Standing in the Shadows (McClouds & Friends #2)(121)

The blade moved down, feather light. The dark, lapis-colored satin of her dress silently gave way to the preternatural sharpness of the blade. Her body was naked beneath it, only a pair of high, lace-topped black stockings. She wore no panties. She never did. On principle.

She closed her eyes and held herself still as the blade skimmed over her skin, tracing patterns like letters, but an unspeakably alien script. An evil enchantment, to pull her deeper into his thrall.

The blade grazed over her chest, pausing over her racing heart as if drawn to its frantic energy. It trailed lower, over the vulnerable hollow of her belly. He dug the tip into her navel, but she dared not gasp from the pain. One breath, and it would sink into her vitals.

He drew the knife lower, tickling it over her hipbone. The point dug into the skin over the femoral artery in her groin. It brushed tenderly over her mound. "Open your legs, Tamara." His voice was silky soft.

She couldn't move. She was transfixed with terror. She'd gone too far, missed her chance, overshot, fallen short. What an ignominious end. She, who had always hoped for a bold, glorious death.

The level of light in the room suddenly augmented. The video screen flickered into motion. Erin was home. The show had begun.

She gestured toward the screen. "Don't you want to watch?"

He snapped the blade shut, slipped it into his pocket A reprieve.

"We watch, Tamara," he said. "And then we play."

She barely saw what was happening on the screen, she was so conscious of his mangled hand, burning against her naked thigh.



* * *





Chapter Twenty-Two





Erin burst through the doors of the Kinsdale and bolted for the stairwell. As soon as she'd torn off that hellish dress and showered off the soiled feeling that Mueller's touch had given her, she would call Connor and apologize for running away. She had to start following her heart. It was that, or watch it break into a million pieces.

Connor was sitting on the staircase, waiting for her.

She reeled back at the foot of the stairs. Her purse, her shoes, her clothes, thudded to the floor. She teetered on the heels and braced herself against the wall, horribly aware of her bosom practically falling out of the bodice, and her eyes, smudged from the tears she'd been blotting away in the car. "Connor?" she whispered.

His hard gaze raked her from head to foot. "My, my," he said softly. "Don't… you… look… special."

"Connor, I—"

"Check you out, babe." He rose to his feet, looming over her. "No bra. And I've never seen you wear makeup before, at least not like that. It changes your whole look. Wow. What a wild woman."

She shrank back against the wall at his soft, deadly tone.

She'd seen him angry, but never like this. "Connor, I was on my way to—"

"What does it say to me, this new look?" His voice was a mocking parody of playfulness. "It says, the party's over and I've had too much champagne, so take me home and f*ck me hard."

Anger jolted her upright. "Don't you dare speak to me like that!"

He advanced upon her. She stumbled away until her bare back was pressed against the tiles. "Did you have fun today, Erin?" he asked.

She lifted her chin. "No, I did not, as a matter of fact," she said. "Connor, don't do this."

He seized her shoulders and pinned her against the wall. "Where the f*ck did that dress come from?"

The fury in his voice snapped like a whip against her raw nerves. She struggled wildly in his grip, but he just pressed her harder against the wall with his lower body and cupped her breasts in his hands. "This thing shows your tits off to a really great advantage. Did Mueller like the view? Is this what you meant when you said you were a bad girl now?"

She slapped his hands away from her breasts. "Don't speak to me like that! I did absolutely nothing wrong."

"You lied to me, and you broke your promise. And you're dressed up like a high-priced whore to kiss some rich man's ass. Did you f*ck him, too?"

Her hand flashed out. He caught it, lightning quick. "None of that, Erin," he snarled. "It's a valid question. Just look at yourself."

"I would never do a thing like that, and you damn well know it. You owe me an apology."

He let out a crack of bitter laughter. "Don't hold your breath. I've had a really shitty day. I don't feel very apologetic right now."

"Erin? Is that you, dear?"

Their heads jerked around in tandem. Mrs. Hathaway, her nosy ground-floor neighbor, was hunched over her cane in the doorway of the stairwell. Her curls glowed in the fluorescent light like a violet halo, and her face was a fierce snarl of wrinkles. She brandished her gold-tipped cane. "Is this fellow giving you trouble? Because if he is, I'll just call the police this minute! Terrorizing a young lady on her stairs. The nerve!"

Connor's eyes were fierce with challenge. "So, Erin? Am I too scary for you? You want to call the guys in the white coats to come haul me away?"

"Stop it," she hissed.

"Better yet, take this." He pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. He pressed it into her trembling hand. "Call Nick. It's faster than nine-one-one, and he's hot to arrest me anyway. Go on, call him. Put a stop to this whole f*cking mess once and for all."