Текст книги "If Looks Could Kill"

Автор книги: Heather Graham

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

8

“Gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous. Now, no smiles for this. Be sultry. Seduce the camera, Madison. We’re not being playful here, we’re smoldering, my darling. You are pure sensuality…. Give me movement, subtle movement, just a tiny bit of movement, face, eyes…Part your lips, just a hair. That’s it, perfect, perfect….”

Jaime Marquesa’s camera clicked away as he gave her his instructions. It was an outdoor shoot, on a small private spit of beach at Key West, and as Jaime moved around with his camera, his two assistants hovered in silence behind, ready to move any obstruction or raise aluminum sheets against the sun if the shot demanded it.

Madison liked Jaime, and she liked working with Michelle Michaux, a local woman who had come from Miami’s inner-city area to excel in fashion design. Of Haitian descent, Michelle had a beautiful, soft accent. Her swimwear was becoming so popular that the onetime dollar-an-hour seamstress was frequently quoted in Forbes. But she also had a deep-seated belief in giving back to her community. Today, she, Jaime and Madison were all donating their time and talents for a poster campaign to support the local arts and students interested in pursuing careers in fashion and the fine arts. The concept was Michelle’s. The theme was To Soar Where We Can Dream. To Madison, with Darryl working in Miami and anxious to spend time with Carrie Anne, the opportunity to take the few days necessary to work on the project had seemed incredibly fortuitous. She’d also been anxious to get away.

She’d been curious to discover if she had the willpower to force herself to leave Miami and slip away, knowing that Kyle was there. But if he and Jassy were getting together, she needed to keep herself out of the way. And if she had been misreading the signs…

“Sand!” Jaime exclaimed suddenly—and unhappily. He took up an admonishing stance and stared at one of his young assistants, a handsome New Yorker of Nicaraguan descent named Hector. “Sand!” he repeated.

Hector shrugged and came running forward with his little brush, carefully removing every spec of the offending sand from Madison’s buttocks.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

He winked at her with a casual shrug. “Bugger of a job, Madison, but someone’s got to do it.”

She smiled back. He wasn’t being offensive. He was Jaime’s lover.

“And I get to hold the sun shields!” George Nathan, Jaime’s other assistant, said with a sigh as he checked a light meter. George was sandy-haired, lanky, a recent graduate of the University of Miami. He’d already won a number of prizes for his own photography, but he was working with Jaime to learn from the best.

“Sun shields are important,” Hector assured him.

“But sand is more fun.”

“Boys, we’re working here!” Jaime commented with an exaggerated sigh. “Once again, same look, Madison, sultry, dreamy…Okay, she needs the scarves now. Okay, with the scarves, Madison, you play. Just play. Have fun. Run with them, keep them flying in the breeze. We are showing that dreams are spun like fine silk, that they float in the air, that they are what we make them, yes, you understand? Go with it, run with it….”

She did. Jaime was good, the best. She was certain he could have talked a five-hundred-pound bearded lady into feeling that she could be dressed up and dusted off to look just like Cinderella on her way to the ball. Playing with the silk scarves, running up and down the sand, was fun. Hard work, because—despite the fact that it was growing late in the afternoon—the sun remained intense and Jaime seemed to be taking thousands of pictures. They’d been at it all day. The stylist and makeup woman had left after the last break, and Jaime kept promising that they would be done any minute. His concept of a minute was apparently a bit different from the norm, but he brought out the very best in her, and she knew it.

At a brief pause in the shooting—with Hector once again dusting her flesh free from sand—she was stunned to look up and see Kyle Montgomery standing in the back, beside Jaime and Michelle. He was talking with them but watching Madison. He was dressed for the beach in nothing but a pair of pale blue cutoff jeans. His head was bare; he wore sandals on his feet and, in the sun, his inevitable sunglasses. He looked a lot more like part of the shoot than a dedicated FBI agent. Dark hair fell casually over his forehead; his flesh was incredibly bronzed and covered with a sheen of sweat. He might have been a lifeguard.

At times, she mused, he had been. He had worked as a lifeguard during his last two summers before college.

That was a long time ago. He was no longer a local boy.

So what was he doing here? He was supposed to be working.

Despite herself, she felt her blood begin to race. Her heart pounded; breathing became difficult. She wished Kyle had stayed in Washington.

She commanded her knees to quit feeling so weak. She chided herself in silence for letting him affect her in any way. She wondered whether, if she closed her eyes, he would disappear.

She tried it. He didn’t.

Jaime indicated with a smile that Kyle was welcome to go talk with Madison. Kyle nodded, then started walking toward her. The casual beach-boy look of his clothing was immediately belied as she felt his damning stare, despite the darkness of his glasses. He stopped dead in front of her, and she was certain that he was using all his willpower not to reach for her and shake her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him, annoyed to realize that she didn’t sound at all casual. Her voice was irritatingly shrill. She couldn’t quite seem to control it around him.

“Trying not to slap you silly,” he responded irritably.

“Why? What the hell is the matter with you?” she asked. She was genuinely puzzled, and her tone was curious.

“You,” he said simply, snatching his glasses from his face as he stared at her, eyes as sharp as green gems. “You!” he repeated, and he appeared restless and angry, running his fingers through his hair in an aggravated manner. “Damn you, Madison, what the hell are you doing here?”

Startled by the depth of his anger, she replied, “Excuse me, this is my job. I belong here. Actually, at the moment, I’m being exceptionally good. I’m working gratis for the community. You got angry when I was involved in your work. Well, I’ve taken myself far away from it, and far from you, so just what the hell is your problem?” She was proud of herself. She had spoken in a very even tone.

“It didn’t occur to you to tell anyone where you were going?” he demanded furiously.

“Darryl knows where I am—he has Carrie Anne.”

“Darryl! That’s it?”

“Wait, now, let me think. Should I have told the father of my child—who would be taking care of that child!—where I was going, or should I have thought, no, no, let me tell the stepbrother I haven’t seen in more than five years? The one who isn’t satisfied with a single thing I do?”

He did grab her then. He reached for her arm with a sudden movement that was violent in its sheer speed, drawing her closer to him, as if he needed to make sure that she could hear his every word. “No, Madison, not me. Maybe your sister, your father, someone else.”

She tried to pull free, but he wouldn’t let her go. She opted against the indignity of struggling.

“I left quite suddenly. I intended to call Dad when the shoot was done today, to let him know I’d be at his place, since he’s back up in Miami getting ready for your father’s show. But then, my father isn’t down here acting like Henry the Eighth.”

“Irresponsible little bitch!” he muttered.

Madison was completely stunned by the depth of the anger in his voice. She stiffened and forced herself to remain cool and collected. “Really? I’m so sorry you don’t approve. But I need to be responsible to Carrie Anne, not to you. And I would have called my family—”

“I thought I’d made you aware that there’s a serial killer on the loose!”

Madison held her breath, feeling as if icy waves of fury were cascading over her and giving her new strength. “There’s always a serial killer on the loose somewhere, isn’t there? I mean, isn’t that why you have your job?”

“This is different and you damned well know it.”

“So how did you find me?”

“I called everyone—including Darryl.”

Madison bit into her lower lip and sighed. “Look, you didn’t want me involved. I’m staying away.”

“Madison, damn it, they’re all redheads. Every last one of the victims—”

“They’re redheads, and they’re women, and they’re young. And I have the intelligence to be careful, Kyle.”

He frowned. “You knew they were all redheads?”

“You just told me so.”

“But you knew before I told you.”

“The girl in the vision I had was a redhead. That’s all I knew. Kyle, I can’t stop living because I’m a young woman with red hair!”

“Damn you, Madison—” he began, but he broke off, wincing, because Jaime was calling out to them. “Agent Montgomery?” Jaime came hurrying over. He was obviously concerned. “I know how important your work is, Lieutenant, but if your conversation could wait just a few minutes more…We’re ready for the next shots, and we’re losing our light.”

“I think the agent is done,” Madison said.

“No, he isn’t done,” Kyle said, staring at her hard, his dark lenses back in place. “But I can wait,” he added politely.

“Don’t you need to get back to Miami? Follow up on some clues?”

“I’m with you, Madison. Talking with the psychic. I am working.”

“Madison?” Jaime said anxiously.

“I’m ready,” she said, staring at Kyle.

He walked back to join the others. Madison was painfully aware of him, standing with his arms crossed over his bare chest, watching as the shoot continued.

He made her feel awkward. Like a little kid again, trying to play dress-up, trying to be beautiful, mature, impressive.

Jaime started sighing.

Hector went into a fury of sand-dusting, which seemed to make everything worse.

“Come on, Madison, we’re losing the light. Remember, this is for the hopes and dreams of lots of people!” Michelle said, wrinkling her nose. “I had help, Madison. My mama was on welfare. I’m not. We’re working to make people believe they can create a better tomorrow.”

“Sí, sí,” Jaime said. “Good speech, but, Madison, I don’t want a militant look here. We’re not burning bras. Right now, we’re going for soft. Sexy.”

“All she has to do to look sexy is be awake,” Michelle said, complimenting her chosen model.

“She’d be sexy as all hell eyes closed, sound asleep,” George added in a husky tone.

“Play with the camera, play with it!” Jaime reminded her. “Make love to it, yes…?”

She wanted to kill Kyle. This was an important shoot. She had to forget that he was there. She had to be completely professional. She didn’t know why Kyle made her feel as if she were a little girl, pretending she knew what she was doing. Somehow, she had to forget him!

Sure.

And so she began to use the fact that he was there. She would never be able to laugh and play and flirt with Kyle. She might as well be seductive through the camera.

She hoped she could make him suffer.

She played with the camera. She laughed, smiled, pouted, posed. She felt the luxury of the silk in her hands, felt the sun, the sand, the sheer sensuality of the day shimmering around her. The sun, sinking against the horizon. Touching, feeling. She was damned well going to be sexy. She was going to show him what he’d chosen to throw away all his life.

At last the light was gone. By that time, though, Jaime was as happy as a clam. Michelle, too, was delighted, Hector was assuring her that she’d just made him bisexual, and George was sweating.

Kyle was completely impassive.

Hector slipped a robe over her shoulders as she took a bottled water from an ice chest as they wrapped up. She knew that Kyle was behind her.

“I don’t know why you hung around. It’s boring for onlookers. Sorry, I guess there was something you wanted. Or did you come all the way back down here to yell at me for not letting more people know I’d be gone a couple of days?”

She swallowed a long drink of her water and looked at him.

His arms were still crossed over his chest; there was no sun left, but he still had those damn glasses on.

“We can talk later. Your friends and admirers want to celebrate a successful shoot and get something to eat.”

“Are you referring to my professional associates?” she inquired politely.

“Yeah, the gay guys, the woman and the tech with his tongue hanging in the sand. Them. Your professional associates.”

“Is George’s tongue really in the sand? How sweet,” Madison murmured pleasantly.

“You just might wind up with the wrong man drooling after you, Madison,” Kyle warned.

“And then again, there are those men who are completely unaffected,” she murmured. “Excuse me, I’d like to change.”

She brushed past him, hurrying up to the small house on the beach that belonged to a friend of Michelle’s.

Michelle came in to collect the bathing suits used in the shoot and help her change. Michelle, dressed in a casual, brilliantly colored sarong, was shaking her head in amusement. “My, my.”

“My, my, what?”

“That boy, he’d have been fine on the poster, as well. He’s a sexy man.”

“He’s an FBI agent. They aren’t allowed to be sexy.”

Michelle arched a brow. “He must be mighty fond of you, chérie.”

“He’s mighty mad at me, is what. I’m twenty-six, but apparently I didn’t ask the proper permission to leave town.”

Michelle made a tsking sound, shaking her head, smiling in an annoyingly knowing manner. “People only worry when they care. There are only angry when they care deeply.”

“Well, of course, I suppose…he cares about me. In his way. We were stepsiblings at one time.”

“Stepbrothers do not naturally care about stepsisters. Especially when…Well, your mama died and the relationship ended, yes?”

“My mother was murdered, and I look like my mother, and no one was able to help her. I think he has a strange sense of feeling responsible that nothing bad should happen to me.”

“You do look just like you mother, chérie. Just like.”

“Exactly. It’s all psychological. He has this idea set in his head that something might happen to me, too.”

“Looks can kill, sweetie. You be glad that big strong boy is looking after you. Now, if it were me…”

Madison tied the cotton halter dress she was wearing and looked at Michelle. “If it were you?”

Michelle winked. “I’d sleep with him.”

“I should sleep with a man just because he’s concerned about me?”

“No, no, you should sleep with him because he has good arms, a nice chest…and a good butt, too, I think. Nice skin, rugged, masculine, very good face. Take that from an artist.”

Madison couldn’t help laughing. “The goods measure up?”

“You’re a young woman. You want to sleep with a wrinkly old man?”

“No, I don’t want to sleep with a wrinkly old man—until I’m a wrinkly old woman. Honestly, Michelle, women aren’t supposed to sleep with men just because they have good bodies. There’s supposed to be a magic, a desire….” Michelle was staring at her with arched brows. Madison let out a long sigh. “I just never thought of making love with a guy simply because I’d inspected him and he had the proper body!” She was only lying a little.

“Then you are the only woman alive who has not looked at a hot body and wondered at the fantasy of a stranger. Ah, but you want love. Foolish girl. You want to fall in love. Well, let me warn you. Women, mais oui, we want to fall in love. We want romance. Men want to have sex. Good sex. Women emote, and men are moved by primal instinct.” She waved her dark, elegant fingers in the air expressively. “Men—they think with their anatomy. They look at what a woman’s body has to offer. Love is good. But if you want to fall in love…well, love is hard. Sex is easy. Maybe too easy for some people, but right now, for you?” She quirked a brow, smiling. “Be daring, chérie. You may look like a Barbie doll, oui? But you are real, and must live and breathe and make love, eh?” Again, she smiled. “This may be the age of electronics, but there is nothing like a flesh-and-blood man. Especially for a Barbie doll.”

“What does that mean?”

“Good things. That you are reserved. You spend your time with family, with little Carrie Anne. I’m trying to tell you to take a chance. Be daring.”

“Sometimes,” Madison said slowly, “chances aren’t good. Other people can get hurt.”

“And you can get hurt. It’s part of the way it goes. Pain can be the greatest teacher. It can be good. That way, we know when there is pleasure and happiness, as well. Non, ma chérie?” Smiling like the Cheshire cat, Michelle waited for her reply.

“Michelle, he’s the wrong hunk for me. He thinks I’m a witch.”

“Witches can be good. Earthy. Nurturing. And very sexy.”

“Michelle, you’re hopeless. And you don’t understand. Kyle and I have…a past.”

“No, chérie, you don’t understand. The past is gone, the future lies ahead, and the present is to be lived.”

Smiling, Michelle left, closing the door behind her.

Madison walked to the window and looked out. Michelle was talking to Kyle, her laughter melodic.

“Flirt!” Madison murmured, shaking her head as she watched her friend.

It was nearly eight o’clock, and the brilliant array of colors—oranges, crimsons, mauves, pinks, blues and golds—that streaked the sky with sunset was fading to gray.

Kyle, she saw, was watching the sky, as well. Listening to Michelle, but watching the sky. Sometimes, when she was young, they had sat together in silence in the late afternoons, watching as the sun went down. She knew that he loved the colors of sunset as much as she did. How had he stayed away from home so long?

She shook her head and swept up her purse, impatient with her moment of nostalgia. “Why can’t they make that man go to work from nine to five? Who the hell gave him permission to come down here in the middle of a case?” she muttered irritably to herself.

Madison walked out of the house, telling herself that she was cool, collected and ready to meet the others.

“I think we’re almost ready. George is getting the last of our equipment,” Hector told her cheerfully. She stood with him while they waited, watching as Kyle talked to Michelle, a few steps away, until he excused himself to take a call on his cellular phone.

George finished packing the equipment, and he, Michelle and Jaime joined Madison and Hector. George told a joke, but Madison discovered that she wasn’t listening. She felt an uneasy sensation slipping over her, as if she were being watched.

She looked around. Beach behind her, the house before her, foliage, now rustling in the night sea breeze, scattered across the area between homes in the exclusive private neighborhood. She could see no one, nothing suspicious, and she couldn’t even get a feel for an area from which someone might be watching her.

There were gates and a security guard outside the small compound of private homes. It was so unlikely that anyone could be watching them.

And still, goose bumps covered her arms.

Kyle finished his call, clicked his phone shut and returned to them.

“Well, then, where shall we go?” Jaime asked.

Everyone chimed in with a suggestion. Except for Madison.

She didn’t care where they went, as long as they left. Except that even once they started driving, she still had that uncomfortable feeling of being watched.

Kaila was tired, bone-weary, in body, in spirit. Dan’s flowers had been great—but a poor substitute for him. She’d gotten the flowers…

And then a phone call. He had to be out of town for a few days. He was so sorry. He would make it up to her. He loved her.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Anna had stayed home sick; it had been hour after hour of the kids squabbling, spilling, spitting up. She’d reminded herself all day that kids did those things, that she loved her kids, that she’d wanted kids.

She just hadn’t planned on raising them alone.

But at eight, they were all in bed at last. She walked into her bedroom, stripping as she went. She was usually careful. Kyle had warned her sternly to be careful, and she loved Kyle, knew that he loved her and was concerned about her safety. But she was tired. And so she forgot to draw the drapes and blinds throughout the house.

She left her jeans, T-shirt underwear and bra in a pool on her bedroom floor—she just hadn’t been able to bear the scent of spit-up on herself one minute longer. She drew the water for her shower, then wrapped her hair on top of her head and covered it with a shower cap while she waited for the water to grow warm. She stepped beneath the spray, felt the tension-relieving jets of the water, then turned the tap to make her shower even warmer. God, it felt good. If she wasn’t afraid of falling asleep and drowning, she would have taken a bubble bath. As it was, just standing under the hot water was great, feeling it beat down all around her.

But then…

She thought she heard something. Like the glass doors that connected the master bedroom to the pool and patio sliding open.

Despite the heat of the water, she froze.

And waited, listening…

It had been a very long day for Jassy, dramatic in many ways, exciting, frightening.

She was sometimes amazed herself at her ability to sympathize with the victims of violent crime, yet still turn to the sleuthing of pathology with such energy and passion. An interviewer had once asked her if she felt guilty, cutting into the bodies of those who had met with violent ends. She had assured the young reporter that although she often felt sorry that she had to cut into a victim, she didn’t feel guilty in the least. The dead could no longer speak; they couldn’t seek justice for the violence done against them. With her work, she could seek the justice that the dead could not.

With the discovery of the torso, they were now able to analyze the stomach contents of the deceased. Now, with some good investigative footwork, the police could find out where Holly Tyler had eaten her last meal. From there, they could begin to comb the area hotels and motels, and through luck or some heavenly intervention maybe find the place where Holly had been killed, find witnesses to her arrival there, witnesses who had seen the killer.

She was on a satisfied high when she finally got home that night.

She glanced at her watch, delighted to realize that any minute, the new man in her life would be arriving. She felt a giddy excitement, a feeling unlike anything she had felt since high school, for God’s sake! This was so wonderful, so exciting, such a sheer high.

And he loved her, too.

Fifteen minutes.

She slammed her door shut, already crawling out of the clothing she’d been wearing at the morgue all day. Fifteen minutes wasn’t a lot of time.

She dropped her shoes and lab coat in the living room, then struggled out of her skirt and panty hose as she moved down the hallway. By the time she reached her bedroom, she was nearly ripping off the buttons on her white tailored blouse and feeling for the back catch on her bra. Her trail of clothing behind her, she jumped into the shower before turning on the water, then squealed with surprise as an icy spray met her face. Muttering, she warmed the water.

Well, the cold had certainly given her a jolt of energy!

She reached for her solid off-the-shelf deodorant soap, then remembered the scented stuff she’d gotten for Christmas. Dripping, she jumped out of the shower, dug under the sink and found her perfumed gel. It was great. She lathered heavily with it—twice in all the intimate places.

Now…what to wear when she got out?

Nothing, she decided. Nothing except her gold dangle earrings, her sapphire pendant and her anklet. That would do it.

But even as she decided on not choosing a wardrobe, she shivered, certain that she had heard a distant clicking sound. She pondered over it briefly.

Oh, shit! Had she locked the front door?

Killer watched the woman he loved.

Of course, his name wasn’t really Killer, and he loved all women. Still, she was special.

He called himself Killer because he liked it. Because it was a hardy, swaggering, masculine name.

And, of course, because he was a killer. Talented, clever. And they were all such fools.

He watched her…fascinated.

Watched her move with quick, lithe grace. Watched the clothing fall from her perfect form. She had beautiful breasts, high, firm, perfect. Her hair shimmered over her naked shoulders. She turned around, and he trembled, thinking about touching her. She had a great ass. And she was different. He already knew she was different. For one thing, she knew him. Knew him well, not casually. This wasn’t a well-orchestrated but casual pickup, like the others. This time, it could work. She could love him, too. Really love him. She might be the rich scent and sweet softness without…the thorns.

And he might not have to…

Kill her.

She moved again. Soon she would be out of his sight. This was so good, watching her, seeing her, without her knowing that he saw, watched. That he dreamed of tasting her. She didn’t know how good a lover he was going to be. Maybe, sometime, he would have to hurt her. Just so that she understood that she wasn’t to try to hurt him. And so that she could know just how great her pleasure could be after pain.

He would take it slow with her. So slow…

He started suddenly, unhappily aware of an uneasy feeling—as if he were being watched himself. He looked around quickly, frowning. No one, no one, no one, could see him, except maybe…

The other one. The one he really wanted. One day, oh, God, yes, one day! He suddenly felt giddy. She looked and looked and looked, but she couldn’t see! he thought exultantly.

He’d seen her!

While she…she couldn’t see the forest for the trees. They were all so blind. He felt like laughing as an old biblical saying came to mind.

There are none so blind as those that will not see!

Still…

She could prove to be dangerous. And if she came too close, if she threatened him…

It would be slow with her. Because it would be the same as it had been so very long ago. He would adore her, even as he despised her. She was the threat. And he would let her see every single little thing he would do to her, with her.

For the moment, he looked out from the shadows and waited patiently for the clouds to cover the moon before he made another move.

Jassy Adair was certain that they would catch the killer soon. Kyle knew his business, and his profile was undoubtedly an accurate picture of their killer: a handsome, articulate man who could easily charm his way into the trust of women. A man who spent the majority of his time living a seemingly normal life, accepted by his family and peers.

Thanks to her sister, they knew what kind of room to be looking for, and when they homed in closer, she was sure, Madison would be of even greater help. Science and spirituality—or whatever it was that Madison had—could work hand in hand. Science could prove the truth of Madison’s visions.

The killer would be caught….

Then she heard a noise, and she wondered again if she had locked the door. Suddenly she was praying that she would live to see the killer caught.

She leaped out of the shower, grabbing her towel. Sopping-wet, she tore down the hallway, even though logic was telling her it was the wrong thing to do. She needed to darken the house and somehow make her way to the back door.

Too late.

He was already there.

Dead still, soaking in her towel, she stared at him.

“Doors should be kept locked,” he said, very softly. “You should know, doors should be kept locked. You, of all people…” He sighed. “You’ll learn.”

She opened her mouth to speak.

Words wouldn’t come. Because he was already stepping forward. “You’re so beautiful. So perfect and beautiful. And the way you talk about body parts…”

Kaila wrapped a towel around herself, letting the water continue to run. She stepped very carefully to the bathroom door and looked cautiously around it, doing her best to keep herself hidden.

Someone was in her house.

Her instinct was to slam the door and lock herself in. She thought of her cell phone, tucked away in her purse by her bed.

She couldn’t slam the door; her children were in the house. She had to protect them.

She stared out the bathroom door for what seemed like an eternity. Silently she slid around it. She couldn’t see anyone in her bedroom.

But the glass door was partially open. A breeze was lifting the half-closed curtain.

Tentatively, her heart in her throat, she walked toward it.

“Kaila?”

At the sound of her name, she screamed, spinning around, dropping her towel.

Dan stood in the doorway. He had an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne in one hand, two stemmed glasses balanced in the other.

“God, honey, I’m sorry. I called to you when I got home. The trip’s off. I guess you didn’t hear me over the water.”

“You nearly scared me to death.”

“Honey, I am so sorry!” He walked past her, set down the ice bucket, champagne and glasses and closed and latched the glass door, then turned back to her. She hadn’t retrieved her towel. He smiled, looking handsome, ruffled, worn, and glad to be home. When she did start to reach for the towel, he approached her quickly. “Honey, don’t. You look like a million bucks. I’m sorry about working so much, honest to God. I just can’t seem to get out of it…but I do love you, Kaila. You and the kids mean more to me than anything in the world. I swear it.” He drew her against him, wrapping her in his arms. She was wet and chilly in the air-conditioned room, and he was very warm. He felt good and secure, and she was suddenly glad of him, wanting him. He could touch her, kiss her, lick her anywhere, and it would feel natural and delicious. It was just that she’d been married so long….

“I love you,” she told him.

“I’m off all day tomorrow. I’ll take care of the kids from morning till night.”

“Oh, God, Dan, that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard!” she told him gratefully.

He started to kiss her, first her lips, then the length of her naked body. His tongue snaked over her flesh, between her thighs…

Stepping up into Jaime’s van, Madison suddenly shivered fiercely. She sat in the front passenger seat, buckling her seat belt, fighting the vision that was clouding her mind.