Part 9 (2/2)
”Flicker the lights, break a window, take the cover off a casket when a woman's tied up inside.”
”Cary Grant, my hero.”
His chin dimple deepened with his frown. ”My name is Dante Underhill, no matter who you and Dolly think I look like. I might be able to knock you off that couch, but you'll have to take my word for it, because if I showed you, I might not have enough energy left to protect you, in the event you needed protecting. Close your eyes, sweet friend.”
”I'm not sweet,” I said, doing as I was told.
”You were worried about me losing my building. I heard you say my name to that cop.”
”You listen at windows?”
”I live for the sound of human voices,” Dante whispered near my ear, and I felt a touch of ice on my brow.
No wonder Dolly fell in love with him, I thought again, as I spun into a nightmare I resisted, my world dark, my captor rough, my trust shattered . . . my body in a freefall.
I'll die when I hit bottom.
Please let me die.
Fifteen.
Fas.h.i.+on is as profound and critical a part of the social life of man as s.e.x, and is made up of the same ambivalent mixture of irresistible urges and inevitable taboos.
-RENE KONIG ”Madeira, Mad, you're crying.”
With the scent of smoke in my nostrils and the hard, cold earth at my back, I felt myself being lifted and rocked against a hard chest.
Hands large but tender stroked my hair. Strong arms enclosed me in a safe coc.o.o.n.
Maybe I didn't die.
I clung to my haven, but as I trembled from the cold, those same hands chafed my arms and my back. I warmed but held no control over my sobs, wasn't even sure they were mine.
Did they belong to the lady in the well?
Isobel.
Warmth began to seep deep into my bones, awareness, too, just enough to appreciate the heart beating beneath my ear.
”I'm alive. You smell like smoke. You should quit.”
”I hate to disappoint you, Mad, but it's me.”
”You hate me.”
”I hate what you said. Not you. We were kids.”
”You can be sweet.”
”You're talking in your sleep. I'll ignore that.”
I didn't want to leave this new dream. ”Nick smells different. Good, too, but different.”
”You think I smell good, after all that smoke? And you know it's me?”
”You wear Armani's Black Code. You're taller, broader than Nick.” I opened my eyes, despite myself, and raised my head. ”Lytton?”
”You said you knew.”
”In my sleep, maybe, but not awake.”
”Was I at the bottom of that well with you?” he asked, smoothing my hair one last time as his hand fell away. ”When you were asleep, I mean. You seemed to think I was.”
The well? Oh G.o.d, the well. ”My head hurts.” I sat up. ”The fire! My building?”
”The fire's out.” Werner straightened, too, but I was still sitting on his lap. ”You're safe. So's your building and your cat. It's nearly four in the morning.”
”Hmm. I got up at four to go to work in New York two days ago, and I haven't slept since, except for now.”
”Three hours sleep in two days?”
”Mmm.” I cuddled back into him. ”G'night.”
Slowly, reluctantly, his arms came back around me and he rested his chin on my head. ”I couldn't leave with the light still on up here. Let me take you home?”
The idea of moving seemed impossible. I shook my head against his chest. ”I'll just sleep here.”
”In my arms? Or on the sofa?”
I raised my head. ”The sofa. Of course, I meant the sofa.” My eyes closed without my permission. I knew it, but I couldn't do anything about it. Lytton's heartbeat began, again, to lull me.
He stood, carrying me with him.
”What are you doing?”
”I'm going to put you in my car and take you home.”
”Where do you live?”
His heart beneath my ear skipped a beat. ”No. To your home.”
”My father won't like that you arrested me.”
I heard the rumble of a chuckle beneath my cheek as the lights went off behind my eyelids.
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