Chapter Twenty-Nine
I had my knife in my hand before he could speak. The man could be anyone or, lately, anything.
“Jumpy, sweet thing?”
Murphy. I should have known.
“You have no idea,” I muttered, and returned the knife to the sheath under my pillow. If he’d wanted to hurt me, he’d have done it a long time ago.
I knew why he’d come; I wasn’t going to give him a chance to ask. I’d hand over the diamond and then he’d be out of my life. I’d no longer be waiting for him to show up—every day, every night—and that would be a good thing. Really.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I was surprised when he shifted closer and put his palm to the center of my chest. “Where you off to?”
“To get—”
His mouth descended on mine, and I figured, Why not have one more f or the road? I knew the score.
He’d come for the diamond and not for me.
Except he could have taken it and left. Sure, I’d put the thing in my safe—I wasn’t stupid—however, I didn’t think something as simple as a combination lock would stop the man. Maybe it hadn’t.
I slid my hands down his chest; he reciprocated. My breasts seemed to swell until they fit perfectly into the palms of his hands. I became distracted by the sensations, his tongue in my mouth, his fingers on my skin, mine flitting everywhere.
I’d missed this; hell, I’d missed him.
But first things first, I wanted to check his pockets. Pretty easy to do in this situation. I frisked him as fore-play, skating my palms over his ass, then up the insides of his thighs, where I found something hard, but it wasn’t a diamond.
Maybe he hadn’t been able to unlock the safe. Maybe he figured once he screwed me I’d give him anything.
But I’d been screwed before, and it hadn’t made me feel very giving. I do believe the last man who’d tried it was doing twenty to life.
My lips curved against Murphy’s. He could try to romance the diamond out of me; I didn’t have to tell him I’d gladly give him the j ewel.
Until after.
He slid his thumb under the elastic band of my panties, stroking the sensitive skin where my leg became my hip. I yanked on his shirt, wanting to feel his skin, and he drew it over his head, tossing it away.
Going to his knees on the floor at my feet, he kissed my thigh, opened my legs, and leaned over, mouthing me through my white cotton underwear. I collapsed backward on the bed as he divested me of all my doming, which didn’t take long.
If I hadn’t already planned to give him the diamond, his performance would have convinced me. Clever mouth, teasing tongue, nimble fingers, I was gasping, begging, clutching his shoulders in minutes.
He rose, losing his own clothes, and while he did I found a condom and tossed it his way.
“Isn’t this a case of closing the barn door after the horse has escaped?” he asked.
“Time to start all over again.”
“Ah.” He tore the packet and sheathed himself with a practiced movement. “I’d wondered.”
He didn’t seem the type to wonder, or care, but men he hadn’t seemed the type for a lot of things, and I’d been wrong.
Murphy rej oined me on the bed, filling me so completely, then leaving me so alone—in and out, faster and faster. He was so very good at this. Even better than the leopard in my dream.
I stiffened, and he murmured in my ear, nonsense words that aroused rather than soothed. He thought I was coming a second time, and as I felt him climax I thought, What the hell? and did.
He lifted his head, stared into my face. Something in his expression made me catch my breath, a connection more disturbing than the connection of our bodies.
“Jolis yeux verts,” he murmured, and kissed me.
I guess French was the appropriate language at the time. The flowing words, the sexy accent, made my eyes flutter closed so I could concentrate on the sensations: the slick slide of skin against skin, the softness of his hair beneath my fingers, the scent of rain that forever surrounded him, the taste of his mouth, the shape of his lips.
He stilled inside of me, the interlude at an end, but I didn’t want him to go. I kept my arms around him, kept his body deep within and my memories close.
“Cassandra,” he whispered, lifting his head again, waiting for me to open my eyes, but I couldn’t. What had happened between us tonight had been both more and less than the times before, and I wasn’t sure what to say, what to do.
After a second he rolled away and went to the bathroom. The light switch clicked; the toilet flushed; then the water ran.
“Turn off the light,” I said, not wanting to see his face when he asked me for the diamond, then took it and walked out of my life.
Cool darkness descended, and Murphy walked back into the room. He came directly to the bed, crawled in, flipped the sheet over us both, then drew me against him. “Go to sleep,” he whispered.
And though I knew it was a mistake, I relaxed in his arms and let the whole world fall away.
I awoke alone. I don’t know why I was surprised. If it hadn’t been for the telltale traces of sex on me and the sheets, I’d have thought I dreamed Murphy as I’d dreamed everything else.
After a quick cool shower, I dressed in shorts and a loose gauzy top, then took my cup of tea into the office. My gaze scanned the desk; nothing appeared to have been disturbed.
I twirled the tumbler on the safe, pulled it open, and stared at the empty space where the diamond should be. I’d known it was gone, yet still my stomach dropped.
A sudden pounding at the entrance made me jump and slosh tea onto my bare thigh. Grumbling, I slammed the safe shut and spun the dial, then hurried through the darkened store. Who could be pounding at this hour?
For an instant I imagined Murphy on the doorstep, and my heart lightened pathetically before sense intruded. Why would he knock now when he’d waltzed right in through the open window last night?
Come to think of it, how had he gotten over the wall? It wasn’t exactly low, and barbed wire protected the top. For Murphy, that had probably been a two-minute hitch in an otherwise stellar day.
Diana flashed the morning paper up, then down as soon as I opened the door. “Did you see this?”
Without waiting for my answer, she stomped inside, heading for the kitchen. “I don’t suppose you’ve come to your senses and started drinking coffee.”
“No.”
“You haven’t taken pity on your dearest human friend and bought a coffeepot just for me?”
“No.”
“Crap. Then I guess I’ll have to drink tea.”
“Don’t sound so happy about it.”
“I’m not.”
“Someday you’ll thank me.”
“But it won’t be today when I’m nursing a lack-of-caffeine headache.”
“Which is why you should stop drinking coffee. What possible good could come from a liquid that causes withdrawal?”
“Oh—bite me,” she muttered.
“Wrong side of the bed this morning?”
“Adam’s still gone.” She sighed. “I can’t sleep when he isn’t here.”
The two of them were so in love it was painful—especially to a woman who’d thought she’d found love and discovered she had nothing. What would it be like to love a man so much you’d do anything?
“You’re awfully cheery.” Her eyes narrowed, and I turned away to make tea.
I didn’t plan on telling her that Murphy had shown up and screwed my brains out in the night. She’d only scold me for letting him. I had to wonder why I had. Was I that lonely?
Duh.
“What’s in the paper?” I asked.
“Animal attack.”
My heart gave one hard thud, then sped up. “Wolf?”
“They never say.”
“I thought Adam got rid of Henri’s leavings.”