He glanced up and his thick eyebrows arched. “Good idea, Red.”
Holy Monet. He really did look like Banderas. Enough like him that the sexual fantasies Katie had woven over the years started playing again in her mind. His taking his shirt off. His taking her shirt off. His doing more than looking at her breasts. His hands…his mouth…
His brows pinched. “You okay?”
“Yes. Why?” she managed to squeak out.
“You got a really strange look on your face. You’re not going to puke again, are you?”
“No.” Oh, great. So her turned-on look resembled a throw-up look. Not what any girl really wanted to know. Guilt and embarrassment had her nipping at her bottom lip.
He continued to study her. “Let’s do it.”
“Do what?” she asked, still chasing a few of those sexual images from her mind.
“Search the boxes. I’ll unstack. You start going through them.”
While waiting for him to hand her the first box, she struggled to find a safe mental, and verbal, topic. Her gaze caught on the prisonlike walls. “Who would build a house like this?”
“He was a nut job—thought the government was out to get him, built it to keep people out.”
“How do you know?”
“I grew up close to here. Rumor was the place was haunted.”
She glanced at him again. “Oh, that makes me feel good.”
“Scared of ghosts?” He set a box by her feet and smiled. His smile was near perfect.
“Ghosts, I can handle. Real people scare me.” Along with sexy men who had her forgetting she was engaged. That in less than two weeks—Right then her stomach soured. She almost suggested he look at her face again so he might know one look from the other.
“Me, too,” he said.
“It looks like a prison on the inside.”
“Maybe he thought he might have to take prisoners.”
“I can’t believe Tabitha likes, liked this place.” Her breath hitched. She’d rather think about sexy smiles than remember that Tabitha was dead. That the wedding planner’s body lay out there covered in blood. That the guy who did it might still be out there.
“Here, start on this box,” he said, as if he understood her situation. He scooted the box with his foot.
Katie got down on her knees and opened it. She found a few silk plants and some hand-painted ceramic planters. While she repacked the items, Carl pulled down the other boxes.
Katie’s mind went back to Tabitha and she felt guilty for being upset with the woman right before, before…Think about the good stuff. Closing her eyes, she remembered how Tabitha always lit up when she saw a piece of art that she loved.
She opened her eyes and sensed Carl looking at her.
“You okay?” Concern flickered in his golden brown gaze.
“Yeah.” She felt caught by his regard. Warmed by it. And at this room’s temperature, it took a lot to be warmed.
He nodded. “What do you do for a living, Red?”
“I manage an art gallery in Houston.”
“Are you an artist, too?” He set another box down.
“No.” The one-word answer came too quickly, too boldly.
He chuckled. “So what kind of art do you do?”
She frowned. “I tried to paint, but I sucked at it.”
“Well, I see a lot of sucky paintings in museums. Once, at a street fair in Mexico, they had an elephant doing paintings. He wasn’t perfect, mind you, but good enough that I actually bought one.”
“So you’re a true connoisseur, are you?” she asked.
“I know what I like.” His gaze roamed her.
His blatant innuendo had her feeling jittery. But a part of her sang. Antonio likes me. He really likes me. Not that it changed anything, because she loved Joe. She did. Besides, if she allowed herself to get anything close to turned on, he would probably accuse her of preparing to throw up.
After a few minutes, Carl added, “I can’t see you not being good at what ever you put your mind to, Red.”
“Which is exactly why I gave it up.” She took a deep breath. “The Rays don’t fail at things. Rule number one. Actually, rule number one was to keep your pants on, but ‘Thou shalt not fail’ came right after that.”
He lowered a box. “Hard rule to follow, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t set it. My parents did.” She stared at the boxes. “My dad was a doctor. My mom was a lawyer. High achievers. Being successful was important.”
“I meant the keep-your-pants-on rule.” He chuckled.
She looked up and offered him a grin but no comment. But she thought about it. Because in her fantasies, Banderas had—
“So your parents were hard-asses, huh?”
“No,” she said, a little firmer than she intended. “They…loved me. Wanted me to be successful, hence the rules.”
“And did you always follow your parents’ rules?”
“Don’t we all?” she asked, mustering her defenses.
“No, I piss my father off every chance I get. When I was young, I would actually go out of my way to piss him off.”
“I guess we’re different.” But she hadn’t forgotten the love she’d heard in his voice when he’d spoken about his dad.
“Yeah. I’d agree on that one.” He went back to the boxes.
“It’s not like I miss painting. I get to be around art all day. I sell art. I manage the gallery. I don’t even miss it.”
“Right,” he said, but his tone scoffed.
They worked in silence for the next few minutes. The second box contained some books. “That’s how I met Tabitha,” Katie said, wanting to think positive thoughts about her wedding planner. “Tabitha loved art.” She eyed Carl. “She loved contemporary, mostly. Anything in a Picasso style turned her on. But she also loved some traditional pieces, those with a Postimpressionistic feel.”
He pulled another box down. His expression, and a completely glazed-over look, told her he seriously didn’t have a clue what Postimpressionism was, and he probably couldn’t distinguish a Picasso from a Norman Rockwell. Of course he couldn’t. He’d bought a painting that an elephant had done at a fair.
It still felt good to talk about Tabitha, so she continued. “She also had a thing for sculptures. Mostly bronzes, anything to do with the human figure.”
Glancing up, Katie saw the bottom of the box he held was about to burst open. “Watch out!” Not wanting to break any of Tabitha’s things, even if she was dead, or maybe because she was dead, Katie popped up, hoping to hold the bottom together—but it was too late. The bottom of the box gave way and its contents spilled out. Operating on instinct, she’d caught one item—a hair dryer, maybe, she wasn’t sure—before a book, clothing, and other paraphernalia rained down to the floor by her shoes. Then she got a good look at the paraphernalia.
A pair of fur-lined handcuffs.
A whip.
A black bustier, complete with garters and fishnet panty hose.
Oh, and she hadn’t imagined the book. Its title was something like Positions You’ve Never Tried.
That wasn’t all.
There was also a pack of never-before-opened edible panties—in wild strawberry flavor.
And last, floating down and landing on the toe of Katie’s two-inch heels, was a pair of fire engine–red crotchless panties.
A deep husky laugh exploded. That’s when Katie noticed that the “hair dryer” she thought she’d been holding was actually a very big penis-shaped vibrator, complete with an electrical cord.
“Oh, yuck!” She dropped the vibrator. It rolled to her shoe and she kicked it away.
His laughter slacked off just enough for him to speak. “Looks like art wasn’t the only thing that turned Tabitha on.”
Chapter Eight
The house was dark, as if his sweet Katie wasn’t home. And that was okay. He’d be waiting for her. Tabitha’s killer parked down the street and moved quietly. The bitter cold ate through his black jacket, b
ut the temperature kept everyone inside—which would make it easier.
No one to hear her pretty cries.
“Poor little Katie Ray.”
He checked again to make sure there wasn’t a car parked out front. No more mistakes. He closed his eyes and hummed to keep the laughter from ringing in his head.
He remembered her. She was beautiful. Red hair. Of course, he liked brunettes best. It was easier to pretend they were Maria.
Normally, he didn’t feel the urge so soon. It had only been a couple of weeks since he’d taken his last bride. But the whole thing with Tabitha getting suspicious had made him antsy. And when he got antsy, he remembered. Remembered how beautiful Maria had looked in her wedding dress. Remembered how she’d walked down the aisle. How she’d stood in front of everyone he knew and started laughing. Then, trying to control herself, she’d leaned in and said, “I can’t do this.”
He’d known she laughed when she got nervous, but right then it had felt so personal. No one at the church could have heard what she’d said to him; they’d only heard her laughter. And before long someone else was laughing. And he had stood there humiliated in front of everyone, listening to them laugh. Just as they’d laughed when he was a kid.
Then Maria had run out of the church.
Fighting off the past, Tabitha’s killer shook from the cold. He pushed open the wooden gate that led to Katie’s backyard. He needed a bride. Needed to hear them cry the way Maria should have cried. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths before he started humming again.
“Here comes the bride, all dressed in white.”
In the distance, a dog barked. Then a spray of headlights danced through the slats of the wooden fence. Was that her? “Welcome home,” he whispered, and went to hide in the shadows. As he leaned against the house, he smelled smoke from the neighbor’s fireplace. That’s when he realized what he’d do with the cop and woman locked in at Tabitha’s place.
He’d always been fond of fires.
Settled in, he pulled out his cell phone and a small tape recorder. He always liked to let them hear the music before he moved in. It was, after all, their song.
Les parked in front of Katie’s patio and frowned when she didn’t see any lights on in the house. Where was Katie? Les had waited another half hour at the restaurant and had called her cell phone and her home phone, but had only gotten voice mail and the message machine.
Still sitting in her car, Les noticed the storm had passed, but tiny balls of sleet clicked against the windshield. Had Katie gotten caught in the storm and held up by traffic?
Finding the key, Les darted for the front door. The cold sent shivers down her back, and she wished she’d brought some real winter clothes with her. But Houston wasn’t supposed to get this cold. Freak of nature, the news had called it.
She stepped into the dark entryway. The heater kicked in, groaning like an old house. Katie’s place was too young to groan. But it still groaned. A spooky kind of groan, too.
Locking the door, she scanned the darkness for a light switch. Her mind shot to the stranger who’d held her hand when the lights had gone out. A simple touch, but she’d had sex that felt less intimate. Which meant one thing.
She needed to get laid.
Her mind accepted the idea, but her heart rolled over laughing that she even thought she was ready. Her hormones and heart didn’t see eye to eye.
She found the switch. Light flooded the room at the same time as the phone rang. Katie? She darted into the dark living room.
She found the receiver. “Hello?” No one answered. “Katie?”
Still nothing, but she could hear someone breathing. “I’m wearing a red bra and a thong. What are you wearing?” she snapped. Short intakes of air filled the line and then she heard…music. “Hello?” The line clicked off.
Les collapsed on the sofa. Wrapping her arms around herself, she stared at the ceiling. What if Katie had been in an accident?
No. Not Katie, too.
Her chest tightened.
Looking at the phone she still held, she dialed Katie’s cell number again. It rang, then went to the recording. “Katie, I’m getting worried. Call me. I’m back at your house. I’m…”
The heater clicked off, replaced by a scary-movie kind of silence. “I’m sure you’re fine. Traffic, right?” Les popped up and went to the back door to make sure it was locked. It was. “I’m going to shower—a long hot shower—and we’ll have a pajama party when you get home. And I’ll tell you about this hot guy I met to night. He made my wow voice go off, Katie. Of course, I’m not ready yet. Okay, call me.”
She had no sooner hung up when a sudden clatter came from outside. Swinging back to the door, she hit the light switches. Light flooded both the living room and outside on the patio.
With her nose pressed to the cold, glass panel of the back door, she cut her eyes left. Nothing.
Right. Nothing.
Of course, nothing. Just the wind.
Telling herself Katie was fine and it was only the storm outside, Les went into the bedroom. Yep, a hot shower sounded good. She turned on the radio so she wouldn’t have to hear the heater bitch about spewing warmth. Her clothes came off, landing here and there. Yeah, she was a bit of a slob. A slob compared to Katie, who was, well…perfect.
Naked, but realizing Katie might call, she did the streak into the living room and grabbed her cell phone to take with her into the bathroom. Katie would call or come home soon. Surely.
Katie reached for a new box. She’d confiscated some packing paper to clean up the mess they had both left on the floor. Just like a man, Carl hadn’t offered to help, but at least he’d said thank you.
So far they’d found books and dishes. And in a big box, she’d found a foldout bed—just one—and oh yeah, that one box of sex toys. Which Carl, aka Mr. Banderas, hadn’t stopped snickering over.
He let out another chuckle.
“You can stop laughing now,” Katie snapped. “It’s rude to laugh at someone who—”
“Whoa!” He held up his hands. “I’m not laughing at Tabitha. I’m laughing at you.”
“Me?” she asked. Well, that’s much better then. Not!
“Yeah. The look on your face was pretty funny.”
“It’s still rude. They were her things.” She didn’t want to get into her feelings about him laughing at her.
“And I don’t see a thing wrong with them either,” he said. “I mean…” One of his eyebrows shot up. “I figure most of you women have toys. All the girls I hang out with do.”
“And what kind of girls do you hang out with?” She opened another box and feigned disinterest in his answer. But actually, she waited with an on-the-edge-of-your-seat anticipation.
“No, this isn’t about me. I simply wonder if you have toys.”
She could feel his gaze, could feel her cheeks brighten. Of course she had toys. Okay, a toy. She was almost twenty-nine and she wasn’t a prude. But her toy wasn’t penis shaped. She’d bought the kind over which, if she accidentally died, whoever cleaned out her things and stumbled upon it wouldn’t have a heart attack. Her battery-operated device could be used as a foot massager, or to soothe aching necks.
However, she was not going to start talking sex toys with Carl. Not when every time she’d used the uh…foot massager, the imaginary lover had been a man who looked just like him.
She stiffened. “I think we need to change the subject.”
“And just when it was getting interesting, too,” he said. There was a pause, some rattling of paper, then he spoke again. “So, what do you want to talk about?”
“Why do we have to talk at all?” She looked up.
“Because you get nervous when it gets quiet.”
Okay, it was true, but she didn’t like him pointing it out. “Oh, I know a subject. How about the dog you lied about?”
The look on his face made her laugh.
“How do you know I lied?” His dark brow creased.
�
�I heard it in your voice. Like you heard it in mine, when I said I didn’t paint.” She glanced down at the array of dishes in the box. “You don’t even have a dog, do you?”
“I have a dog,” he said indignantly.
She tried to remember what he’d said about the dog that made her think it was a lie. “But it isn’t a big dog, is it?”
The surprise lit his eyes and she chuckled. “What? He’s not a manly dog? Is that why you lied?”
When he didn’t answer, she laughed harder. “What is it? A little Yorkshire terrier?”
He stared at her, then answered. “A poodle.”
Oh, this was too rich. “That tells me a lot about you, Carl.”
“It tells you what?” His eyes stayed on her.
“It tells me that you’re the macho kind of guy who thinks he has to have macho things or he’s embarrassed.” She leaned against the wall and watched him watch her. “So, what happened? Some girlfriend stick you with the dog?” She laughed again.
The sound of her laugher washed over Carl. Never had he heard a more beautiful sound. He didn’t give a rat’s ass that he was the cause of her laughter. She could poke fun at him all day because…Damn, but she was beautiful when she laughed. Her eyes lit up and her mouth—a full mouth perfect for all sorts of bedroom things—melted into the most beautiful smile.
“Well?” she asked. “Is that it? A girlfriend left the dog?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t try to lie. Her comment about old girlfriends should have had him laying bricks to rebuild his guard. Should have had him backing away from this playful place they’d arrived at. But blast it if he didn’t like this place.
“So you think I’m macho, huh?” He grinned.
“Yeah. So much that owning a poodle offends you enough that you lie about it.” She made another cute face.
“I’m not offended. It’s just not the kind of dog I’d get if I went to get one. Besides, I don’t own it. He was abandoned. I’m probably going to take him to the shelter.”
Weddings Can Be Murder Page 6