And it would be right. While he worked on it all between the dog and the alarm and the cops and the macho man who had pushed his way in on it all...
Go figure. He’d never imagined in a thousand years that killing could be such a rush. That he would love it so very much, as the orchestrator...as the man who went in and got his hands dirty.
It was better than anything else he’d ever done.
*
Bryan had gone out, taking George on another hike.
Angela and Jackson had gone next door; they were going to sleep in Bridget’s guest room.
Marnie had showered and donned one of her favorite nightshirts—nothing that hinted of seduction in the least.
And yet seduction was on her mind.
She didn’t understand herself; Bryan had certainly angered her. Then, he’d been incredible in many ways.
She didn’t remember ever feeling so on fire. So desperate to touch...and be touched.
Needy.
No, don’t say I need him, please!
It wasn’t neediness, she assured herself. Because no one had evoked such a feeling in her before. Ever. Not even when she had more or less believed she was happily dating. All the dozens of men she’d met, great, talented, beautiful people, and still...
It was him.
So much for the wariness and irritation she’d felt at first.
She was fascinated by the way he spoke, moved, looked. By his eyes, the striking length of his fingers, his height, breadth, scent.
She heard the key in the lock. The buzz of the new alarm. Bryan stepped inside with George and hit the keypad for the alarm. At first, she thought he hadn’t seen her there, standing just at the arch to the kitchen.
But it seemed he knew she was there.
He turned. Smiling. “You okay?”
She nodded, stooping to pet George, who had trotted over to her.
“I’m fine. Thank you. Your friends are over with Bridget. They’re very nice. I’m grateful they’re here. For their help. The police on the case are certainly fine people, too. Sophie went above and beyond. And Detective Vining seems as dedicated.” She straightened, looking at him. “Um, are you all right? You can have the guest room, of course, no need to sleep on a couch. I hope you do get some sleep. The room has a brand-new alarm. It should work, right?”
His smile deepened. His arms were crossed lightly over his chest. He was still in one of his suits, looking ridiculously good. Not ridiculously. Wrong word. Perfectly good. Wonderfully good.
“You are talking a lot. Do you think you’ve managed to say what you’re really trying to say?”
She hesitated.
Then she shrugged and murmured, “Um...do you want to sleep with me?”
“Sleep?”
“I thought... There’s no obligation. You’re here to look after me. Because your mother told you had to—”
“Ouch!” he exclaimed.
He was still across the room from her and still smiling.
And then he wasn’t.
He was in front of her, taking her into his arms, and the amusement was still in his eyes along with something else, something like the fire that seemed to burn in her own limbs.
“Only thing...” he murmured, his mouth close to hers.
“Yes?” she whispered.
“Obligations. I don’t just walk away. You have to be protected, yes, and God knows what the future will bring, but...”
“But?”
“I’ll be here come morning. You all right with that? This can’t just be a thank-you-for-guarding-me sex thing, huh?”
She stared at him, feeling as if there really weren’t enough air around her, as if strange little invisible fireworks were going off all around them.
She nodded.
“George, guard!” he told the dog.
He swept her off the floor and into his arms. There were no stairs, but it seemed incredibly romantic, the way he strode with her held to him to her room, the way that his eyes seemed to delve so deeply into hers. It was better than anything she’d ever fantasized.
When she lay on the bed, he slid his hands beneath the hem of the cotton T-shirt to draw it over her head.
“I should have gone with silk,” she murmured.
“You could have gone with burlap,” he told her.
She rose up on the bed, trying to help him undress. His jacket wound up in a corner, shirt and pants somewhere, socks and briefs somewhere else. There was a moment that might have been awkward, but somehow it wasn’t, then he was finally naked and she knelt on the bed in nothing but a pair of hip-hugger panties.
She was surprised to laugh and say softly, “At least the panties are silk.”
“Lovely,” he told her. His eyes meeting hers, he pressed her gently down to the bed. His fingers curled over her palms as they stretched above her head, and he lowered his face to hers.
There was no apology when they kissed.
Everything about his mouth was sensual. The play of his tongue upon her lips and in her mouth. She rose to meet the kiss, relishing the feel of their flesh coming together.
Then he moved his kiss.
Down over her breasts. Her belly.
He whispered softly, “I do love silk.”
Moments later she felt she had left sanity behind. She was rising into fields of exquisite ecstasy she had never come close to imagining. She writhed until she was in his arms, until he was thrust inside her and undulated all the more when they rolled and moved together wildly.
She was aware of rising to a climax, aware the fireworks seemed to be breaking everywhere again. Then intensely aware of the flesh-and-blood man next to her and reality.
And of not being one bit sorry.
He lay beside her, holding her.
He rose up on an elbow.
“I will be here,” he said softly.
“Not just a Hollywood stud, huh? Arm candy?” she teased.
He winced. “Ouch again. They lie—you do have a mean streak!”
“But I don’t really. I can kind of prove it, if you like.”
“Oh?”
He eased back slightly.
She began to kiss him.
And tease and brush and caress him...
It was possible to forget everything, except for being with him.
Everything but him, the feel of him, being touched by him, being with him.
Much later, when they lay together, he said softly, “Hmm. Arm candy. Maybe not such a bad gig after all.”
They both laughed.
When she woke, she realized he had been up, that he had showered and shaved and dressed again.
But he had not left.
And he would not, she knew. Not until this was over.
Not unless they both decided they were over.
10
“You’re kidding me? Really? You think I should do it?”
Marnie stared at him incredulously. Bryan smiled.
“We’re still nowhere,” he told her. “Once the FBI came in on it, Jackson—through Adam Harrison—saw to it that every single person interviewed when it happened was interviewed again. Including every person who had been wearing a Blood-bone costume. They’ve done research on the major players. Their best analysts believe it has to be someone involved with one of the cast members or the show itself. Or a person close to you—someone the show or your individual lives might effect.”
“I’m confused. Why would this person be at this monster show?”
“Same reason they’d be at a comic con,” Bryan told her.
They were sitting on the couch in her living room. George was on the floor at Marnie’s feet. Even curled up, the big dog took up a lot of space.
Bryan felt fairly relaxed. For one, Jackson and Angela were still on guard, just in the other section of the duplex.
The alarm was activated. Both back doors, both front doors and every window on either side of the property had been covered. Both women knew how to activate and deactivate it.
Everyone was safe.
He felt good.
Marnie was good.
No, Marnie was amazing, but that was something else entirely.
It was early, and the morning was beautiful. They were talking about the Horror-palooza that was next up on the horizon. Marnie seemed amazed he thought it was a good idea that they all went and did the show.
“You want to draw someone out?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re not worried?”
“I’m always worried, but we can be in control of the situation.”
“You—you’ve handled lots of situations like this?”