The Collector (38 page)

She gathered the shampoo, the shower gel, strolled to the shower. “Silk's gorgeous, but jersey holds up better.”

She turned on the shower, stepped inside. Left the door open. “I did mean long, and hot, by the way.”

“Yeah, I'm getting that.”

He watched her as he undressed, the way she lifted her face to the spray, let the water run down her hair until it was sleek as a seal.

When he stepped in behind her, she turned, linked her hands behind his neck. “This is the third place I've had sex with you here.”

“Was I in a coma?”

“It was in my mind, but it was excellent.”

“Where were the other two?”

“Trust me.” She rose on her toes to meet his mouth. “You'll find out.”

He caught the scent of peaches as she skimmed her hand over his cheek, as she pressed her body, already wet and warm, to his.

He thought of the gypsy, daring a man to take her, and the faerie queen, lazily waking after taking one for herself.

He thought of her, so open, so fresh—with little secret pockets holding so much more than she revealed.

Steam rose; water pulsed. And her hands roamed over him in challenge and invitation.

The wanting of her was a constant hum in his blood. It built now with the feel of her against him, thickened like the steam with them alone in the wet and the heat.

He lifted her another inch, held her like a dancer
en pointe
, ravishing her mouth, her throat, until she fisted a hand in his hair for balance. She'd loosed something in him, she could feel it in the violent thud of his heart, in the rough race of his hands on her body.

Thrilled by it, she fell into the wild with him.

Taking, just taking, all greed and lust and insatiable hunger for flesh. The feel of it under groping hands, the taste of it along seeking tongues. With a breathless impatience, he gripped her hips, lifted her yet another inch.

And plunged into her, so fierce and desperate she cried out in shock as much as triumph.

To be wanted like this—unreasonably—and to want in return was more than she'd ever imagined knowing. She clung to him, her breath sobbing out against the sharp slap of flesh striking wet flesh.

She took him in, surrounded him, possessed as she allowed herself to be possessed.

And finally, when pleasure screamed through her, blood and bone, surrendered all.

She clung to him, would have slithered down in a liquid pool to the shower floor without his body bracing hers.

She'd lost her grip on where they were, could barely remember who they were, so just hung on with the mad gallop of her own heart thundering in her ears.

He'd have carried her into bed if he'd had the strength. Instead he held on as she did, drenched by the spray. Saturated with her.

When he had his breath back, he rested his cheek on the top of her head. “Hot enough?”

“Definitely.”

“Not especially long.”

“Sometimes you're just in a hurry.”

“And sometimes you're not.” He eased back, opened the shampoo.

He watched her face as he poured shampoo into his hand, as he slicked his hands over her hair, combed his fingers through it. Then he turned her, gathered her hair up, dug his fingers into her scalp.

A new thrill shivered along her skin. “God. You could make a living.”

“Everyone needs a fallback.”

This time, it was long.

H
e woke in the quiet dark, reached for her. A habit now, he realized, even as he did so. And rolled over, unsatisfied when he didn't find her.

He checked the time, saw it was well into the morning. He'd have been happy to stay just where he was—if she'd been there—slip into sleep, or that half-state with her.

But alone, he rose, opened the curtains and let the Italian sun beam over him.

He'd painted scenes much like this—the shapes, sunbaked colors, the textures. Beautiful, but too typical for the canvas—for his canvas.

But add a woman on a winged horse, hair flying, sword raised, it changed things. An army of women—leather and glinting armor—flying above the ancient city. Where did they go to wage the battle?

He might create it, and find out.

He walked out of the bedroom, found the large parlor as empty as the bed. But he caught the scent of coffee and, following it, found Lila in the smaller second bedroom, sitting at her laptop at a small, curved-leg desk.

“Working?”

She jumped like a rabbit, laughed. “God! Make some noise next time, or call the paramedics. Good morning.”

“Okay. Is that coffee?”

“I ordered some up—I hope that's okay.”

“It's more than okay.”

“It's probably not really hot. I've been up awhile.”

“Why?”

“Body clock, I guess. Then I looked out the window and I was done. Who can sleep with all this? Well, apparently Luke and Julie, as I haven't heard a peep out of them.”

He drank some coffee—she was right, hot it wasn't. But for now it would do.

“It was nice going out last night,” she said. “Walking around, eating pasta, having a last glass of wine together on the terrace. They're so great together.”

He grunted—thought of what he had in the vault. “Are you interested in breakfast or do you need to work awhile? I'm going to order more coffee anyway.”

“I could eat. I'm done working for now. I finished the book.”

“What? Finished? That's great.”

“I shouldn't say ‘finished' because I still need to go through and polish, but essentially finished. I finished my book in Florence. I finished my first in Cincinnati. It doesn't have quite the same cachet.”

“We should celebrate.”

“I'm in Florence. That
is
a celebration.”

But he ordered champagne, a pitcher of orange juice for mimosas. She couldn't argue with his choice—especially when Julie wandered out, sleepy-eyed, and said, “Mmmm.”

It was good, Lila realized, sharing a little celebratory breakfast with friends. She'd been alone in Cincinnati for the first, alone in London for the second.

“It's nice.” She passed Luke a bakery basket. “I've never been to Italy with friends. It's very nice.”

“This friend is dragging you out to the shops in . . . one hour,” Julie decided. “Then I'm going to check out some of the street artists, see if there's anyone I can make rich and famous. We can meet you back here or wherever you like,” she told Luke.

“We can keep it loose. I'm going to play tourist.” He gave Ash a meaningful look. “I'm hiring Ash as my personal guide. Free day, right?”

“Yeah.”

One day, Ash thought. They could all take one day. Tomorrow, there would be questions, digging, and a renewed focus. But they deserved one day of normal.

And if his friend wanted to spend it finding a ring so he could leap into marriage again, he'd be the springboard.

“Why don't we meet up again about four?” he suggested. “Have a drink, figure out what's next?”

“Where?”

“I know a place. I'll text you.”

Three hours later, Lila sat glassy-eyed staring down at the impressive pile of what she now thought of as shoe candy. Heels, flats, sandals, in every color imaginable. The scent of leather seduced her senses.

“I can't. I have to stop.”

“No, you don't.” Julie spoke firmly as she studied the mile-high pumps in electric blue with glittery silver heels. “I can build an outfit around these. What do you think? They're like feet jewelry.”

“I can't even see them. I've gone shoe blind.”

“I'm having them, and the yellow sandals—like daffodils. And the flat sandals—these, with the pretty weaving. Now.”

She sat again, picked up one of the red sandals Lila had tried on before going shoe blind. “You need these.”

“I don't need them. I don't need all this. Julie, I have two bags of stuff! I bought a leather jacket. What was I thinking?”

“That you're in Florence—and where better to buy leather? That it looks amazing on you. And that you just finished your third book.”

“Essentially finished.”

“You're having these sandals.” Julie waved one seductively in front of Lila's face. “If you don't buy them, I'm buying them for you.”

“No, you're not.”

“You can't stop me. Red shoes are classic, and they're fun, and as pretty as these are, they're going to wear like iron. You'll have them for years.”

“That's true.” Weakening, Lila thought, she was weakening. “I know better than to go shopping with you. Where am I going to keep all this stuff? I bought a white dress, and that little white jacket—nothing's less practical than white.”

“Which both also look amazing on you, and the dress will be perfect for tomorrow. With these.” She held up another shoe—strappy heeled sandals in spring-leaf green.

Lila covered her face with her hands, then peeked out between spread fingers. “They're so pretty.”

“A woman who doesn't buy shoes on a trip to Florence isn't a real woman.”

“Hey!”

“And you can leave anything you want at my place, you know that. Actually, I'm seriously thinking of looking for a bigger place.”

“What? Why?”

“I really think we'll need more room after I ask Luke to marry me.”

“Holy crap!” Stunned, Lila stood straight up, gaped, then dropped straight down again. “Are you serious?”

“I woke up this morning, looked over at him, and I knew this is what I want.” Smile dreamy, Julie laid a hand on her heart. “He's what
I've always wanted. I want him there, every morning—and I want to be there for him. So I'm going to ask him. I'm not even nervous, because if he says no I'll just push him into traffic.”

“He won't say no. Julie.” She reached over, grabbed Julie in a hard, swaying hug. “This is so great. You have to let me help plan the wedding. You know how good I am at planning.”

“I do, and I will. I want a wedding this time—I might even wear white.”

“You absolutely will wear white,” Lila decreed. “You absolutely will.”

“Then I absolutely will. It doesn't have to be a big and crazy wedding, but it has to be real.”

“Flowers and music, and people dabbing their eyes.”

“All of that this time. No running off to a justice of the peace. I'm going to stand up with him in front of family and friends—with my best friend as my maid of honor—and make promises with him. This time, we'll keep them.”

“I'm so happy for you.”

“I haven't asked him yet, but I guess it's like essentially finishing your book.” Beaming, she leaned over, gave Lila a smacking kiss on the cheek. “We're buying the shoes.”

“We're buying the shoes.”

Now she had three bags, Lila thought as they left the shop. She'd sworn she'd only buy the practical essentials, good-value replacements for what she'd culled out.

Lied to myself, she admitted, but damn, she felt really good about it.

“How are you going to ask him?” she demanded. “When? Where? I need all the details before we meet them for drinks.”

“Tonight. I don't want to wait.”

“On the terrace, at sunset.” Lila only had to close her eyes to see it. “Sunset in Florence. Trust me, I know how to set a scene.”

“Sunset.” Now Julie sighed. “It sounds pretty perfect.”

“It will be. I'll make sure Ash and I are out of the way. You'll have some wine—wear something fabulous, then as the sun sinks down, the sky over the city goes red and gold and gorgeous, you'll ask him. Then you have to immediately come tell us so we can all toast you—then go out to Lanzo's cousin's trattoria and celebrate.”

“It may not be immediate.”

“The least you can do after browbeating me into three bags of clothes is hold off on the engagement sex until after we celebrate.”

“You're right. I was being selfish. Why don't we—”

Lila grabbed her arm. “Julie, look!”

“What? Where?”

“There, up ahead. Just turning down that— Come on.”

Snagging Julie's hand, Lila began to run.

“What? What? What?”

“It's the woman, the HAG—Jai Maddok. I think.”

“Lila, it can't be. Slow down.”

But Lila bolted across the cobblestones, turned the corner—caught just another glimpse. “It's her. Take these.” She shoved the bags at Julie. “I'm going after her.”

“No, you're not.” Julie used superior size to block Lila's path. “First, it's not her because how could it be? And if it is her, you're not going after her alone.”

“I'm just going to make sure—and see where she's going. I'm going.” Smaller, but wilier, Lila feinted, ducked and skimmed by Julie's block.

“Oh, for God's sake.” Hampered by a half dozen bags, Julie scrambled behind her—and dug out her phone on the run.