Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Then, with a ragged breath, he puts his hand on my back and rubs his seed onto my skin, down over the back of my dress.
You’ll ruin it, I want to tell him, but I can barely breathe, let alone speak.
Besides, he just told me he was going to ruin me.
“There,” he says thickly, leaning back. “Now when you go back out there, they’ll know you’re mine. I’ve marked you.”
I lift my head, glancing at him in the mirror. “What are you, an animal?”
He meets my eyes and yet doesn’t smile. “Yeah. I think I might be.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “You got a problem with that, kitten?”
I can’t help but give him a sated grin. “Not at all.”
Then he tucks his cock away and helps me straighten up. The heat starts to dissipate from his eyes, clarity taking over. He even looks a little sheepish as he nods at my face. “Sorry about your makeup. You might want to reapply.”
The return of the Callahan I know feels like a splash of cold water. I nod, putting my breasts back inside the dress and smoothing it down, then patting my hands over my head. Suddenly I feel sheepish too, as if we’d both been drugged so we’d fuck ourselves in a frenzy.
“You better get going,” I tell him, fear returning. “If Marco catches you here…”
“I’m gone,” he says, leaning in to give me a sweet kiss on the cheek before striding toward the door. He picks up his jacket, swinging over his shoulder, then looks at me with his hand on the knob.
“So?” he says, a slight curving smile in his serious façade. “Was I bigger and better?”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Get out of here, Callahan.”
But from the way he nods, a hint of satisfaction in his gaze, I think he knows the answer.
Yes. He was. In every way that counts.
He leaves and closes the door behind him and I nearly collapse back against the vanity, trying to make sense of everything that just happened.
So much for keeping him at arm’s length.
13
CALLAHAN
The taste of her lingers on my tongue.
I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling as dawn filters through the blinds, casting stripes across my chest. Sleep came fitfully, interrupted by dreams of Lena—her scent, her skin, the sounds she made when I took her against the dressing room vanity. The way she looked in the mirror, mouth open, pure lust.
I close my eyes, feeling the ghost of her body against mine, and my cock stirs in response. Christ, what’s happening to me? I’ve never behaved like that with a woman before—demanding, possessive, almost brutal in my need. Something savage took over in that dressing room, something I barely recognized as myself.
Yet I can’t muster any real regret, only a growing hunger for more.
More, I want so much more.
The memory of Lena’s dress still bearing evidence of my claim as she returned to the stage sends another surge of heat through me. Marking her like that in front of Marco and his cronies was reckless, dangerous, even if they didn’t quite know what I’d done backstage. But they could have interrupted us. Found us. I could have put her at risk. Could have put us both at risk.
The thought of Marco Russo brings a wave of rage so sudden and intense that I have to grip the sheets to steady myself. The image of his hands on Lena, his ownership of her, makes the blood boil in my veins. It’s more than jealousy—it’s something primal, territorial.
Mine, not his.
I shake my head, trying to clear these possessive thoughts. Lena isn’t mine. She isn’t anyone’s. But that doesn’t stop the fierce, protective fury that rises whenever I think of Marco touching her, let alone anyone else.
I force myself out of bed, downing two aspirin for the pounding in my skull. The blackout in Elysian Park two days ago was the worst yet—nearly twelve hours lost, and waking with the taste of blood in my mouth. I know I need to seek help for this, but there isn’t any time.
Right now, I have to see her again.
She’s the real medicine I need.
I make it as far as the telephone before reason reasserts itself. What exactly is my plan? Show up at her apartment, demand more of whatever madness overtook us last night? I’ve got a murder investigation to focus on—two murders that are clearly connected, now that we know about Sylvia Winters. I need to keep my head clear to solve those and prevent more from happening. Something tells me this killer won’t stop with Elizabeth Short. It’s only a matter of time.
Instead, I call Norma at the office, tell her I’ll be out following leads today. She doesn’t ask which leads. Smart woman.
By noon, I find myself parked half a block from Lena’s apartment building anyway.