Her attention darted over his shoulder to one of the severalpaintings in which, Loren knew, the walls had eyes.
A warning.
One she likely never gave another client.
Loren sighed.
It never failed to surprise him.
Give a whore an orgasm, and they became aggravatinglyclingy.
He turned from her and reached for his frock coat.
“Loren,” she said his name so low he had to turn back to herto prove he’d heard it.“You should—”
She lost his attention when he felt how his coat bunched inhis hand.
Or, more precisely, what shouldn’t bunch, but did.
He looked at his coat, running it through his fists.
By the gods, he’d thought they’d let him through unscathed.
He hadn’t even felt it.
However, what he felt in that moment was the bed move asMayda shifted in it.He heard the velvet and silks of the covers slidingagainst each other as she pulled them to cover her, but he glanced about thefloor just in case it had fallen out.
It had not.
“Loren, I—”
“Silence,” he hissed.
“It wasn’t my ide—”
He turned his head to her.
She quieted.
“Did you do it?”he asked.
She shook her head.
“Is it here?”
She bit her lip.
And shook her head again.
That was when he heard it.
A noise in the hall.
Abruptly standing, he pulled on the coat, then he sat yetagain, swiftly.He lifted one boot to his other knee, reached to the inner baseof the heel, and hit the miniscule catch with his thumbnail.
Winnow didn’t allow weapons in her establishment.
He had his suspicions, these being why he was there at all,but now he knew it was for this very reason.
