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But its owner, apparently, was not as uncomplicated as he’d seemed.

There was a magnificent royal blue comforter on the bed, plump and ripe with down, it’s upper corner turned teasingly back. The candle he’d lit glowed gold and smelled of spring flowers, and he’d put thick, cranberry-colored draperies in the place of the headboard, as if to shield the intimate scene from prying eyes.

But the biggest change, the largest shadow to catch her eye was cast by a large, rectangular divider which separated the bed from the
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rest of the room—from the world itself. She nearly gasped at the sight of the multitude of supple, orgiastic figures as they danced in the wavering golden light, their intimacies brought to life right before her eyes.

“The Screen. The one you refused to give Milton. The one you wouldn’t let me even wave a paintbrush at. That gorgeous screen you created out of that magnificent burled wood, and refused to sell. So this is where you put it.”

*

*

*

Russell’s hand tightened about her waistline, splaying across her stomach and gradually drifting lower. “I put it here because it was the best thing I’d ever done. I put it here because you’re the only person in the world I could imagine sharing it with.” His forefinger lingered on the indentation of her bellybutton. “I put it here to keep the outside world outside, to create my own very private…place, I guess you’d call it.”

He sighed, obviously frustrated at the inadequacy of his choice of words. “I was never able to explain how much it meant to me, how I carved out every ivy leaf, every acorn, every single one of those plump grapes without a pattern or template.” Moving behind her, he
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lightly nuzzled the nape of her neck, and she shivered at the touch of his lips. “Every one of those figures had a life, a personality to me.

Each one of them told me what they wanted, how they wanted to be portrayed.” Tasting the tender edge of her ear, he allowed the quilt to fall away, already beginning to perspire despite the chill of the old cold room. “They told me what kind of sex they enjoyed, Iris. And I did my best to give them exactly what they wanted.

“Remember I told you that I’d decided to use multiple coats of wax instead of varnish? Those figures were so real to me that I wanted the wood to be able to breathe. There’s a special glow to something waxed with care, you know. Like the flush of a woman’s cheek after she’s been well-satisfied.”

“I remember.” She suddenly seemed unsteady on her feet, her voice vague and unsure. “I remember something about the wax…”

“It all turned out to be a lot more trouble than I thought it would. The finest sandpaper, the best steel wool, and the best buffer I could manage. After all my intricate carving and preparation, the wood’s surface had to be scored, ever so slightly.”

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He lightly raked his nails up her diaphragm, and heard her breath catch in her throat. “Wax. Lots of soft, buttery wax,” he murmured into her ear. “I lost count of how many coats of wax.”

Russ had not planned this approach. But everything he had planned had gone haywire. And he could feel the heat of her body through the tee shirt, could tell that her breathing had become shallow and irregular.

And he was already ready, more than ready. He was hard and pulsing, dying to end his agony inside her.

Moving closer, he pressed his hips suggestively against hers, keeping his voice languid and inviting. “And the buffing,” he breathed, beginning a slow, inviting gyration. “Not to mention all of the endless hours of rough and gentle buffing…”

He felt her relax against him, his teeth tightening at the feeling of her softness against him. He was going to take his time with this if it killed him. And it probably would. “Tell me what else you see.”

She seemed dazed, responsive to his every move, but absorbed in the game. “Something else,” she murmured, her eyes taking in every dark corner as he deftly, almost imperceptibly, unbuttoned the waistband of her pants. “Something else …”

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He pulled her shirt from the confines of her trousers, his hands slipping inside as he felt her breath catch. “Oh, wait. The bed!” She pointed as if finding a treasure, even as his fingertips skimmed the lower swell of her bosom. “Your bed is made up. I’ve never seen your bed made up. You’re right, I remember—you’re a slob. ‘Why bother?’

you always said. ‘I’m just gonna jump right back in it.’ But it’s perfect! The comforter looks brand new. Not a wrinkle, not a crease.

And the corner’s turned down, and you’ve got…” She choked off a gasp as he tentatively, delicately cupped her breasts. “You’ve got satin sheets?!”

Her skin was smoother, softer than anything ever manufactured by man, the firm mounds molding perfectly into his hands. Unable to contain himself, he lovingly squeezed them until she pressed her behind against him, her eyes slowly drifting shut.

“Not yet,” he whispered. She had to be ready for him. He’d been waiting his whole life for her. “Not yet. What else do you see?”

Her breathing was becoming harsh in the dead silence of the room. “There’s—there’s a bottle of champagne—another one—on the nightstand by the bed. But why—”

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He smiled into the softness of her short hair as he ground against her, harder, more aggressively. “Looks like I was hoping for company, doesn’t it?”

He could feel her heart racing beneath his hands, even as she attempted a note of levity. “Charlene Weller, perhaps?”

He thumbed both of her nipples, and her head fell sharply back against his shoulder as she sighed. “Enough. The guessing game’s over. Yes, I was expecting company. I was hoping to enjoy the favors of the girl in the picture by the bed.”

His fingers were actually trembling with eagerness. This had to be the time. He would lose his mind if he couldn’t have her now. “I know it doesn’t seem like much. But all of my little efforts here were for her. I wanted to blot out everything else, so she’d feel like…like we were the only two people left in the world.”

Russell’s hands swept down from her breasts and crept into her pants, easing downward with a patience he did not know he possessed. “I was going to carry her up to this bed, rip her clothing to shreds, and lose myself inside of her until she screamed--and then screamed for more.”

“Picture?”

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Her voice was gone, some pale imitation of itself trying desperately to hang on to reason. With the probing fingers of one hand, he made his way between her thighs, lightly grazing the silky fabric there, already wet with expectation. “The picture by the bed.”

She leaned forward slightly to get a better view of the small golden frame, and he groaned, the hunger of his erection roaring in his ears from the pressure of her buttocks.

“The picture—it’s me!” She turned to face him. “It’s my high school portrait. You keep a picture of me by your bedside?”

Unwilling to relinquish so much as an inch, he kept his hands inside her trousers, sliding them around to her backside and gripping it possessively. “It was as close as I could come to having you here—except in my dreams.”

He began to back her, inch by inch, toward the bed. “I never knew how to put it into words, how to tell you. But in my fantasies, I never had to use words. I just showed you how much I wanted you.

Night after night after night.” He placed his mouth against hers, tasting her, then devouring her, more insistently, with all the pent-up passion of the months he’d waited. “God, Iris. God, let me show you.”

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Her knees buckled against the edge of the bed and he grabbed her, gently guiding her down beneath him and hurriedly lifting the shirt. She seemed stunned as he slipped between her legs and grasped her bare breasts, taking one immediately into his mouth.

Iris inhaled sharply as he tongued her nipple, that taut, teasing peak that had tortured him for years, peeking from beneath thin slivers of clothing in the heat and blatantly budding beneath his gaze when the temperatures were cold. She tasted of honey and heat, of lingering longing, and he suckled hungrily. His at last, and well worth the wait…

“Wait.”

It was his turn to feel stunned as he paused, his head swimming with one overwhelming purpose. “What? What did you say?”

She firmly placed her hands flat between them, giving his chest a determined push. “I said wait. Hold on just one minute here.”

She couldn’t mean it. She was breathing as heavily as he was, her skin hot and moist to the taste. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

She stared at him as if he were a complete stranger. “You were telling the truth.”

“Yes! I told you it was time for truth.”

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“Then…then you really did invite me here to try to seduce me?

You’ve wanted me all along?”

“All along.” He licked stern circles around her nipples with a stiff tongue. He smiled as they peaked for him, darkening and begging for more. “And now that we know we both want each other--

“

“So you told the truth about lying?”

What was this? What the hell was this? He was tasting her, touching her, seated between her legs, rock-hard—and she was saying what? “Huh?”

“This is the true truth?”

“Of course. What…”

“You lying, conniving sonofabitch.” She gave him a hard shove and slid from beneath him, pulling her shirt down and securing it in her pants, her face red with anger. “You led me on! You let me proposition you, let me make a fool of myself while you sat back and sucked it all up! And all the time…”

He lay upon his stomach, open-mouthed in total disbelief. “And all the time I wanted you too! Can’t you see? That’s what makes it perfect! You were just as determined. You didn’t want to die
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celibate—remember? Wanted to live life to the fullest, right? What difference does it make who propositioned who?”

“It was deceitful,” she spat, fumbling with her zipper.

Russell rolled limply over on his side.

He was not surprised when the laughter began to gurgle out of him; slowly, reluctantly at first, then with increasing force, until tears were crowding his eyes.

For now he knew the truth, the real truth, at last.

And the truth was that she had, finally, driven him mad.

Hormonally, completely, stark, raving mad.

She fastened her waistband with a flourish. “You don’t seriously think I want to have what may be my last orgasm with somebody who would deceive me?”

It would all be very simple, he mused, falling onto his back and massaging his tense stomach muscles. He would wait until she was asleep. Yes, that was it. She must sleep sooner or later. And then he’d do it. He’d smother her with one of those soft, plump sofa pillows she’d arranged so very nicely for their comfort…

Iris stomped over to the other side of the bed and snatched her picture from the nightstand, energetically tossing it into a small
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wastebasket. She stopped before the mirror to finger-set her hair back into place and took a deep breath. “I think I’m ready for that dinner now.” Turning on her heel, she stalked from the room.

So nice and clean, he mused. Yes. Asphyxiation would be the least messy way to do it. He had a large property. He could bury her somewhere on it. Anywhere. He could relax on his porch come warm summer evenings, and stare at the spot in satisfaction. And chances were the body might never be found--if there was anybody alive out there to find it. He chuckled to himself, mentally planning every minute detail.

And even if the body was found, once he explained his motives, once he revealed what had happened, as long as the jury had even one man seated on it, he would never be convicted. Never.

Russell dragged his sore, aching body up from the bed, staring at the strange, bedraggled being in the mirror. His nose was swollen, the skin on his face chapped, his pupils peculiarly large and dark.

It was, of course just another foolish fantasy. As if he could ever harm a hair on her hard little head.

Cloaking himself in the blanket again, he slowly made his way down the stairs. He could hear her fumbling around in the kitchen.

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He was still horny as hell, but he was even more hungry. He had not eaten all day. And there was still that little matter to attend to in the basement, the big secret he still kept from her.

He might be crazy, but he was not stupid. The only important truth had been revealed. He’d seen the signs, read all the signals.

She still wanted him as much as he wanted her. And as long as they were stuck here together, he still had a chance.

And the next time that chance presented itself, he intended to take full and complete advantage of it.

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C H A P T E R 9

Boy, she was good ‘n mad at him.

He could tell by the way the pans were being banged around.

Russell eased quietly down the cold, dark stairs to the basement. If there’d ever been any doubt in his mind before, there was very little now. Iris Foley was the most important thing in the world to him. And she was going to be his.

However, for the moment, even she would have to wait. There was something here he urgently needed to take care of.

And then he’d prepare her for The Time.

As the faint beam of the flashlight swept the room, he listened carefully. For the response from It. For any sound that might indicate she was coming or spying on him. He’d even removed his shoes, wary of making too much noise during his descent.