I wait for a feeling to hit me. Any sensation. Nothing.
She glides across the worn linoleum and reaches me, her expensive perfume clogging my senses. “You’re free.”
I turn to face her more fully. While the years apart had been rough on Garik, she looks better than ever. Her blue eyes sparkle in her still unlined face, probably helped along with Botox and whatever other treatments have been invented lately. The dress clasps in a halter behind her neck, leaving her toned shoulders and arms bare.
She blinks at my lack of answer and looks up at my face. “Did you kill him?”
It’s the first time she’s actually asked the question. After my arrest, she cried a lot for the media, making herself into a victim instead of an adulterous thrill seeker. “I figure you did.”
Her smile is catlike. “We both know that’s not true.”
Do we?
She runs a bright red nail down my arm. “These clothes don’t suit you.” Her color heightens and her perfect nostrils flare. Like a horny mare’s would. “I’ve missed you. Even if you are homicidal.”
I missed her for my first six months in prison while I tried not to be shanked in my sleep. In my youth, I thought myself in love with her.
An emotion I will never allow myself to feel again—if that had been real. I have my doubts. Either way, I’ll never be unguarded and vulnerable to anybody again. The image of sweet Rosalie flashes through my mind, and my muscles tighten. I need to work that woman out of my system.
“That’s the look I remember,” Blythe purrs, stepping closer.
“The look isn’t for you.” I remain in place, unwilling to move away.
She laughs, the once twinkling tone sounding grating now. “Do you have a new lover named Bubba? I’ve heard the joint can change a man.”
Her using the word ‘joint’ shows her absolute stupidity. So I step into her, forcing her to tilt her head back to see me. I hope that she actually does. “If I discover you set me up and sent me to hell for seven years, you’ll beg for death long before I grant it.” Adding one more name to the kill list coming my way will take minimal effort.
She blinks. Once and then again. Her flared nostrils widen—from arousal to fear instantly. Yet she masks the emotion. Somewhat. “You and I had the real thing. Our love was true and can be again.” Going with her strengths, she moves in, her full breasts brushing my lower chest. She smells like money. “Even if you stabbed him to death. That’s in the past.” Her lids partially cover her eyes.
“You’re in the past.” Gripping her bare arms, I lift her and plant her ass on the bar.
Her eyes widen and meet mine, and a small smile curves her blood-red lips. Then, smoothness gained from, no doubt, many Pilates classes, she shifts, turns, and slides down on her belly while lifting her skirt up and showing her bare butt.
How many times had I taken her against that old bar? She likes it rough.
So do I.
“No,” I say softly, tamping down on anger.
She pivots and stands so suddenly, her long blond hair flies in every direction. “No?” she repeats, her eyebrows rising faster than her shrill tone.
I step back, enjoying her confusion. Years ago, I would’ve fucked her until she begged to come. Had more times than I could count. We had both played at being something we weren’t. Me, a playboy, music-playing rich kid. Her, an adventurous and trapped wealthy woman. We were both useless assholes.
Her skirt falls down to her thighs. “You’ve changed.”
“Yes.” I stare back evenly, letting her see the killer set loose inside me. There is no containing him. I don’t want to hide him any longer. “You want to stay the hell away from me. And if you are the person who set me up, you should start running now.” I’ll find her but I have work to finish first.
She licks her lips, the movement nervous ... and aroused. Her gaze runs over my body and flares with interest. She’s not smart enough to see the killer inside me and thinks I’m playing like we used to do. “I know exactly how to make you happy.”
True. Her mouth held more talent than an experienced call girl. I stare at her. How in the hell had I allowed her into my world years ago? Talk about my having no standards.
She smiles again. Reaches for me.
I lean around her and fetch my bag off the bar. “I’m done with whores.” With that, I turn and stride toward the battered door.
“You’ll regret this,” she shrieks, her voice reaching the rafters and probably scaring the shit out of the spiders.
I pause and glance over my shoulder, watching her until she visibly shrinks. “I’ve given you the only warning you’ll get.” Then I push open the door and forge into the storm.
