Sunrise in a Garden of Love & Evil (18 page)

"Take off your clothes," she said.

Whatever you say, honey.
Gideon stripped off his trousers and boxers, then his socks, and followed Ophelia's delectable naked behind onto the soft mud bank under the trees, instantly harder than he'd ever been in his life.

"Lie back," Ophelia said, and Gideon propped himself on his elbows and watched with half-closed eyes as she licked the trickle of blood off his leg, as blissful as if he'd died and gone to heaven. He gave a fleeting thought to the condom in the wallet in his pants, but where Ophelia was concerned he had long ago abandoned all caution and common sense, and as for the future, he simply didn't care.

I don't care whether he likes the fangs or not,
Ophelia told herself,
he's mine.
He looked ecstatic, of course, leaning on his elbows as he watched her work on his thigh.
I'll
make
him like them,
she vowed, and then realized that she was pleading, eyes closed as she tidied the graze.
Oh God, please let him like them, please let him like me.
As if in answer to her prayer his hand came lightly to rest on her head, playing with the damp strands of hair, brushing her cheek.

She breathed in the musky scent of his penis and ran a hand up over it, caressing it gently, gliding her fingers over the tip, longing to run her tongue along the shaft, to savor him in her mouth.
Goddamn fangs,
she thought.
Why can't I just be normal?

He wouldn't be this hot for you if you were normal,
she reminded herself.

She crawled up and straddled him, taking control, touching her tongue to his, aflame with lust and a longing for something more, and he licked eagerly into her mouth, fearlessly negotiating the fangs. One hot hand fondled her butt, the other cupped a breast, rubbed and pulled at her nipple, shooting a sizzle straight to her sex, and she shivered with pleasure.

"Thank you," she whispered, surprising herself. "Thank you for saving my life."

"Instinct," Gideon replied, looking so happy it hurt, and then his expression changed. His hands ceased their wandering to grip her shoulders. He pushed her slightly away. "If you're doing this out of gratitude...," he said, clenching his teeth, struggling with himself so valiantly it stole her breath. "If you're doing it out of gratitude," he said again, "don't do it at all."

"I'm grateful to be alive so I
can
do it." Ophelia teased herself lightly across his penis, nuzzled and scraped her fangs against his throat, worked her way back to the intoxication of his mouth. "You taste so good." She ran her nose past his armpit and the zing shuddered all the way to her clit. "You smell spectacular. So strong, so alive." So hers.

"As long as you won't regret it afterward." Gideon ran his teeth along her lip and tugged gently. The corner of his mouth lingered against hers, and his breath shivered hot on her cheek. "As long as you really want me."

The hell with caution. The hell with consequences, too. Ophelia reached down and poised him against her opening. "You want the truth?"

He smiled up at her, a crooked adorable smile, and his hands clamped hard on her hips. He nudged the tip of his penis gently into her, teasing back. "Tell me, sweetheart."

"I've wanted you from the moment we met." She took his face in her hands and kissed him hard. "When you started arguing with me, I wanted to throw you down on the mud and have my way with you then and there." She clutched him, aching with need. "It was torture keeping my hands off you."

"Mud, here and now," growled Gideon into her mouth. "Hands all over each other. My way, your way. Fuck me
hard
." His words dissolved into an inarticulate sound of pleasure as he thrust himself deep inside her.

She heard her own moan through a burst of heat, rocking against him, coming already, way too soon. "Oh, damn!"

"Bust it out all over me, honey. It'll be good. It'll be fine." Gideon held her still and tight as she shook, then brought her back up fast before she'd hardly gone down, his hands tasting every inch of her, playing at her breasts and spreading her ass, his slick fingers and hot breath sending her soaring as he drove up into her, shooting them both toward another glorious peak.

"Oh God," Ophelia said, "I
deserve
this!" She thrust herself hard against him.

"Hell, yes," Gideon panted, gripping her ass cheeks, licking her fangs.

"Do you realize how long it's been?" Ophelia gasped. "I'm a
vamp
." She thrust at him again. "It's my right!"

"Inalienable, honey. All yours." He laughed and pulled back, and his voice came out hoarse and harsh. "Bite me." He gripped her hips and rocked deep into her. "Do it now."

"Not yet." Ophelia writhed in his musk and his heat, rode him up the crescendo, and then her fangs took over, extending all the way, drawing her relentlessly toward him.

"Please," he gasped. She sank her fangs into his shoulder. His blood seared through her. He shot hard inside her, over and over, with a long, tortured groan.

This time, there was no coming back. She pulled out her fangs, licked the tiny puncture wounds, and fell immediately into a warm, relieved darkness.

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

Gideon woke first to an overwhelming contentment, then to the rueful knowledge that he'd screwed up even more now than before. He hadn't slept long, by the position of the sun through the willow leaves, but the sniper had had plenty of time to cover his tracks. If he'd tried to follow them downriver, there might have been telltale signs in the mud of the construction site, but by now, an hour or so into the workday, they'd be covered and mingled with those of workers and trucks. He put his arms around Ophelia, knowing he should be hurrying over there, rushing to town to deal with the murder case before the trail went cold, but not really caring about anything except Ophelia asleep on his shoulder and that his instinct was back at last.

But instinct had a mind of its own, and it gave him no clue how to deal with Ophelia now. She slept so peacefully, her breath light on his chest, her eyelashes lush against her cheeks. She stirred, and his response was so immediate that he had to laugh at his own helplessness. Another instinct knew what it wanted, that was for damn sure.

Ophelia's eyelashes fluttered. She squirmed languidly. "Mmm."

Mmm, indeed.
Gideon rolled her under him, kneed her legs apart and entered her with one smooth stroke.

"Thank you," Ophelia murmured, twining her legs around his and arching toward him. "I need this." She moved with breathtaking voluptuousness. "Vamps aren't supposed to do without."

So hot, so ready. He needed this, too. "You don't have to do without anymore."

Ophelia sighed and opened her eyes. "Shouldn't you go to work?"

Gideon pulled almost out of her and slid easily back in. "Uh-huh." He set up a slow, lazy rhythm. "I'm completely screwed."

"Might as well enjoy it," Ophelia said, pulling his mouth down to hers. And they didn't speak again until they lay once more, sated, on the mud under the willows.

A soft whimper on the bank above broke the spell.

"Gretchen came home. Good."

"Home?"

Gideon pulled their soggy clothing out from under the bank. "This is my property. You can't see much from the river, but we're only fifty yards from my house."

"You own the weeping garden?" Ophelia scrambled naked up the bank behind Gideon and followed him into the tangled mess she had coveted for at least a year. With deep woods on either side and across the river, Gideon's garden was a secret paradise. Or had been, years ago.

"The what?"

"Weeping garden. It's crying out for care and attention." Ophelia picked her way gingerly up the twisting pathway past more poison ivy than she had ever seen in her life. "It used to be a beautiful garden."

"How can you tell?" Gideon turned to survey the jungle, but inevitably his eyes rested on Ophelia instead. "Honey, I can't think about plants even under ordinary circumstances. I hate to have to find some clothes for you."

"You do have a fig tree," Ophelia said, motioning ahead to the right. "But this isn't the Garden of Eden. Not any longer, that is."

"It wasn't an Eden before, either," Gideon said dryly. "It was my mother's refuge from my dad. The plants didn't walk away when she talked to them. They flourished under her care."

"Maybe they listened to her," Ophelia said.

"She drove him nuts with her yammering," Gideon said.

"Maybe if he'd been listening to start with, she wouldn't have had to yammer."

"Chicken and egg," Gideon said. "All I know is, by the time Art and I were old enough to understand, she was a nag and he was a pigheaded old bastard, and it was way too late for any remedies. I swore then that I would never become my old man." He opened the gate, where Gretchen waited on the outside and two German shepherds paced in a small fenced yard shaded by a mature river birch. "Meet Daisy and Belle."

She followed Gideon and the milling dogs to the house, an elegant old Victorian with fresh sea green paint and cream trim. They strode up a flight of steps to a wide back deck with wooden benches, a barbecue, and yards of planking asking for potted plants. Gideon stopped. "Whatever my father believed was right, regardless of the consequences, regardless of others. Everybody else was stupid." He shook out his wet trousers, fished for his key ring, which had miraculously stayed in the pocket, and opened the back door.

The interior shone, tiled and painted and clean. Well, except for a few dirty dishes in the sink, but for a bachelor home with three dogs...

"You like it?"

A sense of oppression that had been creeping up ever since they had stepped onto the riverbank blanketed itself over Ophelia. "I'm not much into houses, but yeah, I do. I really do." The ideal lover with the perfect garden--but she was nowhere near ideal or perfect or even safe.

Gideon tossed their wet clothes into a laundry basket. "I enjoy taking care of the house, but I can't stand yard work."

Unbelievably perfect...but I can't do it.
She waited bleakly for him to bring it into the open so she could tell him no, but he didn't, merely led her up the stairs to a vast bedroom with a skylight above in which danced leaves and the sky, then through to a bathroom with a toilet, sink, and hexagonal-stall shower. The other half of the room was sealed off with plastic sheeting.

"Theoretically, it's for a tub, but I never take baths, so it's last on my list." He turned on the shower and motioned her inside. "What's wrong?"

"Real life," Ophelia said. "Intruding on our little idyll."

"We can do some more idylling later," Gideon said. He poured shampoo into Ophelia's hand and then his own. "Still no idea who might have it in for you?"

Oh, right. Someone had tried to kill her. "No." She noticed the shampoo and halfheartedly lathered her hair.

Gideon scrubbed vigorously. "The poison in your garden. Is that something permanent? Does it ruin your land for years, anything like that?"

"No, I'm pretty sure he used my nontoxic weed killer. I can plant again anytime."
But I don't want to. Not there. I want to plant here. And to plant here, I have to get away from there. And there's only one way to do that.
"It absorbs through the leaves and kills the plants, but it breaks down within a few days."

"Still, why dump a body in your truck yesterday afternoon, poison your garden last night, and try to shoot you this morning?" He took the showerhead off its hook and rinsed her hair.

"Weed killer doesn't work that fast." Ophelia stood quiescent under the warm flow. "Judging by how much I had left in the bottle and how many plants he killed, and taking the weather into account, he did it at least three days ago."

"Huh. Still, it looked like vengeance or intimidation up till this morning. It's a big jump to attempted murder. What happened to change his mind?"

Ophelia shrugged, a far grislier problem than an attempt on her life exercising her mind. She wanted this garden. She even wanted the house, as long as she didn't have to take care of it. And she definitely wanted this man.

You know what you have to do first,
she reminded herself.
You were planning it anyway, deep down.
But that had been planned for some time in the unforeseeable future.

"Do the Wylers have a rifle? Does Donnie Donaldson? Plato? Hello?"

Ophelia dragged herself back to the present. "Everybody has a rifle out here. Well, maybe not Plato, but he would defend me to the death. Why were you harassing him last night?"

"I wasn't harassing him." Gideon lathered up the soap and handed it to her, then quickly soaped himself all over. "He told me he intends to keep an eye on your place."

"Like he doesn't do that already. You don't mind him--uh--worshipping me?"

"His problem, not mine. I have his goddess in my shower." He took the soap from Ophelia, lathered it up again, and set to work on her. "Do you go down to the river regularly?"

"Most evenings. Mornings, too, if I'm not busy." She closed her eyes, but the images of what she had to plan, what she had to do, wouldn't go away. She leaned her forehead against Gideon as he soaped her, his big gentle hands comforting and kind. A dream garden. Excellent sex. Seemed okay with the fangs. Not prone to jealousy. Liked housework. She had to go through with it. The unforeseeable future was now. "Ooh." She sagged against him.

"Hello?" Gideon's hand left her clit to take down the showerhead. "Are you listening to anything I'm saying? Now I know how my mom felt."

Ophelia chuckled. "Maybe she was using the wrong methods to get your dad's attention."

"Jeez." Gideon rinsed her right armpit and then her left. "Not something I want to think about. Bend over."

Ophelia obliged. "Why not? They must have done it more than the twice it took to produce you and Art. Coming from such a screwed-up, inhibited family, I'm amazed you turned out so well."

"I planned it that way." He tapped her lightly on the rear, turned off the water and hung the showerhead on its hook. "Who, besides your neighbors, knows you go down to the river?" He handed her a huge, fluffy white towel.

"The people who live in the houses across the water from my property. We wave hello now and then. Sometimes the construction workers whistle at me, but none of them have gotten close enough to get hit by my allure, so they don't see me as anything but another attractive woman." She pondered a moment. "A real-estate agent who's selling homes in the new subdivision next to the golf course. He insisted on a tour of my land, although I told him I'm not planning to sell anytime soon." She shrugged. "None of these people have any reason to harm me. You can't possibly expect me to wear only that!"

Gideon grinned down at the oversize T-shirt he was holding out: a double-extra-large Constantine Dufray shirt, of all things, the back sporting an iron-on photo of a shirtless, wild-haired Constantine on stage. "Art won it, but it was too big for her, so she gave it to me."

"How am I going to get home? I can't walk down the highway half-naked, and your car's at my place." She pulled the T-shirt over her head.

"I'll get someone to pick us up. There, see? Constantine's covering your ass, which I assume he's done many times in the past. Is that why you're so blase about somebody trying to kill you?"

Ophelia scowled. "He's been a good friend to me. Don't you dare dis him!"

Gideon calmly pulled on khaki pants and tucked in his shirt. "I'm not dissing him. But you're not taking this situation anywhere near seriously enough, honey. I want to know why."

Ophelia shifted a shoulder. How could she run this game? Because that's how she had to see it. She had to make a game plan and carry it through, and stay as close to the truth as possible.

"I guess I assume you'll take care of it, just like Constantine and Lep have done in the past. I have other things to think about. I have to buy more maple trees and plant them for a customer. Unless you got my trees out of jail?"

"Not the trees, no, but your pocketbook and clipboard are in my car. Not the work boots. Theoretically--and no, this is not my idea--there may be evidence on the soles."

Ophelia narrowed her eyes. "You know perfectly well--"

"I know perfectly well that if I don't appear disinterested, the chief will take me off this case. People will find it way too easy to start with the 'corrupt and incompetent' crap again, after that fiasco with Constantine last year. Which will piss me off, because this case is my business, and which will piss my boss off, because in order to keep his cushy job, he'll have to do the work himself. We're a small outfit. We don't have to investigate many homicides, because when your underworld friends are annoyed with someone, they just make him disappear."

Ophelia muttered something unconvincing about corruption, her mind elsewhere already. Trees, estimates, and a major purchase, all today. "Do you have a computer? Can I get online?"

When Joanna Wyler's bus pulled up in front of the middle school, thirty minutes late due to a breakdown, Zelda Dupree experienced a miraculous turn for the better.

"The cramps are gone," she told the nurse. "Sometimes a little horizontal time is all it takes." Never mind that she had spent most of the last half hour bolt upright, glaring out the window of the school clinic, the only room at the front of the school to which she had access at this hour of the day, and had only started her period two months ago and been so far cramp free. She grabbed her hall pass and zapped out of the clinic and through the front doors of the school, pushing herself neatly in beside Joanna as she exited the bus.

"You said you liked my aunt Ophelia!" Zelda said. At the sight of Joanna's blotchy face and swollen red eyes, her tender side reluctantly emerged. "What's wrong? You look terrible."

Joanna burst into tears and walked faster.

"Don't cry, dummy," Zelda said. "You'll look even worse." She rooted in her jeans for a tissue and found nothing. All the better. She couldn't afford to soften yet.

"I can't help it." Joanna wiped her nose on her sleeve, and the books she carried slipped askew. She clutched them against her unwieldy chest and hurried ahead.