“I doubt it, otherwise they wouldn’t feel the need to venture out into minus four-degree weather in order to lock lips.”
“Interesting. I wonder if it’s got anything to do with the story Alice is working on. She’s definitely trying to bring down Hathaway—” I shook my head. “No, I’m not doing this. It’s none of our business what people get up to behind closed doors.”
“Or under trees.”
“Yes. Or under trees. Speaking of which,” I punched him in the arm. “You can’t keep running away every time you get emotional. I can’t deal with this on top of everything else – you’re either in this, or you’re out.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means…” I closed my eyes. Was this really what I wanted? If I pushed Morrie too much, I might end up pushing him away. But on the other hand, Morrie wasn’t the only one who was getting emotionally entangled against his better judgment. A certain master criminal had already got undermyskin, and the more time I spent with him, the harder I fell – not for the cocky guy on the surface, but the broken man underneath. I needed Morrie to trust me enough to show me more of that guy. “It means that I want all of you or none of you. You have to give in to what you’re feeling for me, or you’re out. No more sex. No more… what happened tonight—”
“It’s called an orgy,” Morrie said. “Or a foursome. A harem in reverse. Some people prefer gangb—”
“Don’t be crass.” My face flushed. “You were the one who started this, Morrie. And you’re right. Idon’twant to choose. I want you, and Heathcliff, and Quoth. I want you not just because you’re clever, but because I care deeply about you. I maybe even possibly love you.” My tongue slipped on the word, a word I’d been dancing around, not yet ready to say to any of them, even though it was probably true. I’d loved very few people in my life, and apart from my mum, they either abandoned me or stabbed me in the back. “And you’re not the only one throwing your heart on the line here, or the one with a monopoly on pain. I get your heart, or you walk away. That’s my final offer.”
I spun around and stalked from the room, leaving a stunned and silent James Moriarty on the balcony, his icicle eyes boring into my back.
Chapter Sixteen
“Get up, get up!” A pillow hit me across the face.
“Croak, croak, croak!” A raven hopped across the bed, flapping its wings frantically.
“Er, um, what?” I reached up to rub my eye. Black and white feathers sailed through the air around me.
“How dare you sleep in here withmyescort, and on the day of the ball, too!” Lydia smashed me in the head with the pillow again.
“What’s going on?” Morrie muttered, opening his eyes. “How did she get in here? We locked the door.”
“Morrie taught me how to pick a lock!” Lydia screeched, hitting Morrie over the head for good measure.
“Ow! That was because you were annoying and I wanted you to shut up for twenty minutes,” Morrie cowered under the blankets. “You weren’t supposed to use it against me.”
“Well, she did, and now she’s trying to murder us with goose down.” I pulled a feather from between my lips. “Lydia, hold on for a sec. Lydia!”
She whomped me over the head again, muffling my words with 400-count Egyptian linen. I tore the pillow from her grasp and hugged it to my naked chest. Lydia glared at me from the end of the bed.
“Sit down.” I jabbed my finger at the lounge suite arranged under the window. Lydia flopped onto the sofa and glared at me defiantly. “Let me find some jeans, then I can explain.”
“You are not even wearing bloomers?” Lydia screeched.
“Turn down the volume,” Heathcliff muttered. “Some of us are trying to get our beauty sleep.”
“I’d give up now, because not even a decade of sleep is going to help you any,” Morrie said.
“Croak!” Quoth hopped in circles around the bedsheets.
“Right. I’m sorting it.” I grabbed Lydia by the hair and dragged her into the other bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
“Ow. Unhand me, you harlot!” Lydia raked at my face with her hands. I slapped them away. “I’m going to tell everyone about your scandalous behavior—”
“No,” I said, dropping her on the bed. I went over to the mini-bar under the desk and pulled out a small bottle of whisky. I tossed one to her, and broke the cap on the other. “You’re not. Drink that.”
Lydia stared at the bottle in her hand, and then at the fridge. “Is that some kind of… futuristic icebox?”
“That’s exactly what it is.” I held up my bottle. “And it is one of the many joys of the modern world. Bottoms up.”
“Why are we drinking? You’re supposed to be explaining why I found you in a compromising state with my escort. You have your own escort – the grumpy one. Why did you have to take mine, too?”
