Finished (7 page)

He had one camera on a shelf in the closet—all of his other equipment was in his studio. When she searched his desk, she found only what she could have predicted—personal files and financial paperwork. He had a fortune in savings and investments, but she’d already known that.

A saxophone case rested in the corner of the room, but she’d already known about that too.

She was surprised when she found several large prints in a portfolio—photographs Drayton had taken of her. He took pictures of her all the time, but these were the best. Several snapshots of her naked in bed, some of them undeniably erotic. The headshot he’d taken at her request—after she’d begged him to take one where she didn’t look like an idiot. Then the ones he’d had her pose for, the ones that were characteristically Drayton. He had a particular style to his photography—using parts to represent the whole. Julia’s favorite was the shot he’d taken of her hair, highlighting the sleek, graceful swing of it.

It looked like her. It felt like her. Even if it was just her hair.

In another portfolio, she found photos of Mike, of similar range and quality. Julia felt an odd clench of affection in her chest as she flipped to the one of Mike laughing unrestrainedly, shirtless and barefoot with a toothbrush in his hand. Near the end she found the distinctly-Drayton photos. The one of Mike’s shoulder—the strong, natural curve of bone and muscle—captured him perfectly.

She stared at the photograph for a long time, feeling like she was seeing it for the first time. She tried to figure out why his shoulder reflected Mike so perfectly, but she couldn’t get her mind around the precision of the image.

A noise at the front door snapped her out of her absorption, but she immediately relaxed when she recognized the footsteps going into the kitchen as Mike’s.

He called out a random greeting, but she didn’t respond. She knew he’d be disappointed in her if he learned she was snooping around Drayton’s room.

She didn’t have much left of the room to search now. All that remained was the chest of drawers. There were clothes—underwear, socks, and t-shirts—in the top drawers. But in the bottom drawer she found several boxes of the black tapers. And in the drawer above that one she found a folder.

In the folder was a series of newspaper clippings, all going back thirty and forty years and all highlighting daring jewel robberies and art thefts by a thief known only as Six because he left six candles burning in the wake of each of his burglaries.

Six candles. No way to miss that. But these thefts were much too old to be committed by Drayton. He was thirty-three, so he wouldn’t even have been born for some of these.

Replacing the clippings carefully, she put the folder back into the drawer. She suddenly felt terribly guilty, and she was afraid Mike would catch her at it.

After verifying that the room was as she’d left it, she shut the door quietly and let out her breath.

“Mike?” she called out.

“Changing clothes.”

She followed his muffled voice to his room and stared at the closed door. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.”

When she pushed into his room, she saw he was halfway through pulling on a black t-shirt. He’d already changed into his favorite pair of gray sweatpants, the ones she kept telling him needed to be thrown away.

Julia felt the oddest pang of hunger as she stared at him.
Hunger
. It was the only way she knew to describe the aching, needy urge. His brown hair was mussed when he pushed his head through the neckhole of his shirt, and he already needed to shave.

“Baby, what’s the matter?” he asked.

She had no idea what was the matter with her. Or what was happening to her life that had been so satisfying, up until a couple of months ago. But she couldn’t resist the urge to walk over and hug him, to squeeze him with her arms, to feel his warmth, strength, solidity against her.

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m just glad you’re home.”

***

“So are you going to tell me what’s the matter?” Mike asked, about an hour later.

Julia made a face, although she hadn’t expected anything else from him. Mike’s edges had never been as sharp as Drayton’s, but he was relentlessly stubborn, gripping anything he wanted with the temerity of a bulldog. She could remember more than one argument between Drayton and Mike where Mike had come out victorious merely by the force of his persistence. Drayton might be more intense, but Mike had the stronger will.

She’d managed to put off Mike’s question an hour ago by hugging him and then suggesting they find something to eat for dinner. But they’d ended up back in Mike’s room, lounging on his bed. Julia’s head was quite comfortably resting on his lap, and she’d hoped he’d just keep stroking her hair and not pursue his earlier inquiry.

But this was Mike. He wasn’t easily fooled or diverted. She wouldn’t like it if he was. There was something deeply comforting in the fact that he could always tell when she was upset and that he wouldn’t leave her alone until she told him.

It could be annoying too, of course, but she wouldn’t want it any other way.

“It’s nothing,” she tried, knowing it was futile as she spoke the lie.

He didn’t bother responding. Just looked down at her with an impatient expression.

“I’ve been bad,” she admitted baldly.

His eyebrows arched, and she saw a particular smolder ignite in his eyes—one that got her a little excited.

“That wasn’t an invitation for a spanking,” she clarified, unable to keep from giggling. “Sadly, it was the truth.”

His hand grew still on her hair for just a moment, before he resumed his caress. “What have you done?”

“I snooped on Drayton. I followed him, and then I searched his room.” It had felt perfectly natural—almost inevitable—when she’d been doing it, but admitting it now was mortifying. Her actions sounded so silly as she listened to the words.

Mike’s expression didn’t change, but she heard him let out a breath. “Oh, baby.”

“I know. It was terrible. But something is going on with him, and it’s starting to feel like it might be dangerous. I think I found blood on his shirt when I was doing some laundry for him.”

“Blood?”

“Yeah. Not a lot, but definitely more than a little cut or something would bleed. And then, today, there was this whole thing with a creepy man who owns an antique store.” She briefly summarized the events of lunch and then the conversation about the candles, concluding with, “And then after that weirdness, the guy hit on me! He offered to take me to his bed and give me great pleasure.”

Mike stiffened palpably. “He what?”

“Don’t get all bristly. He wasn’t pushy about it. But it was an entirely creepy conversation, especially since I’m sure it was him who came close to hitting me with his car. And then in Drayton’s room, I found the strangest thing.”

“The folder with the newspaper clippings?”

“Yeah. What do you think—” She suddenly realized the implications of his question. “Hey! You searched his room too! And you were going to lecture me for—”

“I wasn’t going to lecture you. Do you take me for some kind of judgmental hypocrite? I just want you to be careful.”

She’d been lying on her side, but now she rolled over onto her back so she could more easily peer up at his face. “Careful of what?”

“Of Drayton.” Mike’s expression was sober—almost impassive. “I’m not sure I trust him anymore.”

Julia’s heart gave an agonized lurch. “You don’t really think he’d hurt us, do you? I mean, I know he’s hiding something, but I really think he cares about us.”

“I think so too, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a danger.”

She didn’t answer immediately as she tried to process his words, and her face twisted as she struggled against anxiety and confusion. “How do you think he could hurt us?”

“It’s mostly you I’m worried about.” Mike wasn’t looking at her now but staring at the wall across the room. “I can take care of myself, but you still trust Drayton, and it would be so easy for him to take advantage of that. He might not do so intentionally, but there are so many ways he could hurt you.” He paused, as if he were hesitating before he continued, “Did you find the guns?”

“What?” Julia’s question sounded strangled. “He has a gun?”

“More than one. In the saxophone case. Very expensive ones. He doesn’t have a license for them. I checked.”

“Do you think he’s a spy or something?” A crazy suggestion, but Julia was desperately trying to find some explanation to fit all the inexplicable evidence.

“I wish. I don’t know what he is.”

“You’re talking like he’s a stranger or something.” Julia sat up and grabbed his t-shirt in her urgency. “Mike, that’s not fair. This is Drayton. You’ve known him longer than I have. And you always…always cared about him, didn’t you?”

Mike nodded. “Yeah. But he used to be different. He was always arrogant and private, but he wasn’t always like this. He’s changed, Julia. Hardened. I know you’ve seen it too. And I’m not sure how long I can go on pretending it’s still all right.”

Julia felt a familiar terror—the same fear she felt any time she had to genuinely consider the possibility of losing what she had, what she wanted so much more from. “Don’t talk like that. It can’t be as bad as that. He’s been different lately, but maybe it will pass. He does care about us. I know it. We set up this relationship to give each other the space to go through phases like this, and it’s not fair to blame him for following the rules we agreed on before. Maybe he has good reason for not telling us his secrets.”

“I’m sure he has good reason,” Mike said, his voice as unyielding as steel. “I’m just not sure I’ll like what his reasons are.”

There wasn’t anything more she could say. She knew Mike too well to believe she could change his mind at the moment, but she wasn’t going to give up. Until she knew the whole story, she wasn’t going to count Drayton out as a lost cause.

She wasn’t going to give up on him because of unanswered questions. He was part of her life, and she cared about him. Cold reason wasn’t enough to break those ties.

Mike must have understood that she wanted the conversation to be over because he didn’t persist or try to convince her either. He just flipped on his television and tuned it to a news channel.

After a minute, Julia was able to relax again and lay back down with her head in his lap. She sighed with pleasure when he began to slowly stroke her hair again. She closed her eyes and tried to forget all of her worries.

In a few minutes, she felt his caress alter. He began to stroke her shoulder and arm, and then down to her hip.

She smiled without opening her eyes. “Trying to get in a grope while I’m asleep?”

He chuckled warmly. “I knew you weren’t asleep.” His hand slipped down to curve around her bottom possessively.

She turned over so she could look up at him. “Honestly, I’m kind of tired tonight. I’m not sure I’m in the mood.”

He inclined his head, to her relief not looking terribly disappointed. “That’s okay.”

Her position allowed for a pretty clear assessment of his arousal. His groin was just next to her head, and the old sweatpants didn’t leave much to the imagination. He was already half erect. “Are you sure? You look a little…hopeful.”

His mouth tilted up at one corner. “Hopeful? Is that what you call it?”

“Yeah.” She turned her head to more accurately observe his condition. At the closer proximity of her mouth to his groin, she saw his cock give a little twitch through his sweats.

She couldn’t help but giggle. “Hopeful is definitely the word.”

“It’s really fine,” Mike said, his voice still amused. “But maybe you’d be kind enough to move your head farther away from my dick. You’re giving it the wrong idea.”

For some reason, she didn’t want to sit up. She’d been honest about not really being in the mood for sex, but a strange, playful compulsion caused her to move her face a few inches forward toward the outline of his hardening cock beneath the worn fabric of his sweatpants. She experienced a silly thrill when she saw it harden even more.

“You’re teasing,” Mike said dryly. “My dick doesn’t appreciate it.”

“Your dick is very moody.” She edged her hand up to pull down his waistband enough to free his cock. “First it’s confused. Then it’s resentful.” She didn’t touch him, but she blew on his erection, delighted when she saw it respond. “Now it seems kind of excited.”

“Why wouldn’t it be? Your gorgeous mouth is about an inch away.”

She smiled—not feeling sexy so much as fond, intimate, almost protective. She didn’t usually feel like this, and she wasn’t sure what had prompted it now. But she didn’t want it to go away, so she extended her tongue and swiped it across the tip of his cock.

She heard his quick intake of breath and felt the stiffening of his body. She was still mostly lying in his lap.

Readjusting so she was at a more convenient angle, she moved her right hand to lift his erection up toward his belly and then licked a line down the underside.

“Oh, baby,” Mike gritted out. “If you’re teasing, it’s just plain mean.”

She shifted her eyes up to meet his, and saw that his expression was genuinely questioning, beneath the visceral tension.

He really wasn’t sure if she was planning to follow through or not.

“I’m not teasing.” To prove it, she lifted her head enough to take him fully in her mouth, hollowing out her cheeks in a hard suck.

“Oh, fuck!” he gasped, straightening his spine and gripping the back of her head.

She felt that same excited tension in her belly—but it wasn’t arousal. It was deeper, and heavier, and more powerful.

She slid her lips up to the very tip of his shaft and twirled her tongue a little.

His fingers tightened in her hair. “I thought you weren’t in the mood for sex,” he managed to say, his voice stretched the way it always was when he was near the peak of arousal.

She just hummed around his hard flesh and took more of him into her mouth. Establishing a rhythm as she bobbed her head, she reached her hand down beneath her face so she could gently squeeze his balls.

He shifted restlessly beneath her, the muscles of his belly and thighs tightening while his hands moved between clutching her hair and squeezing her bottom. She knew he was trying to hold himself back.