Sundays Are for Murder

by Marie Ferrarella

  “I thought you’d never ask.” Because he couldn’t resist, Erik took her into his arms, pressing a kiss softly to her neck. Her sigh nearly drove him over the edge. But he held himself in check.

  They had until dawn together.

  CHAPTER TEN

  AS SHE KISSED ERIK, a feeling of panic lunged forward, elbowing sensuality aside. What if this was a huge mistake? What if she was being carried away by the moment, the danger and a man as sexy as sin? Before she’d met Erik, she’d always been levelheaded, but now she was in over her head and going down.

  Erik could feel her wrestling with herself, and he drew back. His smile widened. Marla looked rather adorable and flustered. He realized she looked rather adorable no matter what the situation. “Relax, Marla. You’ve nothing to fear from me.”

  She wasn’t afraid of him. It was herself she feared—feared losing her heart to a man who wouldn’t remember her name by this time next week. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Sexy men are a danger all their own.”

  He looked into her eyes and knew she wanted the same things he did. At least for tonight. Softly he caressed the curve of her cheek. “Only if they presume things.”

  His touch was hypnotic. It took effort to form words. They floated from her lips slowly. “What sort of things?”

  He wanted to touch her. Touch her in ways no other man ever had. To make her remember him—always. “Some men presume that being slightly better looking than average entitles them to hold any woman they want.” He tightened his embrace just a little. “Like this. Or kiss that woman. Like this.” He pressed another kiss to her throat and felt her pulse jump. He looked at her. “Do I make you nervous, Marla?”

  Very slowly, her eyes on his, she shook her head. “No, I make me nervous.”

  There was humor in his eyes. “Why?”

  “Because.” Breathe, damn it, Marla, breathe, she ordered herself.

  Hopelessly lost in her eyes, Erik lowered his mouth to hers.

  The kiss gained a speed all its own. Her lungs lost breath. Her body attained the consistency of overcooked pudding, turning to liquid. Her head spun and her pulse did things that defied description within the known parameters of the AMA.

  “That,” she finally managed to say. “Because of that.”

  He combed his fingers through her hair, framing her face, bringing it closer again. “One should always make a point of facing one’s fears.”

  “Show me,” she murmured.

  “I’m very good in a hands-on situation,” he promised her.

  “I never doubted it,” she whispered before words became obsolete and her lips were otherwise occupied.

  A GLIMMER OF SUNLIGHT nudged at her consciousness. Her eyes still shut, savoring the last of this euphoric half dream, Marla reached for him. The place beside her was empty.

  The warm haze froze and broke apart into tiny pieces. She opened her eyes in panic to see Erik across the room, tucking his shirt into his pants. He was looking at her.

  “Time to go,” he said.

  How long had she slept? She struggled with the fog around her brain. Erik hadn’t left her, but their adventure was coming to an end. “Is it two o’clock already?”

  “No, but we have to keep moving. A rolling stone attracts no bullets.” Gathering up the clothes he’d slowly removed from her last night, he placed them on the bed beside her. “By my calculations, we’ve probably used up all the luck allotted to us.”

  He could have watched her sleep all night. Curled up innocently against his side, her cheek nestled on his arm. She’d made him feel things he’d forgotten he could feel. Some emotions he couldn’t remember ever feeling before.

  It was dangerous for a man in his line of work to feel anything at all, he reminded himself.

  But feelings—his desire to defend what was good—had been what had pulled him into this world with its shades of gray in the first place. The consequences of what he sometimes had to do had meant that he’d shut down emotionally. And now, after a decade on ice, these feelings and wants were flowing back. Because of Marla.

  Sitting up, she forgot about the sheet and it drooped. Marla made a grab for it, but not before his eyes claimed her. She felt herself growing warm again. What had happened in the wee hours of this morning was not something she was going to forget any time soon. “Is there time for a shower?”

  The question awakened erotic thoughts. “I only wish.” But he shook his head.

  With the sheet arranged around her like a Roman toga, she rose, the clothes in her arms. “All right. It’ll only take me a minute to get ready.”

  She surprised him by how fast she could get dressed. He wasn’t accustomed to women who moved fast, only fast women.

  They left by the back stairs, rousing Marla’s conscience.

  “Is it really necessary to sneak out like thieves?”

  He’d sent money in a sealed envelope addressed to the management down the hotel mail chute. The room had been paid for. “Necessary and highly advisable.”

  She was beginning to recognize his tones. That one left no room for argument.

  MINGLING WITH CROWDS of tourists and natives, they boarded the public transit. A bus to the financial district, a trolley to the outskirts of Fisherman’s Wharf, the BART through the center of the city. By noon, Marla estimated they’d put in over a hundred miles in a city that spanned forty-nine.

  “Are you sure you’re not lost?” she finally asked him. “Maybe if we asked directions—”

  “I know where I’m going,” he assured her, his hand holding hers. “Always.”

  Her gaze met his. Did he know he was also holding her heart? “Are you sure?”

  His silent debate was unexpected. And over within a second. He made up his mind. Taking a detour from his route, he brought her to the park across the street: an open area close to the Presidio.

  There, away from people who might overhear, away from everything but pigeons, Erik departed from the straight and narrow line he’d followed for so long. He wanted her to know everything about him.

  “I’m guarding a chemical compound that, under the right temperature, becomes self-replicating at an incredible speed. The scientist who made the discovery was killed. We’ve been playing tag with the compound, and at the moment I’m it.”

  He saw the question in her eyes and said it simply. “I have the only known quantity. Applied correctly, it can be used to produce microscopic quantum computers capable of doing calculations at a phenomenal speed. Something that currently takes years can be done in a matter of hours. Whatever country owns the secret of this compound will leap forward in all kinds of technology. In the wrong hands, this could mean global enslavement or mass destruction.”

  She grasped the ramifications of what he was saying—but not why. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because you have a right to know. Because in that hotel room this morning you became more than just a shadow that fell across my life.” The corners of his mouth rose. “I guess that sounds pretty sappy, coming from a CIA agent, doesn’t it?”

  Moved by his words, she turned to him, touching his face. “No, I think it sounds pretty wonderful. It makes you real.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “And last night I wasn’t real?”

  She struggled with a blush. “Realer,” she corrected.

  He glanced at his watch. “Time to make this ‘realer’ still.”

  Still holding her hand, Erik picked up his pace. All the while, he remained alert, watching for the men they had thus far managed to elude.

  He and Marla arrived at Fort Point, just beyond the Presidio, at the foot of the Golden Gate Bridge at one forty-five precisely. The designer agents, as he’d dubbed them, arrived at one forty-six.

  “Time for hide-and-seek again,” he hissed against her ear, hurrying her into the building.

  She tried to look behind, but Erik blocked her way. Protecting her again. “Are they—?”

  He didn’t have to look. “They are.”r />
  There was an elderly man standing just shy of the entrance, reading a plaque dedicated to the brave soldiers who had spent the duration of the Civil War guarding the bridge from possible seizure by the Confederates. From a distance, the man looked like an elegant Santa Claus.

  Marla inclined her head to Erik. “Is that your man?”

  “No, that’s their man.” The agent seemed to be alone. An illusion. But that was all right—their side had illusions, too. “Ours is the one over there.”

  She saw no one but a man in blue livery, sweeping. “The janitor?”

  “Waste management engineer.” He held out his hand. She had the backpack. “Give me your book.”

  “My book?” Even before she took Mystery at Midnight out of her purse, it hit her. No wonder he’d insisted on bringing it along. “It was in here all the time?”

  He nodded. “Embedded in a paste compound inside the back flyleaf.” One arm threaded through hers, he casually walked by the refuse container beside the janitor. As he passed it, he tossed the book in. The janitor didn’t even bother looking in their direction. He continued sweeping, depositing his refuse in the trash can and then moving the can along with him.

  If Marla hadn’t known what was going on, she wouldn’t have realized the agent had been waiting for a delivery.

  She heard running footsteps behind her and turned to see two men—the same men who’d been chasing them—taking off after the janitor. But before she could say anything Erik had tackled one of them, and another man, whom she’d thought was a student, had a gun pointed at the second.

  Marla held her breath. This was even more exciting than her suspense novels.

  Erik handed his guy over to the agent and came back to her. “Is that it?” she asked.

  “It is.”

  She let out a breath. It seemed that they were finally safe. And finished. Disappointment hovered, taking possession. “And that’s it?” she repeated.

  “That’s it.” He’d done what he’d been sent to do. Now it was someone else’s turn. “Want some breakfast?”

  “I want to know what happens next.”

  He took her arm. “I’ll see if I can get them to serve that as a side order.”

  They sat at an outdoor café. This beautiful San Francisco afternoon was perfect for lovers to share. Marla toyed with her juice, wondering when he would get around to saying goodbye. She stalled for some time, knowing there was none left. “So now what?”

  He’d been studying her quietly. And coming to terms with things. “That depends on you.”

  “On me? How?”

  He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he asked, “Is it everything you thought it was cracked up to be? Those spy adventures you like to read. Is living one as exciting as you thought?”

  Her eyes met his. “More.” And she meant it. Both as a response and a request. She wanted more. Wanted to experience more. Most of all, she wanted more of him in her life. “Where do I sign up?”

  “Sign up?” he echoed with confusion.

  “Yes. You signed up—I want to do the same. Where do I do it?”

  He considered the idea of her as an operative. No one would ever suspect. Then his protective nature kicked it. “It isn’t that simple.”

  “I don’t mind complicated.” She reached over and touched his hand. What she’d meant to say was written in her eyes.

  He began to smile. Just a little. “I could help you train.”

  “I was hoping you might.”

  She was, as his grandfather liked to say, a pistol. And he wanted to be the only one handling the firing pin. “First step is to take you home to meet my mother.”

  “Your mother?” Marla blinked. “She’s with the CIA?”

  “No, she’s with me.” His mouth softened. “The way I’d like you to be.”

  She knew what he was saying without needing all the words. “So this would be a package deal.” He wasn’t walking away—he was staying. Her heart felt like singing. “The CIA and you.”

  His smile grew wider. “In a way.” He wanted her with him. Always. The other part they’d work out.

  “I’ve always liked packages.”

  “Me, too. I like opening them. Slowly.”

  He was making her warm again. Very warm. She pushed the juice aside and leaned closer. There was no one to hear them. “If I join up, do I get my own gun?”

  “Only if you don’t use it on me.”

  Her eyes were smiling. “I’ve got other things I want to use on you.”

  He rose, taking her hand in his. “No time like the present to get started.”

  Marla O’Connor, the girl who had wanted adventure, had found it, and she couldn’t have agreed with Erik more.

  *Originally published as an online read at www.eHarlequin.com.

  Here’s a sneak peek…

  Husbands and Other Strangers

  by Marie Ferrarella

  CHAPTER ONE

  His hands were gentle, so incredibly gentle. They passed over her body slowly, like a warm spring breeze. The hands of a lover. Caressing her. Stroking her. Making her yearn.

  She knew, instinctively knew without explanation, that they were powerful hands. Hands that could just as easily have snapped a neck in two if unrestrained anger had flashed through his veins.

  Which made it all the more wondrous that he could touch her this way. As if he were worshiping her. As if he were making love to her with just his hands, just his fingertips.

  He was making love to her.

  A moan slipped from her lips, as if the pleasure that filled her was just too much to contain, to keep captive within the vessel of her body. It overflowed from every pore.

  Drenching her.

  Drenching him.

  And then his hands were no longer there, no longer blazing a trail along her skin. His lips were there instead, anointing her body. She could feel herself trembling as his mouth ever so lightly skimmed along her flesh, following the same path that his fingers had traced just a moment ago.

  A century ago, when time began.

  She couldn’t see him.

  Why couldn’t she see him? Why, when every fiber of her being felt him, knew him, wanted him, couldn’t she see his face?

  But no matter how she tried, how she turned, she couldn’t see him. His identity remained hidden from her view.

  Her eyes opened, but she couldn’t see. She could only feel, could only sense him. It was as if something inside her prevented her from seeing him.

  He wasn’t a stranger. How could he be? She knew who he was, at least in her soul. Somehow she had always known, deep within the secret recesses of her mind, that he would be coming for her. Coming to her. Whoever he was, he was her soul mate, her intended, the one she had always been destined for since the very moment that destiny began.

  Destined to love until the last grain of the sands of time blew away into the dark abyss of eternity.

  So why, if her soul knew him so well, couldn’t she see him?

  Gayle Conway strained, trying to turn her head, aching for a chance to get a better view. Any view. Aching to see.

  But something held her back. Restrained her movement. A weight, a heavy weight, was pressing down on her. And exhaustion consumed her; she couldn’t breathe. Still, with the last ounce of strength left within her, she struggled against the iron bands on her arms.

  A sense of overwhelming loss edged out the pleasure within her, like a blot of ink absorbing every square inch of the bright, colorful material it had been spilled on, obliterating it.

  He was gone.

  Gone as if he were nothing more than smoke. As if he hadn’t existed at all. But she knew he had. He had been as real as she. But now he was gone and only she was left. Left alone, shackled to a hard bed of loneliness.

  The moan that came from her lips this time was devoid of pleasure. It was a keening sound, a noise filled with the sorrow of bereavement and loss.

  And then something else cut into it. Another sound
, another voice.

  Something…someone…

  Someone was calling to her. Calling her name. Calling her from this oppressive, weighted darkness she was lost in.

  The heaviness began to lift. There were hands on her again. But this time they were not gentle hands. Rough hands, trying to snatch at her consciousness. Trying to bring her back around. She could feel hands rubbing her arms, her legs, coaxing the color, the strength back into them. Back into her.

  Gayle tried to listen, to hear. To recognize.

  But the voice calling her name belonged to someone she didn’t know.

  A stranger’s voice.

  “Gayle, please wake up. Honey, please, just open your eyes. Just look at me. Please.”

  Fingers. Gentle fingers, not running along her body but lacing her fingers with them. More words.

  Supplications? Prayers?

  Gayle opened her eyes again. She had to find who had been loving her. Had to find the man who had so abruptly left her side.

  The man she couldn’t see.

  Slowly, mercifully, she could feel herself rising from the depths, the almost life-threatening heaviness leaving her. A moment longer and it would be all right. She would be out of this lonely, stark world and reunited with the man whose passion had set her on fire.

  Already she could feel her body warming again. Warming, as if touched by sunlight.

  Sunlight.

  It was the sun she felt on her face. On her body. The sun. Nothing more, just the sun.

  The realization underlined the emptiness in her soul.

  Something moist slid from her lashes and slithered in a zigzag pattern along both cheeks. Gayle opened her eyes and looked up at the concerned ring of faces that were hovering over her.

  It took her a moment before she could focus on them. Sam. Jake. The emptiness within her shifted a little as she recognized the familiar faces of her two older brothers.

  And then she saw someone else. A man who claimed to be her husband.