Cupid

by Jade Eby

  “Excuse me?” Diana rose from her desk. “This is too much.”

  “And doesn’t it feel good?”

  “What?”

  This man that sat before her was a tongue twister of sorts. Somehow he’d lassoed her mind, and had Diana spinning all over the place.

  “Doesn’t it feel good to have something be too much in your life,” he said. “Doesn’t it feel good to finally feel something vibrate through to your bones, after this boring and staggered life as a trophy wife for a heartless man?”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “I want to.” His response exuded confidence that had energy tingling at Diana’s toes. “But first, I need your help.”

  “Finding this serial killer?”

  “Yes, and I want to fund the entire manhunt. I’m willing to pay for any resources you need. I’m intrigued. I’m wondering if you can really catch this man, after finding so many others.”

  “You want me to go on a manhunt?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Interesting,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because we both know you’re going after this man. You’ve probably already started running down clues and witnesses. So why aren’t you telling me yes?”

  Something doesn’t feel right. He’s good-looking which explains the bloated ego, but he’s also pretty smart, and really good at leaning others toward his way. I can see it in the smirk on his face. He knows I would do this for him. But why would he want it done? What am I missing?

  Diana had already decided to trigger a manhunt herself, but it was personal, something that she needed to solely control. This man’s funding would bring up too much accountability and possibly reveal some of her illegal exploits in digging through clues. But even worse, getting into a deal with this guy might not be a good idea, although she couldn’t pinpoint why.

  “Detective work is not exactly my job,” she said, trying to buy herself more time to think about the deal. “I’ve found criminals, and helped put many to jail, but I also lost even more, and wasted hundreds of hours on investigations that revealed nothing.”

  “You’re a reporter, Mrs. Carson. Of course it’s your job. What I’m offering is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I’ll fund you however you desire, as long as you at least try to catch the killer. I would even get this worked out with your boss, make this your main story. I have just recently bought a large part of stock with this newspaper. In a way, you could call me your boss too.”

  Diana’s heart thwacked against her chest. “Why would you buy up stock in this newspaper?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it doesn’t explain your sudden interest in Ovid Island Newspaper.”

  “It’s a grand paper.” He shrugged.

  “It’s a small time set-up that doesn’t provide half of the things that USA Today reports, which is why residents still have all the others delivered to their doorsteps.”

  “I read this paper every morning.”

  “Why did you buy the stock?”

  “I like to own things.” He focused his gaze on Diana’s face. Those eyes, golden brown with flecks of dancing emerald and sapphire, stared straight into hers. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t. They claimed her, right then. He could have done whatever he wanted with her, and Diana would have been putty in his hands.

  “You won’t own me, whether you have all the stock or even if I agree to your deal. There’s no way to own me.”

  “Interesting.” He rubbed his hands together and rose from his chair. “I’m a simple man. I don’t try to take much, although I could. These murders interest me, for nothing more than to save my own life. I believe that you could help the police on this island, who basically,” he chuckled, “Are just a bunch of buffoons.”

  Diana didn’t believe most of what he said. Sure, he may have been interested in finding the killer’s identity just as Diana was. But that wasn’t the reason he went out of his way to ask her, and even try to buy up the company. There was something else going on in the background. He was invested way more than he cared to say.

  Is he protecting someone or something? Men on this island are always committing treachery in all types of ways. What is the benefit to him, if I find the killer?

  “Are you over there considering my offer, Mrs. Carson?” A blonde tendril fell over his eye. He pushed it back and crossed his big arms over his chest.

  What does he do for a living? Some sort of fitness thing or maybe body building?

  “I’m considering it,” she said.

  “Just say yes to my deal, and yes to dinner.” He unloosened his arms and checked his watch. “I’ve got to run over to the gym today, so I can be ready for our date tonight.”

  “You sure you don’t want to take a day off from the gym?” She looked him up and down, and could care less if he noticed. He’d walked into her office and knocked her off balance. Maybe a bit of flirting would shove him over too. He seemed like a man who needed to be in charge, craved the ability to hunt, what if he was the one that was being hunted?

  “You definitely keep in shape. Very sexy.”

  He quirked his eyebrows. “This is why I know you’ll say yes for dinner tonight.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Because of your body?”

  “No, you’ll say yes, due to my stamina. I could show you.”

  “Show me what?” She bit her lip.

  He licked his lips and gestured toward her desk. “Show you my stamina.”

  It shouldn’t have happened, but it did. Images cluttered her head. Hot ones, where sweat dripped down his bare chest as he lifted her naked body up, propped Diana on the desk, and rammed into her all night long.

  She gasped.

  My husband just died, there’s a serial killer on the loose, and all I can do right now is think about this man stripping me down and fucking me.

  “And now this part of the conversation must end.” She walked around her desk and made a show of guiding him out.

  “I want my answers.”

  “I’m giving them to you, as you leave.” She opened the door.

  He refused to take another step.

  “I’ll say yes to the investigation, but it needs to be in writing with a budget and all guidelines for legal responsibilities. I’ll have my lawyer look over it before signing.”

  He stepped her way, and got close to her, too close. Barely two inches or so ran between them. The haunting scent of his cologne snared her, made Diana tilt a little forward in his direction and sniff.

  God, he smells good.

  “Dinner?”

  “I’m now a widow.” She leaned away from him and tried to get together her composure. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to date while mourning.”

  “Mourning is about healing. Most use wine, food, and other things to help them get through the process. I’ll be providing all of those tonight.”

  “The wine and food?”

  He seared her with his gaze. “And the other things.”

  Speechless, Diana decided she didn’t care what his motives were, somewhere under all his lies, had to be the truth. The one she’d figured out. She hoped it was something that ended with the two of them in a luxurious bed together.

  She just couldn’t rule anything out.

  "Okay," she whispered. “But, just dinner.”

  "Marvelous,” he whispered and closed in one of the inches between them. “Tonight at seven pm?"

  Backing away, Diana reached for the water bottle on her desk and realized too late that it was empty. She was suddenly parched, her mouth dry and scratchy. She'd never been caught this off guard before.

  “Where will dinner be?” she asked.”And I don't even know your name. This is ridiculous."

  "Asher Bishop.” He extended his hand out. The minute his calloused fingers graced Diana's impossibly smooth palm, she felt it again. The same chilling, air-sucking aura that pressed against her from last night, when she’
d stood in the kitchen. How strange.

  "As in Asher Bishop, millionaire and heir to the Bishop Food Empire?"

  His smile didn't waver. Not even a twitch. "I see you've heard of me."

  Diana's mind worked on overdrive, trying to piece together any other facts she’d heard about the man.

  “Dinner at The Cove tonight, then.” He interrupted her brain scramble. “I'll have my pilot pick you up."

  "Pilot?"

  "How else would you get there?" He laughed and Diana’s chest was an earthquake. Her bones rattled, her ribs shook and the blood that ran through her veins turned molten. She didn’t know what this was, but she wanted to feel it again and again and again.

  “I’ve never been to The Cove,” she muttered the words under her breath.

  But he’d caught them, and frowned. “Shame on Neil for never taking you. You will love it. This a place where men dine with their women, ones that they love, ones that they’re hoping to show the whole world too.”

  “And why are you taking me?”

  Chuckling to himself, he said nothing else, and walked out without event looking back.

  Not one glance over his shoulder or utterance of a smart remark.

  He left her there with jumbled emotions and thoughts spiraling in her mind as well as this all-encompassing tremor moving through her limbs.

  She wasn't sure what to be more worried about: the fact that Asher Bishop, handsome and wealthy millionaire had just offered to fund her very own murder investigation that dealt with her husband, or that he looked at her with an intensity that set her heart ablaze.

  This is all in my mind. Neil just died. I’ve gotten almost no sleep. I’m probably just a mental mess. What am I even thinking.

  Yet, for the first time that day, fear pounded in her heart, and it had nothing to do with the serial killer that had been wreaking havoc on the island. Maybe, it was the deal, and the oddness of the invitation. Perhaps, it was his suspicious involvement or how he’d basically offered her money and his cock all in one swift conversation.

  Diana didn’t have a hold on too much of what was going on.

  All she knew was that Asher Bishop would be her undoing.

  Six

  Cupid

  “Mrs. Carson has been picked up. We’ve arrived at The Cove rooftop’s landing platform,” Asher’s pilot said into his phone. “I escorted her onto the elevator. She is now heading your way and will arrive within one minute.”

  “Thank you.” Asher placed his cell into his back pocket, stood on the restaurant’s balcony, and stared at the breathtaking view in front of him.

  The Cove was a restaurant that sat inside a small bay, sheltered from regular people. Only the affluent dined there, and one could only get to it by yacht or helicopter due to the narrow, restricted water entrance that lay miles outside of Miami.

  Time to have fun.

  From the balcony, he gazed at Ovid Island far off in the distance.

  The poet Ovid, himself, would have been inspired by the view and written even more poems about abandoned heroines and absent lovers.

  Moonlight painted the ocean’s rippling surface in sharp, white lines that seemed to cut into its watery flesh. Stars buttoned to the sky and sparkled. A romantic perfume filled the air, something haunting like Diana’s scent—roses and ocean.

  He inhaled and considered the smell.

  I’m being crazy. Her scent can’t already be here. She hasn’t appeared yet.

  After meeting her, face-to-face, those lips and that scent had passed in his mind a few times. It did odd things to his body, made him want to shut his eyes for a few seconds and relish in the daydream.

  But it was just for fun, something wicked to do in-between business meetings and his mother’s angry rants that afternoon. Nothing more would come with Mrs. Carson. And he believed the little daydreaming about her was completely normal.

  Everything is under control. Diana will be nothing more than my avatar in the months to come.

  It didn’t matter that she’d intrigued him--her skin smoothed like warm chocolate, her beautiful eyes had welcomed Asher into her office and made him want to stand in front of her longer than he’d planned, and that voice. . .it had rocked his core. Those words left her full lips and had rapidly beat inside of him like a damaged heart, pleading for someone to heal it.

  I won’t be the man to heal you, sweet one. I’m not your hero.

  There were things in the brain that separated normal people from the insane. The amygdalae was one of them—two almond-shaped groups of nuclei that were located deep within the temporal lobes of a human’s brain.

  Researches had discovered that those two almonds processed memory, decision-making, and emotional reactions. In one study, monkey mothers with damaged amygdala displayed less maternal behaviors, at times beating and neglecting their kids. In another, men and women with borderline personality disorder had greater left amygdala activity than the sane patients. Even in alternative medicine, Buddhist monks that engaged in continuous meditation were able to strengthen that section of the brain.

  That was why Asher mediated daily. He tried to fix himself.

  Something had destroyed his amygdala. He had no proof nor confirmation from a head doctor, he just knew that something inside of his head had been damaged long ago.

  Or do we really all love to kill? Am I one of the few humans on this earth that isn’t denying their primal craving for death? Maybe, I’m really part of the normal group.

  Death littered his past, blood too, as well as the corpses and the cutting of flesh right in front of him.

  His mother patted the dirt with her shovel, slumped to the ground in an exhausted sitting position, and wiped her forehead. “Next time, we’ll have to kill in a less gruesome way.”

  Shocked, a young Asher looked up from his tear-stained hands. “Next time? Mommy, we’re going to kill again?”

  “The best thing about. . .” His mother could not finish the sentence. She just gestured to the location of where her dead husband lay. “The best thing about your father’s. . .accident is that I had put an insurance policy on him several years ago.”

  She shook her head and realized that her eight-year old son probably hadn’t gotten the point. “It means that because your father is dead, we have the money to pay for the mortgage.”

  She gave him a weak smile. “We won’t be kicked out of our apartment. We won’t have to worry about where the bill money is going, whether to your father’s gambling, liquor, or. . . even his filthy women.” The last words she spat out with disgust.

  Asher rubbed his eyes with both hands, as if it would transport him back to a normal day. “And Daddy won’t hurt you anymore?”

  “Exactly,” she said. “So like I said, the next time we do this, it will be less messy.”

  She returned to burying his father’s corpse, while Asher decided to not ask his mother again about what “next time” meant. Besides, four years later, he learned what she’d been trying to say that night.

  Sometimes taking a person’s life, solved the lives of many.

  Asher shook the memory out of his head and returned to the balcony, turning around right as Diana stepped outside.

  Interesting.

  He found her eyes first. They snared him. He had no idea what she wore or how her hair was done. The eyes kept his attention. He wouldn’t be able to look away until he solved their mystery.

  What is it about them that make me want to stare?

  “What color are your eyes?” he asked.

  She strolled over to him. “Most men would say ‘hello,’ ‘how are you doing,’ or even ‘you look lovely tonight.’”

  He smiled, captured her hand, kissed that soft skin, and gazed into those beautiful eyes. “Hello. How are you doing? You look lovely tonight.”

  “You’re just dripping with suave this evening.”

  “Yes, I am.” He drank in the rest of her.

  Diana wore a red dress that brought out the ric
h color of her brown skin. He’d been around his mother long enough to know the gown’s fabric, an expensive chiffon lace that fell to the floor, yet provided two delicious splits that showed off both of her legs to mid-thigh. The top was an empire halter with sheer beaded material swooping up, over her breasts, and around her neck.

  His body did the expected things—heart beats picked up, his mouth salivated at the thought of yanking down the top of the halter and feasting on what lay underneath, his hands flexed in and out with hunger, and inside of his pants, heat warmed the area.

  Maybe, she’ll be more than an avatar. A play thing on lonely nights. Nothing more. Regardless, it’s show time.

  “That is an amazing dress.” He walked around her curvy frame and tried his best to study every detail of the material as it hugged her body. “This reminds me of the designer Hellen. That’s Hellen with two l’s.”

  She raised her eyebrows and said nothing.

  “Yes.” He studied the beading around her neck. “This reminds me of Hellen’s Metamorphoses collection for this spring. Lots of daring gowns with artistic bead work. Hand-sewn genius.”

  She stared at him for a few seconds, not grinning or frowning.

  Why hasn’t she said anything yet? Is she not impressed? Why?

  Asher had read that each person had automatic triggered responses for most things. If the person could incite a reaction by saying a particular thing, then one could figure out the ways to make that particular individual a puppet on his or her string.

  In that situation, Asher had done the appropriate action to trigger the automatic response. He’d not only complimented her, he’d broken down the exact design of her dress and even the collection it came from. Most women would gasp or giggle as they stood in front of him stunned and impressed.

  Not Diana. Why? Perhaps he’d come on too strong. Maybe she preferred subtly.

  Too bad subtly wasn’t his forte.

  They both stared at each other for a minute. Although he did catch her gazing at his body a few times in those silent seconds.