by Linda Barlow
He nodded. “It’s not like divorce. And you’re right, there aren’t too many people who understand. Even the widowed persons support groups are usually made up of older people, people who’ve spent a whole lifetime together…” His voice turned off and he appeared slightly embarrassed.
“A good friend of mine lost her husband in a car accident a couple of years ago,” April said. “Maggie, actually, the romance bookseller who was with me at the convention in Anaheim. It’s been a tough adjustment for her. She has two young children whom she has to raise entirely on her own.”
“Jessie and I didn’t have children. I’ve often regretted that. But you’re right. It would have been hard for me to manage if we had had children. It’s been hard enough to take care of myself during the past few months.” He looked into space for several seconds, then turned back to her. She saw the way the muscles moved in his jaw and felt a strong desire to stroke his body and smooth away some of that pain.
“You seem to have lured me neatly off the subject,” he said in a much colder tone.
Retrenchment time. Men, she’d found, could only handle a limited amount of vulnerability.
“The question is,” he went on, “how much, if anything, of what you’ve told me tonight is relevant to the current investigation?”
“Do you honestly believe it has anything to do with what happened to Rina?”
“No,” he said after a moment. “I guess not.”
“Well then, my suggestion is that you let it go.”
“And let you off the hook.”
“Yes.”
He seemed to have moved closer to her. Certainly his face was closer. His blue eyes glittered just above hers, and she realized that if he brought his face down but a few inches, he could touch her lips with his.
“But sexual harassment,” he said slowly, “is not to enter into these discussions at any point.”
“No,” she whispered.
“May I ask you something?” he said.
“Go ahead.”
“Did your experience with Miquel—who got what was coming to him, in my opinion—sour you on men?”
“Yes,” she said. “For a long while it did. But not for always.” She paused. “And has your wife’s illness and death soured you on women?”
“Yes. I haven’t looked at a woman since Jessie died.”
She swallowed. “You’re looking at me.”
He moved closer still. “Not as a woman. I’m looking at you as a suspect.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I advise you to believe me,” he said even as he slid his hand into her hair and anchored her head. “I have no interest in you as a woman. And I wouldn’t dream of sexually harassing you.”
“Then why—”
“Open your mouth.”
“I—
“Good,” he said and kissed her.
Chapter Seventeen
The kiss lasted a long time, and Blackthorn was thrilled to feel April’s initial resistance fade as he increased the pressure on her soft, warm lips. The feel of her tongue moving tentatively in response to his ignited a fire deep in the pit of his belly, and he gathered her close in his arms and caressed her neck and shoulders until he heard a soft moan coming from the back of her throat.
God, it felt good. He drank her in. She tasted and smelled delicious. To touch her was to realize the depth of his hunger. And hers. He could tell from the way her defenses uncurled and fell away that she was a woman for whom passion and sensuality were very, very important.
Blackthorn allowed one hand to slip around in front. Body to body was the only reality that existed. It had been so long. Too long.
She was wearing a silk blouse inside her suit jacket. It buttoned up the front. If he could just get those buttons undone so he could get at her. Her breasts, he knew instinctively, were lovely…
It was she who broke the embrace as soon as he touched her breasts through her blouse, pulling away from him unexpectedly, leaving him high and dry. She sat with her knees raised and her arms folded across them in a gesture that was nervously self-protective. Under his stroking hands, her auburn hair was tumbling haphazardly over her shoulders.
“April?”
She didn’t look at him.
“Don’t phase out on me,” he said, trying to make it light, but having difficulty controlling his breathing. “I didn’t intend that to happen.”
She still didn’t say anything. But she got to her feet, and started to pace back and forth under the oak tree.
“Okay, okay, I admit it, I did intend it to happen,” he said. “In fact, I’ve had a thing for you from the first time I saw you and have been fantasizing about getting my hands on you all week. So there. Stop that pacing. You’re making me nervous.”
She stopped in front of him and propped her hands on her hips. She looked belligerent. Her lips were pouty (well-kissed, he thought smugly) and her eyes were flashing fire at him. Amazon woman, he thought, and had a swift image of how she would look dressed in a black leather corset and fondling a whip at a club like the Dungeon. Or—better still—on her knees before him clad in a nineteenth-century ball gown with one of those low-cut bodices that was just begging to be ripped.
“I wish I’d never gotten involved with any of you,” April said.
“Any of—”
“Anyone associated with the de Sevigny family!”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s just that I feel, I feel—” she hesitated “—I feel as if I’m being seduced on all sorts of levels here. You’re all so masculine, so smooth. You’re each charismatic in your own way, and you’re used to walking all over people.”
“Wait a moment here. Don’t include me in the de Sevigny family. I’m just the hired help.”
“Dammit, there’s something going on. I can feel it. It’s beginning to give me the willies. There’s something—” again she hesitated “—something evil going on.”
“Murder is evil, I agree.”
“People aren’t what they seem. Somebody is playing a complicated game of cat and mouse, but I can’t seem to figure out who. I can’t trust my own impressions of people. And it seems as if it’s been going on for years. I trusted my mother and she abandoned me. I trusted Miquel and he tried to murder me. The people I like are not necessarily trustworthy, and as for the people I don’t like—” Her voice trailed off.
“You don’t like me, yet you liked kissing me—is that what you’re hinting at?”
She raised her palms in an apologetic gesture. “I’m getting to like you better,” she confessed.
“Well, then—”
“But still, these, uh, these hormones, they only add to the confusion. I don’t need any more confusion, Rob.”
It was the first time she’d ever called him Rob.
He liked it.
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m having some of the same misgivings. Feeling hormonal towards a suspect is not recommended in the Homicide Investigator’s Guide.”
“Look, it’s late. I’m going home.”
“Not alone, you’re not. It’s well after dark now. I’ll walk you.”
She looked at him, her eyes level. “I can’t invite you in.”
“I know,” he said. Damn, he thought.
“Not that I wouldn’t like to,” she said, this time with a smile.
Gently, he stroked her cheek. “Sometimes it’s the wisest course to go ahead and act upon your feelings. Take a few risks. Live a little dangerously.”
She gave an uneasy laugh. “I already am living dangerously.”
Back off, he ordered himself. Too much eagerness was never the best course. And besides… he knew he’d regret this when he was out of here, away from her, in control of himself again. Allowing himself to be tempted by her would be harmful to both of them. It couldn’t possibly go anywhere.
He didn’t want to be hurt by April Harrington.
Nor did he wish to hurt her.
The rest of their walk through the shadows in Central Park was uneventful, but April was glad to have Blackthorn at her side. In the darkness it was far too easy to imagine villains behind every rock and tree.
They emerged on Central Park West and walked the two blocks to her building on West Sixty-second Street. When they reached the glass doors that led into the lobby he made no attempt to follow her inside. But he surprised her by saying, “I’ve been invited to a party Friday night. I was wondering if you might like to come.”
She blinked at him. “You mean, like a date?”
“Not exactly,” he hedged. “Actually I figure it’s a good opportunity for us to do a little digging.”
Us? Was he regarding her now as an ally rather than an adversary? “In the investigative sense, you mean?”
“The party’s being given by Isobelle and her boyfriend. Apparently it’s her birthday next weekend.”
“Who’s her boyfriend?”
“You know him, April. Charlie Ripley.”
She shook her head. “Isobelle and Charlie? They’re seeing each other?”
“You sound surprised.”
“They seem so different. Charlie’s so—so nice, so cooperative and helpful, but Isobelle—”
“Yeah, I know, she’s been giving you a hard time.”
That was an understatement. “She and I don’t get along, Rob. I don’t think she’d like to have me at her birthday party.”
“Nevertheless, she invited me and suggested I bring a date,” he said with a grin. “I’m sure she’ll be a courteous hostess.” He hesitated. “I’m not worried about that, actually.”
“Then what are you worried about?”
“I suppose you might term it an unusual sort of party,” he said slowly. “People are likely to be dressed in some rather odd get-ups. Tell me, are you easily shocked?”
She tilted her head to one side as she considered him. “What do you think?”
“I’d say not, on the whole. Tell me this, then: Have you ever felt the urge to act out an erotic fantasy?”
April felt her cheeks growing warm. Sure, with you, was what she was tempted to reply. Her lips still felt tender where he’d kissed them. And there was still that restless feeling deep inside. It had been a long time since anyone had made her feel anything similar. “Murder shocks me a whole lot more than sex,” she managed.
He nodded. “Me, too. Okay, let’s go to the party, then. If it makes you feel uncomfortable, we can leave. I’ll pick you up around eight.”
“Wait. What should I wear to this mysterious party?”.
A mischievous light came into those big blue eyes of his. “Black leather would be appropriate, if you get my drift.”
Silence while she digested this. Then, “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“Isobelle?”
“Charles?” he said with a similar intonation.
April laughed. “You’re right. Isobelle’s a little strange anyway, but Charlie seems so clean-cut. Isn’t he a born-again Christian or something?”
“You gotta watch out for the clean-cut ones.”
“Blackthorn? What are you going to wear to this kinky party?”
His only answer was a devilish laugh.
Daisy Tulane enjoyed the hard pattering of water on her naked back as she stood in Christian’s shower, freshening up after her flight from Dallas. As she stood there, she allowed all the random thoughts of meetings and appointments, press conferences and campaign planning strategy sessions to wash off her and twirl away down the drain. She was here, with her handsome young lover, to relax. All those burdens would be waiting for her when she flew back to Texas, but for now, she was going to forget they existed.
Seize your power, change your life. The pouring-troubles-down-the-drain routine was one of dozens of imaging tricks promoted by Power Perspectives that she still used on a daily basis. She had meant every word she’d said in that famous infomercial she had made for Rina’s company. Rina’s methods worked.
But you had to be dedicated and disciplined to make them work, and Rina had been better at that, Daisy thought with a sigh. Rina had been better at so many things.
She finished showering and dried herself with one of Christian’s huge, fuzzy towels. She went to work on her hair with a silver-backed brush and her blow-dryer. When that was done she stood naked in front of the mirror and considered her body. She was pleased to see that the fat was staying off. It had better, considering all those grueling hours spent in the exercise room. Dieting was not a problem—her old distaste for food still persisted after all these years. It’s not much of a problem staying slender if you have no appetite.
Well, no appetite for food. Daisy pulled on the pink and ivory teddy she’d bought at Victoria’s Secret during her last retail therapy outing. It was exactly the sort of thing she hoped Christian would adore. It made her look feminine, sensual and… eager. Eagerness was a feeling she was trying to cultivate.
After a light redo of her makeup, she padded out into the bedroom, looking for him. He must still be downstairs. She took one more glance in the mirror, fluffed up her hair, smiled the candidate’s smile, then stepped out into the hall.
As she passed Kate’s room, the door opened. The girl stood there on the threshold, dressed in pajamas and clutching a cute stuffed puppy.
Daisy wished she’d thrown a robe over the sheer teddy. It was after midnight. Didn’t she ever go to sleep?
“I had a nightmare,” Kate said. Her voice quavered and she looked as if she were about to cry.
Instinctively, Daisy put her arms around her. But Kate jerked away. “Don’t touch me!”
“It was just a bad dream, honey,” Daisy said soothingly. “Some of ‘em are awful, though, I know. How about a nice warm cup of cocoa? That always makes me feel better.”
“I hate cocoa,” Kate said.
And you hate me, too, don’t you? Daisy thought. Poor kid. It wasn’t surprising, considering all the losses she’d sustained. Her mother’s death had been bad enough. And now Rina’s…
“You won’t be able to fool my father forever,” Kate said. “He may be blind, but he’s not dumb.”
“I’m not trying to fool your father, Kate,” Daisy said patiently. “One thing your father and I both believe is how important it is to be honest about everything.”
The girl blinked at her, then burst out laughing. Daisy felt a tightness-rush along her nerves. It was silly, of course, but she didn’t like to be laughed at. Attacks, she could deal with, even personal attacks. People with thin skins shouldn’t get into politics, and Daisy had worked hard on making her hide as tough as a Texas armadillo. But mocking laughter could still penetrate it, she realized to her chagrin.
Even the mocking laughter of a twelve-year-old.
Why was she laughing? she wondered. What did she know?
She forced a smile. “You go on back to bed, now, hon, okay? Think happy thoughts and the dream’ll pass and morning’ll be here before you know it.”
“Goodnight,” Kate said, politely this time.
“Goodnight, Katey, hon. See you in the morning.”
Kate closed the door. Daisy started down the hall again, a little confused by her behavior. Anything was possible if the child was bleary with sleep, but she’d looked completely wide awake.
“Daisy?”
She turned. The door was once again open and Kate’s smile was malicious now. “Um-hmm?”
“You’re gonna lose the election,” Kate said.
Laughing again, she slammed her door.
Daisy flushed with anger. My daddy would have taken a brat like her out behind the woodpile and whaled the living daylights out of her, she thought.
Christian better darn-well do something about that child.
Chapter Eighteen
Something was wrong, April realized.
As she unlocked the door to her apartment after leaving Rob Blackthorn downstairs in the lobby, she felt an instinctive wariness. Ev
erything looked just the same as usual—the doors and windows appeared to be closed, and all the lights were off, just as she had left them. But something didn’t feel right.
Don’t be so jumpy, she told herself as she stood still in the front hall. The living room and dining area were to her left. The small kitchen was straight ahead, and the bedrooms were down a long corridor to the right.
All was silent except for her own rapid breathing.
It didn’t smell right, she realized. There was a faint odor of—of something. Disinfectant, perhaps. It smelled as if a cleaning lady had been in to scrub the floors. But April didn’t have a cleaning lady.
Maybe there had been a maintenance problem in the building while she’d been gone? She’d left for work around noontime and she hadn’t been back since.
Slowly, she walked over to the kitchen, flipping on the lights as she entered the small room. It didn’t look as if anything had been disturbed—all cabinets and drawers were closed, just as she had left them. From there she walked through into the dining area and back into the living room. Again, it was neat, as usual, but… had that chair been pulled so far away from the wall? It didn’t look quite right. And that pile of magazines and newspapers—they’d been messy, but had they been that messy?
Stop imagining things! she shouted at herself.
She walked slowly down the hall that led to the bedrooms. Her palms were slick. If someone were hiding, it would be up there, in one of the closets, perhaps, or in the bathroom.
The bathroom on the right side of the hallway was empty. Her bedroom opened on the left. She hit the light switch and bright light flooded the room, filling the corners. No one leapt out at her. She took a quick look in the bathroom, the closet. Her clothes were hanging there, undisturbed.
Nothing. No one.
April leaned back against the wall, drawing a deep breath. She must have been mistaken. Maybe she’d just imagined the smell of disinfectant. She couldn’t smell it now.
Maybe she was working too hard and worrying too much.