Part 2 (1/2)
He could've been here in the room with her, for all the sound quality the system possessed.
Dawn couldn't help rubbing her hands over her arms to chase away the goose b.u.mps. Hot goose b.u.mps, too, like his voice was physically running up and down her skin.
Unable to help it, she nervously laughed at herself.
Even though I'm a sick puppy when it comes to men, she thought, this is ridiculous.
”I'd rather stand,” she said, ”just to be prepared for any other s.h.i.+t that might come down. Where the h.e.l.l are you?”
”Dawn.”
Her belly twisted at the way he'd shaped her name, drawing it out, toying with it. Without thinking, she took a step.
He continued. ”Now make yourself comfortable.”
She kept moving, just like she had no mind of her own. Strange.
But...hey, since they were going to have a conversation anyway, she found a nice velvet couch and crashed on it. Then, propping her ankle on her knee and slinking down, she ignored her still-singing nerves. They were electric with an afterglow she'd rather forget. And enjoy.
”So.” She gestured around the office, toward the speakers. ”This is realCharlie's Angelsof you.”
He ignored her sarcasm. ”It's good to finally meet you.”
Foreign. Yeah, there was definitely some mystique in his buried accent.
”I'd like to say the same thing, but...” She raised up her hands and allowed them to flop back down to the couch. ”You know.
My dad missing. Weird-a.s.s things happening. All that.”
”Angry.” The Voice paused. ”I don't blame you.”
”Years in the making.” This small talk made her tired. ”Why don't you start enlightening me now.”
”After a few questions.”
Wait. Who should be asking the que- ”When's the last time you talked to Frank?”
Shame suffused her, and she glanced away from the TV, The Voice. So they'd talk about her father first. No prob. ”A month ago.”
His lack of response said everything.
”We're...” She combed her fingertips over the couch. ”...not the closest.”
This time, she was the one who kept her tongue. The quietude traced the air with tension, the urge for her to explain, to make more excuses for her familial relations.h.i.+ps.
Buthissilence was needling her.
”Don't G.o.dd.a.m.n judge me,” she continued. ”He worked for you. You must be some real crackerjack PIs to figure out he was missing after only four days.”
”We wanted to be certain he was really gone before we worried you. Against my wishes, Frank had a tendency to disappear during an a.s.signment-he liked working alone-but he was never out of contact for too long. We had quite a time finding you, out there in...” He paused. ”...Virginia?”
Frank had been doing PI work? This was a joke. Her dad wasn't much for brain jobs, even by his own admission.
”A girl's got to do what she's got to do to survive,” she said, ducking the Virginia topic.
”You're not very forthcoming.”
”Quid pro quo, man. When you talk, I'll talk.”
”Dawn.”
Her eyelids weighed downward.
Jet lag, she thought. It's really hitting now. ”We expected to find you on location for a film,” he added. ”You threw us a curveball by ending up on a contracting job in a beat-up house near Arlington.”
This time, his whisper seeped into her, just as the air had earlier. Burgeoning heat flowed to the same dangerous places, making her feel a little restless, like one of those women in the paintings: stretching like a feline after a long, naked nap in the sun, purring as rays of light throbbed through her veins.
Dawn's sight went hazy, and she slipped farther down the couch, sliding her ankle off her knee, angling out her leg and allowing her thighs to part.
Mmmm. G.o.d. Warm, nice...
She thought she heard soft laughter. Without commanding herself to do it, she coaxed her palm up her hip, rubbed the coa.r.s.e denim of her jeans, traveled near the juncture of her thighs, where a stiff yearning was starting to burn again.
”Dawn?”
She started. ”Virginia...” Her tone was slurred, even though her brain was still full speed ahead. ”Took a friend up on an offer to earn a few bucks.”
And to help her hide her face until what she'd done on her last gig had been forgotten.
”'A friend'?” he asked. ”I didn't know you had many of those. Not of the female sort, at least.”
The compulsion to touch herself overwhelmed her, but she resisted, forcing her hand to the couch, leaving her frustrated, craving relief for the sharp anguish between her legs.
”What's going on?” she said, her groggy tone taking the snap out of her demand.
”You're tough to crack, Dawn. I'm glad to see it.” He was acting as if he had h.o.r.n.y, impulsive women in his office every day.
”Let me clarify my questions. Your 'friend' is the wife of one of the carpenters from the last film you worked on, isn't she? A women's studies professor who took pity on you after what happened with Darrin Ryder.”
Before she could stop the words, they came out of her mouth-fluid and easy, even as Dawn told herself not to talk.
”She was the first person to congratulate me after I was kicked off the set. There was a lot of satisfaction in the air after I gave Darrin Ryder's family jewels a proper polish.”
”Remind me never to make an unwarranted pa.s.s at you.”
Her sight was veiled by a gray mist, the feel of a man's hand trailing down her neck.
Oh.
Even though she couldn't figure out what was wrong with this picture, she smiled under the mental caress.