by Celia Ashley
“Didn’t you just say—”
“Yes, and I also say screw it. Unless you prove to be a cold-blooded killer—in which case I’m better off sticking to you like glue—then I’m on a short-term unofficial leave of absence slash vacation, and I say we have dinner. I’m not investigating Alva Mabry’s murder anymore.”
Silence again. What was the matter now? His erection started to wilt.
“But I wanted…I need you on the case, no matter where it leads you.”
He sat up, his jets effectively cooled. “Why?”
“Don’t ask me that, Dan. You don’t really want to know the answer.”
“I do want to know the answer. You can give it to me over dinner. I’d like to shower first. Let’s say I pick you up in forty-five minutes?”
“Forty-five? Sure. And this time bring a condom.”
She hung up. His penis was at full alert again.
* * * *
Maris paced back and forth in her motel room. Dan’s dismissal from the case was a totally unexpected turn of events. His eyes, his name, had been revealed to her for a reason. He needed to investigate even if he drew the wrong conclusions, because the ultimate answers wouldn’t be uncovered without him. This much she had known somehow. Now, she had lost her way.
She paused in front of the mirror, studying her reflection. Her fashion sense had always been a product of whim, following her mood more than trend or a desire to please someone else. Yet tonight she had dressed for Dan Stauffer with a deliberate thought to seduction. A brand-new blouse purchased today, soft and loose, because tactile sensation could be a turn-on, the white fabric swirling with her movements like mist on the wind. On her lower half she’d pulled on a pair of tight jeans and boots laced up to her knee. Nothing flashy, but all designed to hint at what lay beneath.
She didn’t expect to bed him and then convince him to pursue the case. He was out. Nothing she could do about it, as disturbing as those facts were. She only wanted closeness and hoped to persuade him to the same. Not a wham-bam-thank-you kind of encounter, but something warm and lingering. Despite her meeting with Felicia Woodward earlier in the day and the positive impressions, she felt remarkably alone.
Leaning forward, she stretched her lips back from her teeth, checking the thoroughness of her recent flossing. To be on the safe side, she returned to the bathroom to gargle with mouthwash and applied a fresh coat of lip gloss. In front of that mirror, she adjusted her small breasts in the new lacy bra beneath her blouse, then spent a long time gazing into her own eyes, seeking a deeper motivation to her actions. Finding nothing but a fundamental desire, she returned to the room and put on her coat, flipping the blunt ends of her short hair away from the collar. She ran a finger down the feather in her ear. Peace, yes. She would find that after, her body replete with endorphins. She hoped Dan would receive the same respite from the world. Even more than she, he needed serenity.
At a dull rap of knuckles on wood, Maris snatched her purse from the chair, slid the security chain from its housing, and pulled open the door. “Dan—”
Not Dan. A tall man in a dark, sleeveless shirt that exposed two arms covered in tattoos stood on the narrow sidewalk that ran the length of the building. Recovering from her surprise, Maris gave the man a curt nod. “I think you have the wrong room. I’m expecting—oh, there he is.” Maris lifted her arm in greeting at the incoming car. It looked like Dan’s vehicle, but even if the car belonged to a perfect stranger, Maris would act welcoming because the man standing before her made the hair stand up on her arms. The stranger turned his head to follow her gaze. With a monosyllabic reaction to her statement, he pivoted on his heel and strode away. The car whipped into the space beside hers, door swinging open.
“Who was that?” Dan slammed his door and joined her on the sidewalk in two strides. “What did he want?”
Maris shook her head. “I don’t know. I think he had the wrong room.”
“Wait here.”
Dan took off down the sidewalk. He returned a few minutes later pushing his fingers through his sandy hair. “Didn’t see him. What did he say?”
“Nothing. He grunted and left when I waved at you.”
Dan slipped his hands into his jacket pockets as he frowned in both directions along the sidewalk and then over the parking lot. “This place has never had the best reputation.”
“Okay,” Maris responded, wondering where he was headed.
“I’ve made a few drug busts here, arrested a couple of parolees who’d violated their conditions, one reported rape, and rooms have been broken into more than once.”
“If you’re trying to unnerve me, you’re almost there.” Maris clung more tightly to her purse, shooting a glance in the direction the tattooed man had gone.
“You might consider relocating to another motel for the time you’re here.” He looked at her as if expecting an argument.
Maris went back into her room through the open door. Dan followed a moment later. He stood a few feet away as she pulled out her bag and began to repack it.
“What are you doing?”
Maris lifted a brow. “Taking your advice. I didn’t like the looks of that guy or the vibe he was giving off. I’ll turn in my key and follow you to wherever we’re going for dinner, then I’ll find someplace else to stay.” Maris set her laptop on the bed beside her packed bag and took a turn around the room, including popping into the bathroom to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. When she came out, Dan had a grip on her suitcase and the strap from her laptop case hung over his shoulder.
“My friends at the Timeless recently put on an addition, opening it up to the general public for dining. Good move on their part because it’s increased their business income considerably. We’re going there to eat. You can ask them if they have any open rooms. If not, there’s one of the big chains outside of town a few miles.”
Maris retrieved her purse again. “I thought you told me I couldn’t leave town.”
“That’s not really leaving town. What I meant was that you couldn’t go home.”
But I am home.
As she loaded her belongings into her trunk, she realized she both was and wasn’t home, like standing on a line of physical demarcation, one foot in a certain county, one foot in another, and not belonging in either. Not anymore. Returning to Alcina Cove had altered her mindset, made her yearn for the place, as did her rather iffy relationship with Dan, but did she really belong? Felicia said she did, but nothing else here had.
Dan stood with one leg inside his car, fingers folded over the open door. “Do you remember the way, or do you want to follow me?”
Maris leaned her chin on her hand on the roof of her vehicle, smiling at him across the open space. “You’re cute when you’re not all angry and blustery.”
He sighed. “As usual, simple question, no answer.”
“I’ll follow you.” Maris dropped down into her seat. Wherever you go.
Chapter 13
The addition had been placed where Maris’s former home had possessed a screened porch. What had been a backyard with a swing set and a garden shed for the mower had been landscaped to further resemble the English-style garden at the front of the Timeless Inn. Five-foot-tall windows on three sides of the room looked out over potted mums, leaves turning gold on the nearby bushes, and a garden marked by shadow beyond the series of small lampposts lighting the pathways. Maris disentangled a pale green tablecloth from around her knees. “It’s charming. Too bad there’s no room left at the Timeless. Being here makes me wish I had more talent, though. What an amazing job they’ve made of it.”
She’d been introduced upon arrival to Pete and Constance—or Connie, as both Dan and her husband referred to her, although the woman had used her full name in introduction. Constance was heavily pregnant, gravid with life and glowing. When asked if they knew the sex of the child, Pete had piped up with, “Nope, but if it’s a boy, we’re going to call him Re-Pete.” Co
nstance had rolled her eyes and punched him in the arm. Dan appeared relaxed and contented in their company, and perhaps a little envious. Maris watched him now across the table with a single candle burning behind glass between them and wondered what he wanted from life and why he hadn’t gotten it.
“They left the force to start this place. It’s nice.”
Nice. Seemed to Maris he avoided the enthusiasm he would have revealed if he had the inclination to open up. Played it close to his chest, her detective did. Her detective? Good God. She hadn’t meant that. She grabbed her menu and studied it. “Different atmosphere from last night’s dinner. I know you said you like that place, but this is…I don’t know. Special.”
“Yep.”
She glanced from the menu to his face. The expression in his eyes warmed her cheeks. She went back to reading. “What do you suggest?”
“The filet mignon. The pasta primavera. The salmon. They’re all good. Whatever you want. I asked you, so my treat.”
Maris nodded, considering. “Aren’t you worried about being seen with me here?”
“I don’t give a flying fuck.”
“Wow. Those’re sum purty strong fightin’ werds.”
His mouth twisted into a half-hearted grin.
“Don’t risk your job for me.”
“Let me worry about that.” He picked up his own menu, his eyes moving back and forth as he perused selections he appeared to already know by heart.
“I’m serious, Dan.”
“So am I.”
Maris experienced a little leap in the physical vicinity of her heart. Gratitude, she supposed. Nothing more. But when she felt the hook of his foot behind her boot, pulling her leg closer to his beneath the table, a reaction she both recognized and expected seared through her like a flame.
* * * *
“What kind of convention fills up an entire hotel?”
Dan dropped Maris’s zippered case on the sofa and set her laptop beside it on the floor, leaning it back against the cushioned edge. “A handmade soap maker’s convention, apparently.”
“I was being facetious. I heard the desk clerk as clearly as you did. I make my own soap. How come I never heard of this organization?”
“You make soap?” he said, eyeing her as she moved about the room like a cat scoping out the escape route. “Of course you do.”
“I have several bars in my bag. You’d probably like the lemongrass lavender, even if you are a man.”
“If?”
“Sorry. Though. Even though you are a man.”
“Thanks for the clarification.”
“No problem.”
She stopped at the island counter, picking up a law enforcement magazine and laying it down again before moving on.
“Maris, calm down.”
She glanced back at him. “Now who’s reading minds?”
“Reading body language. Just like you.”
“Hmm.” She went into the kitchen, moving alongside the counters, fingers trailing over the polished stone surface. She paused and picked up a prescription bottle. “What’s this for?”
“Boundaries, my dear.”
She put the bottle back down.
“Antibiotics for a sinus infection about a year ago. I didn’t quite finish them off.”
“Bad boy. You know better than that.” She turned to face him, arms bent, palms cupped around the bull-nose edge of the counter. “I have a prescription for sleeping pills. I haven’t taken any since I’ve been in Alcina Cove.”
He wanted to ask her what necessitated the prescription but he had a feeling she wouldn’t say, that she was merely talking for the sake of conversation because she really didn’t want to talk at all. Neither did he. “The bed in the guestroom is comfortable I’ve been told. You might take one of those pills tonight if you need it. I think you haven’t been sleeping much since you’ve been here. I know I haven’t.”
“I take them when I need to keep the dreams at bay. Sounds ominous, doesn’t it? But I don’t think I need the pills right now. I want the dreams.”
He watched her breathe, the silky white shirt lifting and falling over her torso. Her jeans defined the curve of her hips, the length of her legs. She’d dressed differently tonight, in a casually sexy and provocative manner. He would have liked to take those clothes off her, but they were still dancing their dance.
“Are you really relegating me to the guestroom?”
Or maybe the dance had ended, and they were about to proceed into a long and glorious fall from grace. “I don’t want to.”
“Then don’t. At least not this night.”
He went to her, took her hand, turned, and led her back across the floor. Her first step had held a little hitch, as if she was having second thoughts, and then she fell in beside him. She leaned her head sideways against his upper arm.
“Last night,” she said, “you fell asleep in the bed beside me. If you really believed I could poison someone, would you have done that?”
He considered a moment, contemplating his inability to tell her an outright lie, despite what she’d said to him earlier today. But he hadn’t been asleep. He’d figured by the way she’d crept from the bed that she had thought he was. “You’re right. I wouldn’t have fallen asleep beside you if I believed you could poison someone.”
She said nothing. He knew she hadn’t been fooled, but she didn’t seem to care. She continued to walk beside him, her sweet-smelling hair falling across his bicep, her fingers caressing the palm of his hand. At the base of the stairs she turned to face him, grasping his belt buckle and working it loose. She slipped her hand inside his jeans.
He sucked in his breath and let it out slowly. “No romance?”
“No time for romance.”
He could still differentiate between verbal foreplay and a statement reverberating with foresight despite her fingers closed around him. “What does that mean?” he whispered.
“I can sense the world closing in like night’s darkness without moonlight, without stars. I don’t want to know it, I don’t want to feel it, but it pulses against the back of my thoughts with the insistence of someone hammering on the door. I’m sorry, Dan.”
Holy crap. “For what?”
“The lack of time for us.”
She was leaving something major out, something he knew would scare the hell out of him. Two days ago, it would have been easy to dismiss her words as nonsense, a flagrant display to make herself important, but he knew better now. A chill worked its way up his spine to the base of his skull. Suddenly he remembered again what she had said about the cards rearranged across her aunt’s table. The suspension of disbelief. Becoming a new person. Truce. Despair.
And the Priestess card, lying hidden in the dark drawer of his desk. Secrets and choices made.
He unzipped his jeans and removed her hand, then bent forward and scooped her up into his arms. She wrapped her own around his shoulders, burying her face against his neck, her breath warm and moist on the flesh where his pulse beat heavily. He climbed the stairs with his cheek pressed close to her ear, whispering endearments he hadn’t used in years.
By the time they reached the door to his room, he was throbbing with need far beyond the engorging rush of blood to a place that required little encouragement. With a word from him, Maris stretched one arm behind and turned the knob, giving the door a shove with her fist. He stumbled inside and kicked the door shut. Maris wriggled out of his arms.
Striped by the cool glow of the streetlamp through the blinds, she took off her clothes. No preamble, no coyness. Her skin glowed, pale and blue-white as if it had never seen the sun. Prevalent pelvic bones cast a deep shadow that nearly masked the curling, dark triangle of hair. He ran his fingers across her abdomen and down between her legs. He stroked her sodden folds, curled his finger in lazy circles around the nub of swollen flesh until she moaned.
“Take off your clothes, Dan. Now.”
He s
tripped, staring a moment at the shape their clothes made on the floor. She touched his jaw, turned his face away.
“Look at me. Just me.” With a sweep of her leg, she kicked their discarded garments across the rug.
“But—”
“Only me.”
She urged him across the floor with his face in her hands, her eyes steady and luminous, the hard-on he’d almost forgotten for a second still powerful and throbbing. When they reached the bed she climbed backward onto it, first one foot, then the other, until she stood balanced as if on the prow of a ship. The mattress dipped beneath the weight of his knee. He stroked her again, with the ball of his thumb this time, slow circular motions before he darted in with his tongue to taste her. Last night had been brimstone. Tonight was the sweet, slow drip of honey.
She came without noise, which surprised him. He felt it, though, in the warm contraction around his fingers. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, a sound like velvet on sand. “I don’t know if I could have stopped it.”
“I wouldn’t want you to. We still have time to make that happen again.”
Maris dropped to her buttocks on the rumpled bedclothes, scooting toward the head of the bed. She clasped the metal frame with both hands, knees drawn up and spread for him in invitation. He didn’t hesitate. The noise she made in her throat was the kind of thrum that visited the edge of hearing, sounding deep in the bone and rising until she cried out loud. Unable to hold back any longer, he pulled her down beneath him and drove hard inside until the sound of his pending release joined hers. She silenced him with her mouth on his, pulling him down into that small death no man could live without.
* * * *
Maris rose up onto her elbow, peering down into Dan’s face. Yes, asleep this time. She’d thought he’d been sleeping last night as well, but she’d been wrong. His stumble earlier, a bad attempt to deflect her question, had told her that. Tonight he slept well, his mouth open and the smallest sound of untroubled respiration coming from it. When he awoke, would he remember what he’d said to her on the stairs? She hoped not. They’d been intimate words she wasn’t ready to hear from him and he sure as hell wasn’t ready to say.
