Fade To Midnight (27 page)

Um. He had a point, but his matter-of-fact tone made her feel panicked. “Oh, God, Kev. That'll make things worse. They could use that against you, make you look dangerous and crazy—”

“I never said I would use them. I certainly won't display them. But I'm always armed. Lack of vigilance will get you killed.”

She forced herself to accept this brutally cold assessment of reality into her mind, and not be scared shitless of it. “I'll need to stop at my place, too,” she said. “I need clothes, underwear. I can hardly wander around tomorrow bare-assed in the Slut Dress of Shame.”

He plucked at the wrinked flounces of pleated chiffon. “I love this dress,” he said. “We keep this dress. It makes my palms sweat. I can hardly breathe when I look at you in that thing.”

The air ignited. Edie had to consciously relax so she could pull air into her lungs to speak. “We'd better, um, try to focus,” she whispered.

“Focus.” His voice was velvet soft. “Right.”

He was around the car and helping her out before she even managed to find the latching mechanism. Gallant gentleman. Ooh.

His building was a square brick block, no frills. The huge stairwell was likewise plain, with its wide, steel and poured concrete stairs and the massive steel mesh freight elevator.

“I'd rather take the stairs,” he said. “I'm too spooked right now to walk into a cage. Makes me claustrophobic.”

“That's OK,” she assured him. In fact, the stairs with his arm around her was no effort. She just floated up. After all the stress and emotional violence of the evening, she was still giddy. Wafting.

He had an impressive number of scary looking locks, and he squinted at them all carefully before pushing the door open. He stepped in, still holding her outside in the dark entryway. Then he pulled her in and shut the door. “I don't want to turn on the lights,” he said.

“That's OK. I can see it all right,” she murmured, impressed.

Even with no lamps lit, the apartment was full of ambient light. It was enormous, the ceilings unimaginably high. It was simple, nearly empty. Walls of raw, exposed red brick. Huge, arched windows twice the height of a tall man marched along the far wall, letting in light that gleamed against the wood-paneled floor. Windows designed to maximize light for the sweatshop garment workers of a century ago, she imagined, but the effect was stunning. A huge kitchen was in the corner nearest the door, a center island with stovetop, range, sink. There was an office workspace. There were skylights, lit by the dull orange of streetlights reflecting off the clouds. She drifted out into the middle of the space. The far end had a grouping of couches, a TV. Then a loft, a wrought iron spiral staircase, presumably leading to a bedroom and bathroom.

“This is my place.” He sounded oddly unsure of himself.

It was so perfectly Kev. Lavish, over-the-top luxury, coupled with Spartan austerity. She spun around to take it in, and a flicker caught her eye. Kev whipped his head around at the startled sound she made.

But it wasn't a fire. Candles. They stared at the table in the corner. Candles flickered, lighting up platters of roasted meats, grilled vegetables, cheeses. Rolls and baguette, stuffed mushrooms, roasted artichokes, a plate of peeled shrimp, smoked salmon, cracked crab. Heaps of gleaming fruit. A fluffy looking, goopy, creamy dessert, like tiramisu. A sweating champagne bottle perched in a silver ice bucket.

“Oh, my God, Kev,” she whispered. “Did you…?”

“No,” he said. “I wish I could take credit for that, but it wasn't me. It must have been Bruno. This is his style.”

“Your brother catered a surprise meal for us?”

He shrugged. “He desperately wants to get me laid. He thinks that getting laid is the solution to any man's problems. Common cold? Get laid. Ingrown hairs? Get laid. Pursued by an angry billionaire? Get laid.”

She thought about it for a moment. “Works for me,” she said. “Now that I've met you I can see his point.”

“I never did manage to pound the concept of personal space into that kid,” Kev grumbled. “He figures if he can pick the lock, he's invited.” He wandered over to the table, gazed at the food. “I'm hungry.”

“Do we have time to—”

“No.” He grabbed a chunk of crab meat and dropped it into his mouth. “Absolutely not. Excuse me for a moment. I'll be right out.”

She stared at the food as he disappeared into a room in the back, and went back to the kitchen to see what Bruno had done with the takeout containers. If he was like any normal guy…yes. Bruno was evidently a perfectly normal guy. The takeout containers were still there, littering the kitchen counter in a big, drippy, oily, garlicky mess. So was the heavy paper bag that the feast had come in. Perfect. Good to go.

She gathered up containers. She was hungry, and they weren't going to find anything this appetizing in an all-night Denny's. She forked food into containers, snapped lids and stowed them in the bag. She was boxing up the tiramisu when Kev came out. “Huh?”

“We're taking this with us,” she informed him. “The tiramisu will do as well as ice cream. You know, for the brainwashing. The dessert element is essential. Otherwise the mental programming won't take.”

“Ah…yeah,” he said, bemused. “Whatever. I just have to run to the safe in the bedroom and grab some cash, and we can go.”

She dropped the tiramisu into the top of the bag, and called after his retreating back. “You promised to show me your big bed.”

He looked back. “Don't distract me. I'm about to snap as it is.”

She laid the bag on the floor, and swept her hair sensuously to one side, twisting it into a thick, fuzzy coil over her shoulder. “Snap, then,” she said softly. “That's something I'd love to see.”

He blew out a careful breath. “Oh, man. You are dangerous.”

“Am I?” She drifted over in front of him. “Feels good to be dangerous. I think I like it.”

“Uh…” His eyes narrowed, unsure of what to do.

Seconds ticked on, and she lost patience. “Show me your bedroom,” she demanded. “Right now.”

He blew out a sharp breath, and turned, throwing up his hands in surrender. She followed him up the swirling helix of the staircase.

The bedroom in the loft seemed as if it should be small in comparison, but it was a huge room in its own right, with yet another vast window on one side, though it had a huge black-out shade pulled down. More normal rectangular windows faced out the alley.

It was flickering with dozens of candles, too. On the dresser, on the shelves, on the bedstands. Another bucket of champagne sat there.

“Amazing that he didn't burn the place down.” Kev opened the closet, reached inside, began manipulating something in there.

“It's beautiful,” Edie murmured. And then she saw the bed.

It was as enormous as Kev had promised. He must have the sheets custom made. The snowy linens were turned precisely down, the textured bronze duvet cover strewn with a mass of crimson rose petals.

“Kev!” she exclaimed. “Did you see the petals?”

His head jerked around and he stared at the bed, and rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the love of Christ. I'm changing the locks. Again.”

“No. It's wonderful. I'm charmed. It works.”

He shot her a speculative look. “Works? How do you mean?”

“How do you think?” She scooped up a handful, buried her face in them. “I know we need to run. I understand completely. But candles, rose petals…it seems a terrible waste, doesn't it?”

She fell backward onto the bed, letting the petals bounce and flutter around her, settling around her shoulders, against her face.

When she opened her eyes, she stopped breathing, shocked.

The ceiling was covered with a painting of hypnotic beauty. A sensuous mandalic design, made of deep, earthy colors. Cobalt blues, rust reds, sunset oranges. “Kev!” She jerked up onto her elbows, flinging her head back to study it, conscious of the artful effect that position had on her bosom. “Did you paint that?”

“Yes.”

She stared at it, marveling. She would have to get used to this. He was not a one-trick pony, like she was. All she knew how to do was draw, and have the occasional bizarre psychic episode. He had endless tricks in his bag. He would never stop surprising her. “It's amazing.”

“It's one of my first stunt kite designs,” he said. “Get up. We take care of business first. Then we play.”

She got up onto her knees and hiked up her skirts, tossing them up over his bed so that the pleated frills frothed over his coverlet. She scooped up big handfuls of rose petals, letting them fall over her face, her head, her throat, her shoulders. Fragrant and soft. A fantasy.

He was almost in the bag, but she needed one last push to tip it, call it a victory. She saw herself reflected in the mirror over his dresser. She seemed to float on a cloud on the petal strewn bed, her hair a wild mass of tangles. She reached down, to the vee shaped base of the corset bodice, and tugged until her nipples popped over the top. That ought to get him. Worked before. He went gooey when she flaunted her boobs.

She adjusted herself, propping herself up for maximum special effect, and peeked up to check the results of her efforts.

His face was a mask of self-control, but his eyes blazed. The heat so intense, it felt almost like anger. But not quite. Oh, no. Not quite.

The velvety electric pressure of his desire against her was so palpable, she could reach out in the air and stroke the texture of it.

“You just love to push me, don't you?” he said.

“You've noticed?” She made her voice light. “If you're worried about the time crunch, keep in mind, I never did bother to put my panties back on. And I'm, ah, super ready. No need for elaborate foreplay. No need for a smooth lead-in. You could just, ah, go for it.”

He jerked a drawer open, pulled out foil packets. Excitement thundered through her nerves, like a roar of applause in a stadium. She'd gotten him. It felt so good to tease him, to lure him. She barely recognized herself. So sure of herself. So sure of him. So free.

He stood behind her, gazing at their reflection in the mirror across the room. His body so tall and elegant. Her face seemed so pale in the flickering candlelight. Bright spots of red on her cheekbones, her eyes shadowy smudges, her boobs spilling over the bodice. A scene from a seventeenth-century bordello. The seductive courtesan, rouged nipples spilling out. She'd never cast herself in the role of sexpot courtesan before. Not clumsy, shy, inhibited Edie. He'd unleashed something inside her she'd never known was there. And she loved it.

Kev reached around to cup her breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers. Sweet sensations rushed through her, making her shudder and arch against his caress, whimpering. His heat surrounded her. He slid his hands beneath her skirts, stroking his big hands up over her thighs, her bottom. Trailing his finger down the sensitive cleft until his finger stroked, and then slowly penetrated her hot, slick core.

She squeezed around him with a low cry, and her thighs unlocked, let his hand delve deeper, parting her, petting with a skill that unhinged her joints. Making sure she was ready. He didn't trust her judgment. So what. He knew just how much to touch, how hard, how deep, how fast. He was so tuned in to her.

He wrenched open his belt. She watched in the mirror as he rolled the condom over himself. Every tiny sound was amplified in her head, every tiny detail, intensely eroticized. She wanted to burn it all irrevocably into her mind. She wanted to hang on to this forever.

He shoved her forward, and she caught herself on her hands against the piled up drifts of silky crimson petals, as he tossed layer after layer of crinkling chiffon up over her back. Shifting her, spreading her into position. She arched her back, throat clutching with anticipation.

His big hands clamped over her hips, fingers digging in. “I'm taking you at your word,” he said.

She met his eyes in the mirror, and gave him a smile she'd never seen on her own face. “You do that.”

He did. He was gentle when he penetrated her, and each careful shove made her clutch around him. But once he was wedged in deep, he let go, let her feel his power. Every thrust jolted fresh excitement through her body. Each perfect, swiveling stroke pressed against new glowing sweet spots, blooming into existence out of nowhere.

The heavy thudding of his flesh pounding hers made her sob, her heart twisting and swelling into something vast. Her throat was so hot. She was wailing, yelling, she had no idea what, jerking back to meet him, but he kept her trembling and whimpering on the edge.

They soared over that edge together, and the mutual explosion rocked them, blasting them through inner space. And sweet oblivion.

They might have lain there, collasped and joined like spoons for hours for all she knew. It was earthly perfection. She could have lain there forever, just feeling close. So real. And so whole.

Kev lifted his head. “Oh, fuck,” he whispered. “They're here.”

“Who?” Edie jerked her head around. “Where?”

“Outside. Shhh, don't speak out loud. Maybe your dad's guys, maybe the cops, maybe the guys in the white coats, who the fuck knows. But there's no reason for a car to park in the alley under this window at this hour.” He pulled himself out of her body and slipped off the condom as he circled the room, blowing out candles. “Get dressed,” he said. “Quick. Goddamnit. What an asshole. Getting us boxed in.”

Fortunately for her, all that getting dressed entailed was tucking her boobs back into the strapless bra and the bustier, and letting the filmy skirt fall down over her bonelessly soft nether parts.

Kev slid a large, scary looking gun into a shoulder holster, checked a second gun that was strapped to his ankle, and tucked a third, a big square looking thing, into the back of the pants he'd pulled on. He wore dull green cargo pants now, covered with handy pockets, not the dress pants he'd worn before.