“And I guess we can still be friends?” she sneered.
“I’d like for us to be,” he replied calmly.
“Well you can just forget that, Mister! I don’t need friends like you! Friends don’t waste two years - two freaking years! - of a girl’s life and then just walk away!” She picked up the remote control beside the bed and flung it angrily at his head.
Lange flinched and ducked, moving from the bed.
“I don’t want a friend with some crazy-ass fascination with a movie star from fifty years ago! Get the hell out of my apartment!” She rose up on her knees, throwing anything else she could get her hands on. A magazine landed with a thud at his feet, a water glass crashed against the wall behind him, a hurled pillow made contact with his knee. “And give me back my key, damn it!”
“It’s there beside the bed,” he said quietly. The finality in his voice, in the very act of leaving the key before she even asked, made the ending all the more bitter.
“Get out!” she shrieked again. “Get out and don’t ever come back!”
As he turned to do as she asked, Diane fell over in a heap. “Get out!” she repeated, but the words were muddled with tears.
Lange hadn’t wanted to end it this way with Diane, but she left him little choice. He knew now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that their relationship was over.
“Goodbye, Diane,” he said quietly, before leaving her to cry alone in her empty bed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ashli stirred restlessly in bed, unable to find a comfortable position. Her body was tired, but her mind was wide awake. Random thoughts kept going through her mind – an idea for a new recipe, something funny Rachel had said, errands she needed to run the next day, the pros and cons of syndicating her cooking show – but all thoughts kept circling back to the one thing she was trying desperately to forget ... the feel of Lange Sterling’s mouth upon hers.
No. She would not think about him, not tonight. For just one night, she would banish thoughts of the brooding private detective. She wouldn’t think about how tall and lithe he was, how long his legs were. She would not see those dark eyes of his, one moment snapping with irritation, the next smoldering with desire. The man did seem to be awfully intense, always agitated, never relaxed. She wondered why that was. Maybe he....
No, no, no, she wasn’t thinking about him tonight! He had haunted her thoughts for the past week. Tonight, she was banishing him from her mind. She wasn’t even going to wonder, for the umpteenth time, who he had a date with tonight. His personal life was none of her concern. In fact, she would think about her own date tonight.
Brandon had been perfectly nice. Handsome, too, if you liked the blond, made-for-television type. But his hands were so soft, she noticed, nothing like the callused palms of Lange Sterling’s. His hair was perfectly coiffed, his teeth straight and white, his eyes a clear blue. She found herself comparing his flawless good looks to a more rugged counterpart; there was something about dark hair, worn just a little too long, about a sardonic off-center smile, something about dark, brooding eyes that seemed so much more attractive.
Brandon, she reminded herself sternly. She was thinking about Brandon. There was that witty little remark he had made about the network. He really was a good conversationalist. And a real gentleman, unlike someone else she was not thinking about. He had been totally attentive, opening doors and pulling out her chair, making certain her drink was refilled. And he was an above-average kisser. Too bad she felt nothing special when he touched his lips to hers, nothing even close to what she felt when Lange kissed her.
Lange, again! Ashli punched her pillow into a new shape and slammed her head against it, hoping to dislodge all thoughts of Lange Sterling. She let out a low growl of frustration, but a sound from downstairs brought her up short. She lay still and listened.
Another muffled noise had her sitting up in bed, straining to hear more.
Grabbing the phone and a long, heavy flashlight from her night stand, Ashli eased out of bed and crept toward the stairs. She stood there for a tense moment, searching the shadows below, straining to hear what had awakened her. It was difficult to hear anything over the wild hammering of her heart, but it sounded like something - or someone - moving on her veranda.
She slid down the first few steps.
There was no movement from the shadows, but the noise came again, definitely on the veranda.
Ashli squeezed flat against the wall as she ventured down another step, then two. With slow, stealthy movements, she eased down the remaining steps until she reached bottom. Taking a deep breath, she peered around the corner into the kitchen.
Empty.
With her back still pressed against the safety of the wall, she scanned the rest of her apartment and found the shadows vacant and secure. As she eased toward the French windows, the frantic clamoring of her heart drowned out all other noise.
A cat, she told herself. It might be a cat.
She finally reached the windows. Her fingers were trembling as, ever so slowly, she eased a wooden blind back a sliver of an inch.
She gasped when she saw the shadow on the other side. That was definitely not a cat. It was a man, and he was moving slowly away, his back to her. After a few feet he paused and started to turn toward her, presumably to retrace his steps. Not waiting to find out, Ashli flipped the porch light on.
She heard the man’s hasty departure but didn’t dare look out again. She dialed the phone as she jumped away from the windows.
“Lange!” she whispered when he picked up on the second ring. “I-I’m scared. There’s someone outside.”
He was awake instantly. Even as he spoke, he was grabbing his jeans and jabbing a leg inside. “Don’t open the door until you hear my voice. I’m on my way!”
It took him an eternity to get there. A full six minutes ticked away before she buzzed him in, another thirty seconds before he banged on her door. “Ashli! Ashli, it’s me, open up!”
She opened the door and flung herself into his arms, much as she had done the week before. This time he was prepared for the attack, closing his arms around her immediately and pulling her to his chest, even as he backed her into the apartment and shut the door.
“What happened?” he asked anxiously, his heart thudding in alarm.
“I-I heard a noise. I came downstairs and peeked out of the blinds. I saw- I saw a shadow. A man. When I flipped on the light, he ran. Then I called you.”
“Good, you did the right thing,” he murmured into her hair, resting his chin amid the strands of sunshine. He held her for a moment longer, allowing her to soak up the strength and security of his embrace before he even attempted to step away. She felt so small and helpless in his arms, her head tucked tightly against his chest.
After several minutes, he spoke. “Why don’t you make us some coffee while I check things out on the balcony? Do you have decaf?”
“Yes. But ... do you think you should? Is it safe?” she asked, lifting eyes filled with concern.
“He’s long gone by now,” he assured her. “I could really use that coffee.”
Ashli moved reluctantly away, but hurried to the safety of the kitchen as he opened the patio doors. Her hands trembled as she made two cups of decaffeinated coffee. She was just finishing as he stepped back inside, a bundle in his arms.
“What- What is that?” She was almost afraid to ask.
“Would you believe a dozen long stemmed roses?” He was careful to lock the door behind him before bringing the flowers to the bar.
“Roses?”
“Twelve of them.”
“But- But roses are so expensive!”
“Which rules out your friend Leon.”
She sent him a look that said he had never been a suspect to begin with. Pulling away the tissue paper to see them better, she frowned in confusion. It was a beautiful bouquet of twelve yellow roses, interspersed with daisies. “From goldfish to roses? What does it mean, Lange?”
“I don’t
know. But there’s a seal on the tissue paper, which means I can speak with the florist tomorrow and possibly find who bought these. This might be the break we’ve been hoping for.”
Ashli looked skeptical as she handed him his coffee cup. He did not miss the way her hand trembled. Not trusting her to carry the scalding liquid, he took her own cup from her as he suggested, “Let’s sit in the living room. You can tell me exactly what happened.”
Ashli curled her feet beneath her on the sofa, making room for him to sit next to her. She took the cup he offered and wrapped both hands around it for warmth.
“I got home around ten. Brandon saw me in.”
“Did he come inside?” The words were guttural.
“No, we said goodnight at the door. I had an uneasy feeling that I was being watched, but of course all the blinds were shut and the curtains drawn, so no one could see in. I went to bed but had trouble sleeping. Just before midnight I heard a noise and got up to see what it was. That’s when I saw the shadow.”
“What was he doing? Could you tell?”
“I couldn’t tell, but I think maybe he was just moving up and down the windows, maybe pacing. I turned on the light, then ran to hide behind the sofa as I called you. I could hear him running away.”
“You hid behind the sofa?”
She gave a sheepish grin as she admitted, “I never claimed to be brave.”
“Well, bravery and stupidity sometimes go hand- in- hand. You did the smart thing, calling me.”
“I was so scared. I just knew he could hear my heart clamoring on the other side of the glass. That’s the first time I’ve actually seen the person. I’ve always known he was real, that he was there, but seeing him tonight makes reality hit so much harder,” she confessed with a shudder. She ran a hand through her hair, tangling the golden white tresses unmercifully. In Lange’s eyes, she had never looked more beautiful.
Lange suddenly became aware of the nightclothes she was wearing. There were soft ruffles around her neck before the pale pink material fell loose and full to just above her knees. On a taller woman, the ruffled hem of the baby doll gown would have been revealingly brief; on Ashli’s petite frame, it offered modest cover almost to her knees. The matching robe offered no real coverage, just another layer of opaque ruffles. With her hair all tousled, it wasn’t hard to imagine that this was what she would look like after he made love to her. Just the thought drove him wild.
Forcing himself to control his wayward thoughts, Lange stared at her a moment longer before dragging his eyes to the French doors. He wondered if she knew how his breathing had quickened or how uncomfortably tight his jeans were. Knowing he had more important things to think of right now, it took a few seconds for any of those things to surface on his mind. Finally he found one.
“Could you tell anything about the shadow? Was he a big man, was he tall, skinny, fat? Did he wear a hat? Tell me everything you remember.”
Never guessing how the action distracted him, she toyed with her hair as she spoke, pulling on the long silky strands through her splayed fingers, over and over again. Working her fingers slowly from the roots to the ends, the old habit seemed to pull the thoughts from deep within. “You know how shadows are,” she began thoughtfully. “They made him appear big and bulky, but somehow I don’t think he is. He might have had on a cap. And maybe boots. There was something about his feet...”
“What? What do you remember about his feet?” he pressed.
“I can’t quite put my finger on it. But he didn’t seem to move smoothly.” She got up suddenly and went to the windows, pacing alongside it thoughtfully.
“What in the hell are you doing?”
“I’m trying to remember what it was about his feet,” she murmured distractedly. She closed her eyes as she walked, seeing the shadowed man in her mind’s eye and allowing her own feet to mimic the image of his walk.
“He walked on tiptoe?” Lange asked incredulously.
“Shhh. I’m thinking.” Never opening her eyes, she turned and retraced her steps along the door, this time trying a different step, a different interpretation. She would know when she got it right.
Lange sat on the sofa, staring at the woman who paced up and down her balcony windows with her eyes closed. She wore a look of utter concentration on her face, as she lost herself to re-creating the image that, just moments ago, had frightened her to even think of. She was a fascinating mix of contradictions and surprises, and even though he often wondered about her sanity, such as now, he suspected she had a brilliant mind beneath her zany actions.
It was not her mind, however, that captured his attention as he watched her pace the floor. The balcony light spilled through the blinds behind her, silhouetting the gentle curves of her body. Through the gown’s thin material, he could see she had a flat, smooth stomach and generous breasts for a woman so small. Their heavy fullness seemed to tug them downward, like a bunch of ripe grapes, waiting for harvest. Lange closed his eyes and groaned inwardly, wondering how he could resist such sweet fruit as her body.
“I’ve got it!” she suddenly said, bringing his eyes open. “He walked like this.”
“With his hips swaying?”
“My feet. Look at my feet.” Her own eyes were still closed to keep her chain of concentration.
“You’re dragging one foot. You’re limping.”
“Exactly!” She stopped her pacing and opened her eyes, bestowing him with a brilliant smile that could have blinded the sun itself. “He walked with a limp!”
Lange pushed off the couch and came to stand in front of her, taking hold of her arms. There was no mistaking the glint of excitement in his eyes. “Between this and the seal on the roses, we may be able to find our man.” It was the first optimistic thing he had ever said to her.
“Oh, Lange, I hope so. I hope so!” Her trembling smile was hopeful as she threw her arms around his waist and hugged him. She squeezed him tightly in a quick, hard hug, but when she would have moved away, she found his arms had encircled her.
He held her loosely, two large hands placed on her back, as they stared into one another’s eyes. He drew her closer, slowly, and slid one large hand along the silky sheerness of her gown, until it rested upon her hip. He folded her into his arms with sweet, deliberate slowness, staring down into her eyes so that they both knew exactly what was happening.
As her body slid up against his, he saw her eyes widen at the intimate contact that brought soft, willing flesh against hard, wanting flesh. His eyes offered a chance to pull away, now, before something happened that she did not want.
Her tongue darted out nervously to moisten her lips; his eyes followed hungrily. His hands slowly began to caress her, hesitantly at first, until her responding fingers moved across the wide breadth of his shoulders, leaving sparks of fire where they touched. His eyes returned to hers, dark and solemn in their quest; hers were alight with an eager response. His breathing quickened, then hers.
Still, he hesitated, as he struggled with his own emotions. She watched as a part of him won, a part of him lost. He had told himself not to get involved, to stay aloof, but as she stood staring up at him, her body trembling with anticipation and her eyes darkening with passion, he knew his involvement was inevitable. He had known it the first moment he laid eyes on her, he had known it earlier in the evening when he kissed her for the first time. And he knew it now, as he held her in his arms and slowly lowered his mouth to hers.
The kiss was like lightning on a dry, parched prairie. There was the jolt of electricity when their lips met, then a spark of pure passion as the fire quickly spread. Faster than flames could ignite a dry prairie, the passion exploded between them and raced through their blood, consuming them both. Ashli wondered if his hands moved over her body so frantically to control the blaze, or to fan it higher. She ran her own hands down the muscles of his back, feeling the heat of his skin and the response of his body, even harder and hotter than before. Time was scorched away.
Somewh
ere, far away, Ashli thought she heard a phone ringing. Yet who could hear anything over the sounds of their fevered breathing and the blood rushing through her head? More than once, she thought she heard the sound of her own whimpered pleasure, and the answering moan of his need, but nothing was certain except this man and this moment.
And then, from across the room, a voice penetrated into their inferno of desire. It had the effect of a tidal wave, dousing the flame as they broke away in the middle of a kiss and listened to a man’s voice coming across the answering machine.
“I guess you found the roses.” The voice was low and raspy. “Next time......” The line went dead, leaving the unfinished threat hanging in the air.
Ashli slumped in Lange’s arms. “Oh my God, Lange. What am I going to do? He said he’ll be back. Hold me, Lange, hold me tight.”
He was afraid if he held her any tighter he might break her. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed her near, hoping she could draw strength from his nearness, from the shelter of his arms. “I’ll tell you what you’re going to do,” he told her, his voice gentle but fierce. “You’re going to let me take care of you. I swear, I won’t let anything happen to you. I’m here, and I’m going to be here, and I’m going to keep you safe.” He had the craziest urge to add the words ‘forever and ever’, but he bit them back just in time. He wouldn’t make a promise that he could not keep.
“I’m scared, Lange,” she admitted for the first time.
“There’s nothing to be scared of, honey. I swear I won’t let anything happen to you.” He squeezed her tightly for a moment, pressing his promise into her heart and soul. “Come on, let’s sit down on the couch. Just sit down and relax.”
“Don’t leave me, please,” she said, clutching at his arm as he turned her toward the couch.
“I won’t. Just come sit right here, I’ll be right beside you.” He spoke softly, soothingly, as he guided her to the couch and sat her gently on the cushions. Seeing an afghan on the nearby chair, he grabbed for it with one hand, while keeping the other securely on her. He wrapped the warmth around her and drew her close.
He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not Page 7
