would fade, even a bit? Dammit, she didn’t want to be alone tonight!
She jumped for the umpteenth time when a tree branch scratched her bedroom window. Tiptoed through the house checking and re-checking the locks. Her puppy, Lulu, who weighed in at exactly five pounds, wasn’t much of a guard dog but she brought her along anyway. Weren’t toy poodles supposed to be good security dogs?
Then again, if that was the case, hers was defective. The little white fur ball kept whimpering and hiding under the nearest piece of furniture.
“A lot of good you’d be if someone broke in. Maybe you’d ruin their shoes,” she half-joked, half-scolded, dragging the shivering canine out from under the couch. “This is not the time for hunting dust bunnies.” She was almost regretting not having gone for the Rottweiler. Instead of hiding behind a one hundred fifty pound animal with big sharp teeth as she crept through her house, she was carting around a shaking, dribbling poodle.
Front door locked? Check. Windows? Check. Kitchen door? Check. French doors to the back yard? Check. Everything on the first floor seemed to be secure. She headed back toward the front of the house, to the staircase. It was then, as she turned the corner, that she saw something dark pass over the leaded glass sidelight next to her front door.
Her heart stopped. Literally.
Someone was out there! That shadow was way too tall to be a stray cat or opossum.
She dashed back to the kitchen, dropped Lulu on the floor next to her food dish and armed herself with the one and only weapon she could find in her current panicked state -- a broom.
Hopefully the element of surprise would be on her side or she was in big trouble.
Then she tiptoed back toward the front door. Her fingers gripped the broom’s wooden handle so hard the muscles in her palms cramped. Her heart thudded so hard in her chest she could feel it banging against her breastbone.
She briefly thought about running back to the kitchen and calling 9-1-1. But what if there was no one out there? Or what if her friend Lisa had come over to check on her?
Please, please let it be Lisa.
Her arms shaking, she peered through the peephole. No Lisa. She went to the living room window to see if there was a car parked in her driveway.
Nothing.
Still holding the broom, she ran from window to window, checking each one. Her yard had a lot of trees and shrubbery. Too many. Up until tonight she hadn’t considered the downside of having a house virtually surrounded by dense greenery.
Tomorrow morning she was calling a landscaping company! It was all going, even the lilacs. Too many places for prowlers to hide.
She went back to the front door, paced back and forth a million times until she was so tired she needed duct tape to keep her eyelids open. Finally, unable to keep going, she dropped on her rump on the bottom stair.
The shadow passed in front of the side light once more, sending her into a state of panic all over again. If only the glass panes weren’t beveled. She might know what she was dealing with. She lunged for the front door and peered through the peephole again.
The lawyer?
The lawyer!
As if a switch had been thrown, her racing heart rate slowed. It was only the lawyer, Brett Whatever-his-name. She released a huff of air. God, she was a wreck. Freaking out at every little thing.
But as she twisted the doorknob, the welcome relief morphed into anger. The lawyer? How dare he come skulking around her house at this hour! What was his deal? Need to make a payment on that ridiculous car he had? Speaking of cars, where was it anyway? He had to have driven. Unless he lived close by.
Wouldn’t that be her luck?
She didn’t wait for him to knock. She opened the door and, making sure to wield the broom in the most threatening manner she could, stomped outside and shouted, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He was facing the street. And gauging by the way his very nicely-built body jerked when she yelled, he hadn’t expected her to open the door yet. He whipped around and, his gaze dropping to her hands, lifted both of his in the universal position of surrender.
Such a strong man in such a weak position. For some reason that gesture looked wrong on him. She had the feeling he didn’t need to use it very often.
“I wanted to make sure you got home safely,” he explained. “Didn’t see your car…”
Fighting a tingle of awareness as her gaze went on a little tour of the landscape that comprised Brett Whoever, P.C., she tipped her head and glared at him. “It’s parked in the garage. Like it should be. So get lost. I don’t need a lawyer. And even if I did, I wouldn’t call you. How fucking low! Trying to solicit new business by doling out cards at the scene of a murder. Can. You. Say. Ewww?” She punctuated each word with a thrust of the broom.
“I’m not here to try to get a client.” He crossed his arms over his chest. And thanks to the fact that he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, she was privy to the sight of a couple really nice biceps.
Drool. And drool.
Still, he was a scummy lawyer, she reminded herself. Out to get his next buck. What else would he be doing at her house in the middle of the night?
“Heh. Yeah,” she scoffed. “Like I’m going to believe that. What’s wrong? The ad you put in the newspaper didn’t get you enough business this month?”
“Plenty’s wrong. But not for me.” He took a step toward her. It was a pretty large step. Brought him a whole lot closer to her than she wanted at the moment… or maybe not. Yes, too close.
She took a couple steps backward, but the closed storm door stopped her from going any further. The air got a little thicker, harder to inhale. “Yeah… so what’re you trying to say?” She lifted her chin, shifted the broom into her right hand and reached behind her with the left, searching for the door’s handle. He closed the distance between them before she had her fingers around it. The scent of man and soap and something else she couldn’t name swirled around her like a fog. She inhaled deeply, to see if it was really as pleasant as she’d first thought.
Yeah, it was.
Scared, you should be scared! Not sniffing him like a bouquet of roses.
Now, with his threatening -- albeit scrumptious -- bulk blocking her, and her head adrift in thoughts of flowers and biceps, she couldn’t step out from in front of the door to open it. Not sure what to do, she released the door’s handle and returned both hands to the broom.
His gaze met hers and held it captive. “Please. I realize it looks a little strange, my being here at this hour. But I think there are a few things you
need to know.”
His voice was so low and soothing and reassuring the little bit of anger she’d managed to cling to vanished. Poof. Gone. She was suddenly tempted to invite him inside.
What am I thinking?
She shoved that idiotic idea aside and yanked her eyes away. For some reason, her brain seemed to get all soupy when she looked him in the eye.
What had she been about to say? Oh yeah. “Don’t you think a phone call would’ve been more appropriate? How’d you find out where I live, anyway?”
“That’s what I’ve come to talk to you about.” He raised a hand to her face, closed his fingers around her chin and lifted, until she was looking at him again. “You can trust me.”
A warm, pleasant feeling, like satin running over her skin, swept through her mind. Equally pleasant tingles danced over her skin, warmed her insides.
Yes, she could trust him. He was strong and mysterious but not scary. He wanted to help her, not harm her.
Very suddenly, she realized she wanted to touch him. No, she wanted to do a whole lot more than that. To taste his kiss. To strip naked, throw herself on the floor and invite him aboard.
The longer she stared into his eyes, the more she wanted to feel his hard body pressed against hers. His mouth over hers, tasting, taking.
Whatever she was about to say faded from her mind.
He slowly lowered his head, tipping it to the side as it came closer, closer.
He was going to kiss her! And she was so very, very glad. She closed her eyes and mentally braced herself.
Nothing.
Confused, her cheeks flaming, she blinked open her eyes. His face was right there. His nose almost touching hers. His lips so close all it would take was a teeny tiny shift forward and they’d be firmly planted on hers, where they should be. Yet for some crazy reason she was frozen in place. Couldn’t move a muscle, except for the ones operating her eyelids.
He closed his big hands around her upper arms, backed away from her house several steps, taking her with him, and opened her door.
Dazed, but at least able to move again, she walked inside her house. He followed her, pushed the front door closed behind him and twisted the deadbolt.
“Come. This way.” He took her hand and led her to the living room couch. “Sit.”
Confused and tired and just plain worn out, she sat. She stared at his face.
It was a bummer to see his expression change. For a second, she’d been sure he’d come to seduce her. There’d been something in his eyes. The simmer of lust burning brightly. Thrilling. Intoxicating, that’s what it had been.
But now it was gone and his demeanor was cool. Not cold, but… professional. Suddenly chilled, she pulled the afghan off the back of the sofa and wrapped it around herself.
“I have to ask you about something,” he said.
“Oh?”
“Yes, it’s about this.” He pulled a folded, wrinkled cocktail napkin from his pocket and handed it to her.
Their fingers brushed as she took it from him. She tried to ignore the strange flutter her heart did at the innocent contact and unfolded the paper. Her name and phone number were written on the napkin, in her handwriting. She recognized it right away but wondered how he’d ended up with it. “Yes? I know where this came from. But how’d you get it?”
“I found it in your office.”
“That’s impossible. My office? When?” She stared at his face, practically memorizing his features. He had high cheekbones. A perfect chin. Cute ears. But it was his eyes that were the most striking.
His eyes…
“Tonight,” he answered, vaguely.
She shook her head to clear it. It felt like it was getting clogged with thick, gelatinous ook. “When tonight?” What was he getting at? And what had he been doing in her office?
She lifted her eyes to his again. Why wasn’t he kissing her yet? His lips looked yummy. It was so hard following this conversation. She wondered if he’d be insulted if she asked him to put a bag over his head so she could concentrate. Over his whole body would be even better.
“Earlier,” he said.
As he paced back and forth, she was left to wonder about a lot of things. Was he really a lawyer? Or was he an undercover cop of some kind? Did he think she’d murdered that guy?
She needed some space, some air. A brain transplant. Hers had stopped working. She’d never reacted like this to a man before. It was damned disconcerting.
She stood up and pushed past him. Cripes, his chest was hard as concrete. Concrete covered with the softest material she’d ever felt. She had to concentrate really, really hard to get herself to remove her hands from their resting place on his pecs. She did manage, eventually, and was able to put at least five or six feet between them. Her head cleared a bit. Relief.
“First, that doesn’t make any sense. And second, want to tell me what’s really going on here? Because I’m having a hard time believing you’re just a nice guy trying to do a good deed. In one night you’ve snooped in my office and prowled around my house. It’s like… three o’clock in the morning. What kind of person goes poking around someone’s house at three in the morning? Are you a cop?”
“No. I’m not.”
“Then what gives?”
“I’m no one. A guy who wants to find a killer. That’s all. But more than that, I’m a guy who wants to protect you.”
“Protect me? From what? What’s in this for you? If you’re not a cop and you’re not a slimeball lawyer looking for your next meal ticket, then what the hell are you?” She saw something flicker in his eyes. One corner of his upper lip curled up, just slightly, giving his mien a hint of dark danger.
Dark danger and wicked promise.
A pulse of warmth shot through her body, nearly knocking her to her knees. She covered her face with her hands and tried to listen, really listen to what he was about to say. She had a feeling if she didn’t, she’d be sorry.
“I’m your one and only ally. The only person who really knows what’s going on.” He paused. “Want me to leave? Right now? Or do you want to hear what I have to tell you?”
What was with all the vague double-talk? God, she hated this. Why not just spit it out? What was this guy hiding? For some reason, even though her patience was wearing as thin as the whisper-fine sheer curtains hanging on the window behind her, she lowered her hands from her face and mumbled, “Okay. I’ll listen.” If there was something she needed to know, it would be a crime for her to miss out on hearing it just because she was either too turned on to care… or too annoyed with the good-looking jackass’ Dark and Mysterious Good Guy game.
He motioned for her to sit down again, and she complied. Not because he wanted her to but because she was so tired she was afraid she might keel over from exhaustion at any moment.
He resumed his pacing and she couldn’t help noticing the way his backside filled in his pants.
Why was she so distracted? It felt like her mind wasn’t her own. Her body too. It was like someone else held a remote control, pushing buttons that controlled her thoughts, her reactions.
Had to be exhaustion. Or stress. What else could it be? She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
“Back to this napkin,” he said. “You said it was impossible for me to have found this in your office. Why did you say that?” His voice affected her like the soft hum of a vibrator. It buzzed through her body, igniting mini-blazes in her groin.
Her eyes still closed, she fanned her face. “Because I wrote that tonight. I know I did. And I gave it to a young woman who wanted to buy a car.”
“You gave her your home phone number?” His accusatory tone grated like fingernails on a chalkboard. Doused a bit of the heat boiling her blood, cooling it to a more tolerable simmer.
She opened her eyes, giving him a dose of squinty mean-eyes. “Yes, I gave her my home phone number. I have voicemail. It made sense. As a matter of fact, right now I’m glad I didn’t give her the bar’s number. The bar’
ll be closed for the next several days and my cell phone bill was horrific last month. Not to mention, my cell’s kind of dead now.”
He nodded slowly, his expression uber-serious now.
She wished that naughty twinkle would come back.
“Where were you when you gave it to her?” he asked.
“Behind the bar, giving Shelley the bartender a hand. She was slammed. When I was serving a guy a Heineken, I overheard this blonde talking to a friend about needing a car. I bought the Honda about six months ago, and I haven’t been able to find a buyer for my old car. So I slipped her my number and told her to call me tomorrow.”
He stopped directly in front of her. For some reason her gaze decided it needed to pay a visit to the terrain located just south of his belt. Oh. My.
“Any possibility you took the napkin back into your office for any reason?” she heard him ask.
“No. I was standing at the bar,” she heard herself answer. “I remember handing it to her.” She jerked her gaze from the bulge in his pants. Nice bulge it was, but she knew her staring had to have extended beyond a polite two or three seconds.
If it did, he seemed unfazed, outside of a slight red tint to the sides of his neck. “Did you invite the woman into your office for anything?”
“No, I didn’t go into my office until later, when I discovered the man… until… you know.” She wrapped the afghan more snugly around herself. Damn thing had too many holes in it. When he just stood there, looking all lost in important finding-a-killer thoughts, she added, “What? Tell me.”
He rested his hands on the arms of her chair, leaned forward and licked his lips.
Her girly parts rolled out the red carpet.
“Before I tell you what I suspect,” he murmured, “humor me with one more question.”
“Okayyyy. Then will you tell me what’s going on? I’m really… tired.” Not! Tired of being teased, yes. She shifted in her seat. Her pussy was really getting warm. She could feel the slick wetness coating her panties.
He lowered his head a little more and she closed her eyes, expecting him to kiss her.
The Alpha's Touch Boxed Set (14 Book Bundle) Page 3
