The Night Mark
Page 38
“You have a fine collection,” she said. “I only wish it were mine.”
McQueen followed her to the concealed door and started to open it for her. With his hand on the knob he looked her up and down and into her eyes.
“Who are you really?” he asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Why not?”
“I told you why. The truth is like bourbon—it’ll burn going down.”
“I want to burn.”
She kissed him, hard enough McQueen forgot about finding out anything else about her except how to make her come again. And after he’d solved that mystery, he fell fast asleep, one arm over her naked stomach, one leg over her leg, his favorite way to fall asleep.
* * *
When McQueen woke up, he was alone, and Paris had left nothing behind but the scent of her skin on his sheets and her red hair ribbon on his pillow.
Red ribbon?
Hell on earth, he was a first-rate fool.
McQueen pulled on his pants and shirt and ran to the room behind the bookcase.
Too late. She was gone.
So was his million-dollar bottle of Red Thread.
Copyright © 2016 by Tiffany Reisz