“You said you were done, right? No more sex. I’m trying to—”
“Stop trying so hard. Come here. Right now.” She held out an imperious hand, and he was drawn to her like a magnet, dragged by his dumb handle. Margot grasped his cock in her hand and cupped her other hand around his ass, pulling him close.
“You’re chickening out on me,” she accused him. “After all that self-righteous crap about not letting me put up barriers.”
“I am not,” he growled. “I’m right here.”
“Huh-uh. You’re a million miles away. Even with a monster hard-on, you do the ice cube act. You pulled me to pieces and then left me all alone when you came. Don’t think I didn’t notice, buddy.”
“I didn’t—”
“I consider that a challenge,” she announced. “I’m not letting you get away with it.” She gripped his cock in both hands and leaned over him, her tongue circling the swollen tip, a hot swirl of blissful sensation.
He almost fell to his knees. “Damn it, Margot. Stop this. I can’t—”
“Why not?” Her eyes flicked up at him, bright with mischief, and her mouth went back to working tender magic on the head of his cock.
He steadied himself on her shoulders. Margot pulled him even closer, and cupped her bosom, pushing it high so that his cock slid into the warm velvet cleft between her breasts. The empurpled tip poked its head out the top, gleaming with pre-come.
Stupidly enthusiastic, no matter how the rest of him felt.
“I could make you come like this,” she said. “Or you could lie down on the bed and let me do to you exactly what you did to me. How did you put it? Savoring you. Taking my time. Treating you right.”
“You’ve already shown me how good you are at oral sex.”
“Oh, that was ages ago. You deserve another five-star blow job by now. You’re fabulous, Davy. I’ve got to scramble to make points.”
“This isn’t a goddamn game that one of us has to win!”
She drew back, stung. “Wow,” she murmured. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were humor challenged.”
He grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the top of the clean laundry pile and yanked them on. “I never kid.”
“Oh. OK. Excuse me. No smiles, no jokes, no laughter allowed. We’re dead serious here. God forbid that I should tease you.”
He threw up his hands in furious frustration. “Damn it!”
“Don’t tell me this isn’t a game,” she said hotly. “You tricked me into opening up, and then you cheated and did the disappearing act. Davy McCloud, superstud. Whips the girls into a frenzy and doesn’t even work up a sweat.”
He looked down at his erection, his shaking hands. “I sweated,” he said dourly. “Believe me.”
“Gee, thanks for admitting that the experience actually affected you in some way,” she snapped.
“You affect me,” he said. “You certainly affect my judgment. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here.”
“Meaning what?” she demanded. “That only crazed volcanic lust would override your judgment to the extent of getting involved with a hard-luck case like me?”
Honesty compelled his answer. “Something like that.”
He hated what happened to her face. The red flush faded to icy pale, the bright glitter in her gorgeous eyes was suddenly veiled. It was like a light going out. It made his gut ache, become a cold, hard knot.
Margot pulled the sheet up, looking away from him. “All right.” Her voice was muffled. “Work your head off. I’m figuring out the rules. I won’t violate the boundaries of your narrow little comfort zone again.”
He wanted to hurl a chair through the window. “I’m just trying to keep this under…” His voice cut off as he searched for another word.
“Control,” she finished for him. “As long as you’re running things, everything’s fine, but the minute I make a move, you freak out. You—”
“That’s enough.”
His command voice had no discernible effect on Margot. She charged right on while the tension inside him rose, coiling tighter.
“Maybe you can control your feelings, but you can’t control mine. I tried to keep my distance, but you kept following me around, driving me nuts. Luring me with sex. Want a piece of candy, little girl? Hah! And when I finally fall for it, you take what you want and it’s bye-bye, Margot. Go to sleep. Like I’m a doll with an on-off switch—”
“Shut up!” He was on top of her, pinning her to the mattress. Blood pounding loudly in his head. As surprised as she was.
They were both shocked into total stillness.
“Whoa,” she whispered. “Chill, Davy.”
He lifted himself up off her body. “Shit,” he muttered. “Sorry.”
“Um, no harm done, I guess.” Her voice was small, her eyes wide.
“I’d better get out of here,” he said. Before I fuck up even worse.
She scrunched down into the bed and pulled the sheet up until only her big, shadowy eyes regarded him over the edge. “McCloud?”
They were back to the surname. Bad sign. “Yeah?”
“Do not ever tell me to shut up again. That’s not OK.”
“I won’t,” he said.
He had no idea if he could keep his promise. He couldn’t guarantee a thing. He stood there, staring at her stupidly, until she made an impatient gesture with her hand.
“Well? So? Are you going, or are you just going to stand there like a stump?”
He stalked out, slamming the door before he could stop himself.
He didn’t understand what was happening to him. This was regression. Retro-evolution. Neanderthal behavior that he’d always despised in other men, like trying to win an argument with a woman using physical intimidation. Classic asshole stuff. The impulse to blunt unwelcome emotions with alcohol, that was another big winner. A pointless shortcut that led exactly nowhere.
Come to think of it, nowhere sounded kind of relaxing tonight.
He headed into the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinet, through the tomato sauce, pickles, oil, spices, beans. The whiskey wasn’t there. He never put it anywhere else. Weird. Maybe Sean, for the first and only time in his haphazard life, had put it someplace before leaving the other night. Not likely, but he had no other explanation.
He tried the other cupboards, scanned the other rooms, checked the back porch. He even looked in the fridge, just to be thorough.
So much for drowning his discomfort in alcohol. He had beer, but beer wasn’t the right vibe for this raw, scary feeling.
He headed into his office, logged on and started his Internet search with the names Margaret Callahan and Craig Caruso. Two hours later, he was still poring through archived news articles, his eyes burning with weariness. It looked bad for her.
Getting his hands on Snakey was Margot’s best chance for unraveling that knot. His instincts told him that Snakey wouldn’t stay far away for long. The sick creep was in love. It was almost funny. He tried so hard to keep his love life non-problematic, and now he had a crazy assassin as a romantic rival. Time to start packing the Glock.
He heard the cell phone buzz from the other room, and headed into the kitchen to check it out. It was Sean.
He hit “talk.” “What the hell are you doing awake at this hour?”
“Wondering why you haven’t been answering your house or cell phones for the last five hours,” Sean responded. “I was worried.”
“I turned the volume down,” Davy said. “Margot needed sleep.”
“Oh!” Sean cackled with delight. “So that’s your excuse for missing the rehearsal dinner! Sleazy bastard. You were the bad brother tonight for once, not me. It’s kind of refreshing to take a break.”
Davy’s jaw sagged in dismay. He sank down into a chair. “Rehearsal—oh, fuck, no. You’re kidding me. That was tonight?”
“You knew the wedding is tomorrow, didn’t you? Besides, I only knew it was tonight because you told me.” Sean was enjoying himself hugely. “You eve
n wrote it on my girlie calendar the last time you were at my place. You knew. At least you did before sex hormones wiped your brain clean. Bye-bye, Mr. Perfect. Nice knowin’ ya.”
Davy rubbed his face and groaned. “I can’t believe it.”
“Yeah, neither could anyone else. Nobody was fussed about it except Erin’s mom, though, so don’t sweat it,” Sean said, relenting. “I told Barbara that any guy capable of coordinating army intel in Middle Eastern hot spots was up to handling a wedding ceremony on the fly. She was real unimpressed, though. I hope I didn’t make things worse for you. Prepare for some freezing glances.”
Davy groaned softly. “I’ll live. We’ll be there before two. You can fill me in on the choreography before the ceremony.”
There was a delicate pause. “We?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m bringing her along,” Davy said tersely. “But don’t get gooey on me. Things are just too strange to leave her alone here.”
“Yeah? Strange how? Tell me!”
Davy paused. “You alone? Or is your bed full?”
“She’s asleep,” Sean assured him. “No problem.”
“Like hell. Get your clothes on and go outside,” Davy said. “I don’t want to discuss this in front of one of your bridesmaids.”
Sean’s voice made soothing, explanatory murmurs. A drowsy feminine voice in the background responded to them.
“OK,” Sean said, after a few moments. “Goodbye warm sheets and smooth, silky female limbs. I’m shivering half naked and barefoot on the cold, wet grass of the lawn to suit your paranoid whims, so out with it.”
“How is the bridesmaid situation shaping up, anyhow?”
Sean made a growling sound. “Succulent. It’s the bridesmaid buffet. A nibble of this, a nibble of that. There’s Marika, the blonde waif with the big gray eyes who’s wearing lapis blue. I’m escorting Belle, this cute, chubby redhead with yards of cleavage who’s wearing amethyst purple. I just want to put ’em in my pocket and take ’em all home.”
Davy grinned to himself. “Which one are you in bed with now?”
“Oh, that is Cleo. She’s wearing topaz. She’s hot. They’re all hot. But get to the point. It’s friggin’ cold out here in the middle of the night. What is it with Margot? Is it just the stalker, or is there more?”
“Do you have a gun with you up there?” Davy asked.
“Uh…yeah, sure,” Sean said slowly. “I’ve got the Sig. Why?”
“Wear it under your tux tomorrow,” Davy said.
Sean whistled. “Spill it.”
Davy outlined Margot’s story and Snakey’s exploits. He felt uneasy doing so without discussing it with Margot, but he needed backup. Besides, Sean was such a spaz, he would only treat the situation with proper gravity if Davy told him what was really happening.
“Whoa,” Sean breathed, at the end of Davy’s terse monologue. “You make me jealous.”
Davy snorted. “Yeah? How so?”
“Here I am, messing around with bouncing bridesmaids while you’ve got a mysterious, gorgeous desperado in your bed. Damn. That should be me. I’m the one who likes to play with fire. You’re the one who likes to keep things under control. Right?”
Davy winced at his brother’s choice of words. “It just happened.”
“Want to trade?”
“Don’t even go there with your mind. Smart-mouthed punk.”
Sean’s laughter had a triumphant ring. “God, I love to see you get worked up about something.”
“I’d rather it didn’t involve murder,” was Davy’s dour observation.
“Me too. You should have brought her here tonight,” Sean fretted. “I don’t like you in town all alone with a pissed-off psycho on your case.”
“We’ll come up tomorrow. Oh, yeah. Ask Miles if he would look after Margot’s dog for us during the reception, if he’s not still pissed at me. Tell him I’ll pay him. Free coachings, whatever he wants. And don’t tell Connor about this. He’s had enough trouble. He deserves a break.”
Sean made a derisive sound. “Like I could if I wanted to. He disappeared with Erin right after the rehearsal. They’re off combining their DNA in a locked room someplace, I expect.”
“Good,” Davy said. “Keep it that way. Tell Seth and Nick about the stalker part. I want some other suspicious, paranoid sons of bitches prowling around being vigilant tomorrow. Especially since you’ll be gorging yourself at the bridesmaid buffet.”
“Piss on you for your lack of faith in me,” Sean said mildly. “I’m a born multitasker. I could flirt with ten cute girls while defusing a bomb. What you think of as scatterbrained is actually concentration in a higher form than you could possibly comprehend.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Davy rolled his eyes.
“You think concentration means staring at something until you burn little eye-shaped holes in it. That’s just obsession, bonehead.”
“How about we debate this later?”
“Yeah, run back to make sure that the covers are tucked in tight around your sexy fugitive nymph,” Sean said. “Give her a long, wet kiss from me. Oh, and Davy? About the fugitive thing…I don’t suppose you told her that the wedding is going to be crawling with FBI agents?”
“Considering that she’s being stalked by a homicidal maniac, I consider that an advantage, rather than a disadvantage.”
Sean grunted. “She might disagree. Chicks are contrary. It would be smart to prepare yourself. Like, with a bulletproof vest, maybe?”
“Yeah, thanks for the tip. Oh, and hey. Sean. One last thing. Did you do anything with my bottle of Scotch?”
“Nope.” Sean’s voice was puzzled. “Why would I? I loathe that stuff. Makes my tongue shrivel.”
“Just wondering. I can’t seem to find it. Weird, that’s all.”
“Maybe your good twin poured it down the toilet while you were sleeping,” his ever helpful brother suggested.
Davy sighed. “Take it easy, Sean.”
He clicked the phone shut and wandered into the living room.
The missing bottle of whiskey was ominous. He wished he’d given into his buddy Seth’s urging to install a home security system. He’d scoffed at the idea at the time. His locks were excellent, his hands and feet should be registered as lethal weapons, and everybody in the neighborhood knew he was a martial arts expert as well as a detective. God help the intruder stupid enough to bother him. That had been his reasoning thus far, but looking around at his quiet, well-ordered house, he got a creepy sense that his barriers had been breached.
Yeah, right. By a malevolent entity who went for a half-empty bottle of whiskey, and left tens of thousands of dollars worth of cutting-edge computer, audio and video equipment alone.
He brushed the thought away, angry at himself for giving in to stupid paranoia, even for a moment. Paranoia was a family weakness, to be guarded against at all times. Even so, he would swallow his pride tomorrow and tell Seth he’d changed his mind about the alarms. The place needed another line of defense if Margot was going to be here.
The implications of that thought hit him, and he went hot and cold all over. God. What was he thinking. He seldom let women into his house. He preferred going to theirs, so he could gracefully control the timing of his amorous encounters. He liked to leave when he was done.
And he really, really liked having the option of removing himself quickly from tense, uncomfortable situations. Like the one he’d just gone through in the bedroom with Margot.
The more he thought about it, the more agitated he got. Brain racing, breathing choppy and short, muscles knotted.
He needed to practice kung fu. Moving meditation was his only hope of chilling out. When nightmares and insomnia gripped him, a few hours of kung fu practice rested him more than twice as many hours of sleep ever could. A brain wave phenomenon. Whatever worked.
He headed into the practice room, formerly a back terrace. He’d glassed it in and turned it into his personal martial arts studio. Paneled with fragrant red cedar, tatami
covering the floor, a bank of windows streaming moonlight. He positioned himself in the middle of the room.
Crane flies into the sky…crane stretches left claw…crane cools his wings… his body knew the form so well, he didn’t have to think about the movements. He tried to keep his mind empty, but thoughts kept springing up. He brushed them gently away, one after the other.
An instant later, another would bounce up to take its place.
Lazy tiger stretches his back leg…and even when he’d been involved with Fleur, it hadn’t felt like this. Fleur had been so fragile and damaged. She’d aroused all his protective instincts. As emotionally immature as he’d been at the time, it had felt like love to him. Crane guards the cave…crane leaps up and kicks behind…crane guards his nest…she’d been beautiful, too, in a wispy sort of way. He remembered having sex with her so carefully. Holding her like she was made out of blown glass.
Wild tiger looks back…
Nothing like what had just happened in the bedroom with Margot. Wildcat. Panther woman. He’d barely gotten out of there in one piece.
Back to wild tiger raises his head…and he had a hard-on again. This was a challenge. Golden dragon stretches out his left claw…
The door opened to the living room. Margot was silhouetted against the light, wrapped in his huge terrycloth bathrobe.
“Oh,” she said. “There you are.”
“Here I am,” he repeated, for lack of anything better to say.
She walked in and closed the door behind them so they were alone in the moonlight, and watched as he finished watersnake swims to the surface. He stopped, and waited.
“Do you always work out in the middle of the night?” she asked.
“Often,” he said. “I don’t sleep real well. This is a good substitute.”
“Me, neither. Maybe I should try it.” She stared at him, her eyes haunted looking pools of shadow in the moonlight.
“I’m sorry I shot off my mouth,” she said. “I didn’t want to make you mad.”
“I wasn’t mad,” he said.
“Were too,” she said. “Madder ’n hell. You big fibber.”
“I’m not going to argue with you again, so don’t start with me.”
Margot looked down. “I’m doing it again already,” she murmured. “I can’t seem to get out of your face. I’m just compelled to bug you.”
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