The Killing Game(84)

His hands ran up her arms to her shoulders, his grip tight. She could feel he was struggling, but then, with a sigh, his lips captured hers again. Her hands were limp at her sides as his mouth ravaged hers. She sighed in complete abandonment, her knees trembling. She wanted to make love to him until they were both exhausted.

He suddenly swept her up and carried her to the bedroom, standing her on her feet beside the bed, silently looking at her, questioning her. She could practically see the words are you sure? hanging in the air between them.

“Yes,” she said.

Then she was unbuttoning her blouse, her fingers uncoordinated with emotion, and he swept them away and took care of the duty himself. She was out of her blouse and bra before she could think, and then he was taking off his own shirt, pulling it over his head, and she was running her hands over his hard chest, her fingers drifting to the waistband of his pants.

He unbuttoned her pants and drew down the zipper, sliding the fabric smoothly down her legs. She unsnapped his fly and did the same, hungry for his body atop her, inside her.

He drew a strangled breath as he looked at her and she could tell he was going to say something, maybe another warning or denial.

She shook her head and slipped off the wisp of her underwear and, after the briefest hesitation, he drew down his boxers. They took a moment looking at each other’s bodies, and Andi could feel desire sweep through her, awakening her deadened nerves.

“If—” he started to say. She put a finger to his lips.

“Make love to me.”

That’s all it took. With a muscular twist, he drove them both onto the bed and she was on her back and he was atop her, his mouth everywhere. Andi clutched the bedcovers, closed her eyes, and groaned. She couldn’t wait. Couldn’t wait. “Please,” she whispered, then Luke was stretched out above her, his knee wedging between her legs. She drew her legs apart and he slid between them easily, like they’d rehearsed their movements a thousand times before.

And then he was inside her and they were rocking in rhythm together. She had a moment of thinking of Trini and a sob collected in her throat, but the friction against her skin, the hardness inside her that probed her core, the desire firing her blood smashed those thoughts until there was only this, only him, only a reaching for pleasure. She heard herself, the breathy “Oh, oh, oh!” that accompanied the rising feeling of pure need. When she burst into climax, she cried out, and his answering groan of release followed almost immediately.

Afterward they lay in silence for several moments, except for the rapid beatings of their hearts, their twin raspy breathing.

When he lifted his head and looked at her, his blue eyes were sated but also filled with questions.

“Don’t spoil this moment,” she whispered. “I swear to God, Luke. Don’t.”

He half smiled and shook his head. “I have to. I didn’t use a condom. I didn’t even think about it. Maybe for the first time in my life.”

She closed her eyes, feeling tears well out of nowhere. “It’s all right. Nothing will happen.” I can’t get pregnant. What happened with Greg was most likely a one-time thing. And then I miscarried.

Whether he believed her she didn’t know. But he didn’t pursue the subject and instead began kissing the line of her jaw, and soon enough they were making love again, this time excruciatingly slowly, in a way that drove all coherent thoughts out of her head.





Chapter Nineteen



It was five p.m. by the time September entered Maple Grove Assisted Living. She practically had her hand on her badge, ready to flash it at anyone she met, but the reception room and dining hall were empty, as were the halls. Saturday, she realized. Probably a skeleton crew on staff.

She made it to Grace’s room undisturbed and knocked on her door. “Grace?” she called. The television was blaring loudly, so September tried the handle, which turned beneath her palm. She eased the door open. “Grace?” she called again, louder, though the woman was seated on the sofa. She realized then that she was fast asleep.

Shutting the door behind her, September stepped across the room and switched off the television. The sudden silence practically screamed, yet Grace slept on. Worried, September walked over to her and checked her breathing. In that moment Grace woke up and yelped in fear.

September immediately stepped back, holding up her hands. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Grace. I’m September. Do you remember me? I came to see you a few days ago.”

She squinted at her. “Sure, I know you.”

September wondered. “I’m the detective who was asking you about Aurora Lane. I had a couple more questions. There was a family who drove an RV? Maybe had horses.”

Grace harrumphed. “Lots of ’em had horses. Hoity-toity, puttin’ on airs. But those ones—they didn’t have horses. White trash. That’s what they were.”

“Um . . . the RV people?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you remember their names?”

“Kim and Shithead.” She made a burbling sound that September took as a laugh. “That’s what I called him ’cause he was so mean. Got expelled by that other shithead, the landlord . . .”

“Mr. Mamet?”

“Sure enough.”

“He evicted them?” September asked.