He smiled. “I’m fine, Ellie. But I won’t be back tonight. Don’t worry—and please don’t let my room go, okay?”
“Oh, we wouldn’t do that, Agent Blake.”
“And I intend to pay for every night, whether I’m in the room or not.”
She giggled. “Not to worry. We’ve got your credit card number. The management definitely intends to make you pay. I was just checking that you’re all right. Because, of course, everyone knows what happened today!”
“Everyone knows...what?”
“You’re a hero! You saved Aaron Bentley’s life!”
He winced. “No, Ellie, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m not a hero. The real heroes are the nurses and doctors and paramedics who save lives every day. I’ve taken a few classes in emergency procedures, that’s all. Pretty basic stuff. And it was more a matter of right time, right place.”
“Yeah? Maybe I should take a class.”
“Knowing first aid is always a good idea—for anyone.”
“Yeah. Well, Coot says hello. He says he misses you and that you should go to the café for breakfast tomorrow.”
“Tell him I’ll try to make it.”
He put his cell away and hesitated for a minute; instinct really did count for a lot in his field. His instincts told him it would be quiet tonight. Or maybe it was pure logic—if the killer didn’t want to be caught, he or she would lie low for a while.
He walked to the stairs and paused there. “Marcus?” he said aloud. But he hadn’t sensed the presence of the ghost. And Marcus didn’t respond.
It was quiet on the second floor. He went into the bedroom and placed his Glock within easy reach on the nearby table. He prepared for bed, then prowled the room anxiously before he settled down to sleep. He was glad Malachi was coming with more Krewe members tomorrow. His concentration was at a low point, maybe because he’d figured out he was a fool. Everything wasn’t forever; everything didn’t need to mean something. Adults encountered one another in life, enjoyed physical relationships, moved on....
Yes. Hell, yes, it happened all the time. Didn’t make people enemies; didn’t naturally make them lasting friends or lovers, but...
Sometimes the attraction was too strong, too much was expected, he told himself. And in those situations, getting involved was a mistake.
Oh, bull. He’d been an idiot to turn her down.
As he lay there, he heard her door open and close. She was going downstairs. He waited for a few minutes and leaped to his feet. There was nothing that suggested a break-in; he was certain he would have heard.
He left the room and walked to the landing. Sammy was sleeping there. He raised his head, wagged his tail when he saw Dustin and went right back to sleep.
Nothing could be wrong if the dog was so sedate and unconcerned, but still...
Barefoot, he moved quickly and quietly down the stairs. As he rounded the staircase, he saw her in the kitchen, wearing a robe, something that clung to her body like silk, making a cup of tea.
“Uh, hello,” he said, wishing he’d grabbed a robe himself rather than running down in his boxers.
“You all right?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said thickly. “I just heard you down here.”
She stared at him. “Tea,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Me, neither.”
She let the tea bag fall into the cup and, grinning, walked up to him. If a man could emit sexual desire like sweat, he’d have been drenched. He didn’t move. He was afraid to—for several reasons. There was the way he felt. There was his lack of attire. She was so close he could breathe in her scent, and if he moved, he’d have to touch her.
“This is ridiculous,” she said.
“This?”
“Us. Here. Not, um...not. You and me...not?”
“I know,” he said.
“You do?”
“I agree.”
“I mean, after all,” she told him seriously, “I’m quite prepared. I’m on birth control. It doesn’t make sense for two people to abstain when the desire is there. And, well, it’s the age of Fifty Shades of Grey—and...I want to have sex.”
“Hmm. Just sex?”
“Yes, just sex.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“What kind of sex?” he asked, but he knew she saw the grin twisting his lips.
He thought she was about to say normal sex. But she stopped herself and moved a fraction of an inch closer, her presence touching him without touching him, the heat of her excitement reaching out to him.
“Mmm,” she said softly, eyes alight. “Let’s see. Hot, steamy, passionate, wet, sweaty sex? Energetic, explosive...sensual, vital, vibrant, amazing, incredible... The kind that makes you forget everything else in the world.”
“Okay,” he said. Still, he didn’t touch her. Not yet. Then he asked, “Did you want that once—or twice? If you’d like it twice, I’ll do my very best to oblige.”
“Something tells me you’re up for the job—and that you’ll be pretty good.”
“Just pretty good?”