Medium Rare: (Intermix) (17 page)

“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered, sliding the condom into place and then moving into the scalding heat of her body.

In some corner of his brain, he heard her moan, a quick sigh of pleasure, but then he was moving, trying hard to hold himself back, to keep from following the demands of his body to move faster, now, now, now.

For a moment, shadows danced before his eyes, and he wondered if he was going to pass out. Then his brain clamped down again and he concentrated on making love to Rose without distractions.

Beneath him, she brought her heels against the small of his back, her knees clasped along his sides. Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed tight.

“Rose,” he rasped, “look at me.”

Huge eyes stared back at him, her breasts rising and falling quickly.

“Look at me,” he whispered again. “Just look at me.”

He moved into her slowly, drawing back, then pushing forward to touch her deep inside. Her eyes widened, her full lips parting. “Oh Jesus, Evan.”

Deep again, and again. Her hands moved across his chest, sliding up to grasp his arms. She breathed his name, and then cried out, calling him deeper with every thrust.

Her gaze seemed fathomless, and he plunged down toward it. Light and shadow moved around them, and for a moment he thought he heard other voices, murmuring faintly.
Definitely weird.
But not weird enough to stop him.

“Rose.” His voice was strangled. He could barely force the word from his throat.

Below him, she stared up, her pupils so dilated they almost swallowed the shimmering green irises. And then she whimpered and he felt the tremors begin to pass through her.

“Look at me,” he gasped. “Look.”

He gazed deep into her eyes, looking for . . . something, he wasn’t sure what. Feeling the waves of pleasure beginning to break over his body, rising from the place where they joined.

Her eyes were glazed, her lips parting. Ripples of ecstasy flowed through him as he watched her. “Rose, oh Rose.”

And then he was past control, his body jerking, driving into her. Below him, her nails dug into his biceps as she cried out again. He heard himself groan from a long way off.

His bones had suddenly been turned to jelly. Aching, he gathered her into his arms and slumped down against the soft Persian carpet.

She lay cradled against him, her head pressed against his collarbone, warm breath caressing his skin. He closed his eyes in the darkness, feeling the slight weight of her body cuddled on top of him. Feeling content.

Content?
He had a brief prickling of uneasiness. Not him. Not like this. He wasn’t the type to feel content. Not with a woman.

Don’t be a fool, Evan Delwin.
The voice that whispered in his mind for a moment sounded remarkably like Addison. But then it was gone.

He blew out a long breath.
Okay, content it is.
“Rose?” he murmured against her hair.

“Um?”

She didn’t move. He glanced down to make sure she was awake.

“Do you have a bed?”

Slowly, her eyes opened. “Of course I have a bed. Do you think I hang from the ceiling when I sleep?” The words were sharp, but her voice was warm and muzzy. Her melting green eyes drooped as she looked up at him.

Evan sighed, pushing himself up.

Rose groaned in protest.

“Let’s go there.” He reached down to pull her up beside him, then gathered her into his arms again and carried her toward the dining room door. He pushed the chair out from under the doorknob with his knee.

“Tell me where to go.”

“Up the stairs, second door on the right,” she mumbled, tucking her head beneath his chin.

“Is there room for two?” He maneuvered around the slumbering Helen sprawled in the middle of the hall.

Rose didn’t answer. He glanced down at her. Her eyes were closed, honeyed lashes against creamy skin. He heard a faint snore.

Evan sighed. Looked like he wasn’t the only one who felt content.

Chapter 19

Rose woke up a few times during the night and had to remind herself that the warm body beside her was Evan and thus okay.
Very okay.

On one of these occasions, Evan woke up, too. That time she didn’t need any reminding—he reminded her in a way that made
okay
seem like a gross understatement.

She was trying hard to keep herself from getting too worked up about all of this. She and Evan had had a horrifying experience—they’d seen a woman die in a way that made no sense whatsoever. They’d comforted each other in the same way men and women had comforted each other from time immemorial.

Comfort—that’s all it was. She was not falling for Evan Delwin.

Just because it was some of the best sex she’d ever had—if she was being honest,
the
best sex she’d ever had—that didn’t mean either of them was ready for any kind of commitment. Not even for any kind of plans beyond breakfast.

Evan didn’t strike her as the long-term-commitment type. Well, fine. She wasn’t interested in long-term commitments herself. Just because she’d never been with anybody whom she’d considered worthy of a long-term commitment before . . .

Rose sighed and headed for the bathroom. Time for a cold shower to clear her head.

Thirty minutes later, she had to face the groceries problem square on. If only she’d known she might have a guest for breakfast, she could have stocked up on champagne and strawberries.

She stole a glance at Evan as she ransacked the pantry shelves again. He was seated at her kitchen table while Helen stared at him worshipfully from the floor and Lenore perched on the windowsill opposite. He sipped his coffee as he gazed toward the river shimmering in the distance, paying no attention to his animal groupies.

As if he knew she was watching, he turned toward her, his mouth inching upward in a lazy grin. “Nice house you got here, lady. Great view. And the one outside isn’t bad, either.”

Rose felt her face flush.
Ridiculous.
She wasn’t some seventeen-year-old virgin, after all. “Thanks. About breakfast. I’ve got some cereal if you want. Or toast. Or maybe eggs.”

“Maybe?”

“I haven’t checked the refrigerator this morning.” And she hadn’t been shopping in over a week. Chances for eggs were slim. “Maybe not.”

He shrugged. “Toast is fine. I need to get going anyway.”

She felt a brief stab of disappointment.
What did you expect, Rose? Pledges of undying devotion?
“So what do we do about Brenda? Or Alana, for that matter? And what about Bradford? Is there any way we can go on with this, or is this the end of it?”

She swallowed. She hadn’t meant that to sound quite so final.

Behind her she heard his chair scoot back from the table, and then warm hands pulled her hips back against a hard body.

Harder in some parts than others.

“Trying to get rid of me, Rosie?” he murmured.

She felt the warm puff of his breath against her ear, sending a quick flare of heat through her body. “Not really,” she breathed.

“Good. I’m hard to kick out.” He turned her to face him, running his lips down the line of her throat.

She caught her breath, her fingers clutching at his sleeves. “Evan, if you want any breakfast, you’d better stop. Because in a couple more seconds I won’t be able to hold a piece of bread, let alone put it in the toaster.”

He chuckled, stepping back. “Okay, you win. Since we need to accomplish something today, I’ll ignore my baser impulses.”

She pulled a loaf of bread out of the refrigerator and concentrated on removing a couple of slices. “So what
do
we do, Evan?” She turned back to watch him as he leaned his impossibly long body against the counter.

“I need to talk to Augie Garcia, find out what I can about Brenda Cerrone. Maybe even bring up Alana again.”

Rose gritted her teeth. “Not without me, you don’t.”

He frowned, shaking his head. “Not this time, Rosie. I don’t want him distracted. Besides, it might get nasty.”

“It’ll get more than nasty if you show up on your own.” She pushed the toaster lever down sharply. “The least he’ll do is ignore you. The worst could mess up body parts you’re probably partial to.” To say nothing of parts she was partial to herself.

“You think he’ll give you answers he won’t give me?”

He sounded faintly annoyed. She managed not to grit her teeth again. “Evan, don’t take it personally. It’s just the way Augie is. He’s one of those guys who loves to jerk authority around. And right now, you’re authority.”

“And you’re not?”

She shook her head. “Not really. Deep in his heart, Augie’s your classic sexist pig. He usually underestimates anybody female.”

“So you’re my secret weapon?” Evan sighed. “How will you explain being at the séance if he asks? And he will ask, trust me.”

“Curiosity? If worst comes to worst I’ll just say you lured me.”

One corner of his mouth edged up. “Lured? I’m not a luring kind of guy, Rose.”

She slid her arms around his waist, leaning back so that she could look up into his eyes. “Oh yes you are, Evan. Believe me, you are.”

Behind her, the toaster finally popped up. Rose ignored it. Breakfast suddenly seemed unimportant.

***

The Nightmare didn’t look any better than Evan remembered it. Lucky for Garcia most of his customers only saw the place at night—by daylight, even the warm golden light of midafternoon, it looked like the kind of place that ought to be condemned by either the building code inspectors or the health department, probably both.

The same bartender was sweeping up some broken glass when they walked through the front door. He didn’t look any happier to see Evan than he had before.

Evan decided to cut to the chase. “Is Garcia around?”

“Dunno. Haven’t looked.”

“Could you look, please, Rudy?” Rose widened her eyes. “We really need to talk to him.”

Rudy glanced at her, then gave her a reluctant smile. “Sure, Rose. Since it’s for you.” He gave Evan another sneer.

Evan considered flattening him, but decided against it. A rearranged nose wouldn’t make Rudy any less attractive. He was already scraping bottom.

The bartender knocked loudly on the office door. “Augie? Rose is here. And some guy.”

He narrowed his eyes at Evan. Evan narrowed back.

“Rosie?” Augie’s office door swung open and Garcia filled the space in the doorway. “What can I do for you?”

“We just have a couple of questions, Augie. Can we come in?” She gave him a glistening smile that made the Nightmare a couple of degrees less disgusting.

Augie cleared his throat, running a finger along his collar. “Gee, Rosie, I’m kind of busy . . .”

“Won’t take a minute,” Evan cut in, moving her forward. “Just in and out.”

Garcia dropped back to let Rose by, giving Evan an icy glare as he passed through the door.

The office went with the club—cement block walls, linoleum floor, battered metal desk currently covered with papers. A tall metal office cabinet stood in one corner, with a smaller table sitting in the center of the room. The only unusual thing was a medium-size terrarium on the table, containing a bleached gray tree limb and what looked like a plastic cave. Evan sat down in a chair next to the terrarium, while Rose perched on another chair beside him.

Garcia settled into his desk chair with an audible thump. “So what’s on your mind, Delwin? Whatever it is, make it fast.”

“Brenda Cerrone.” Evan let the corners of his mouth inch up into a flat smile. “What can you tell us about her?”

Augie snorted. “One of the third-rate mediums we use when we can’t get anybody better. Why? You want to hire her?”

Evan shook his head. “We saw her in action. Last night.”

Some emotion flickered through Augie’s eyes, disappearing before Evan could entirely identify it. He was betting on
pissed
, though.

“You were at the séance? Both of you?”

Rose gave him another sunny smile. Her acting skills were better than Evan had thought. “We wanted to see what one was like, Augie. I’ve heard about them before, but I’ve never gone to one.”

Garcia smiled back, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Should have told me you were interested, Rosie. I could have made sure you went to a good one.”

“Getting back to Brenda Cerrone, how did you happen to hire her?” Evan leaned forward in his chair.

Garcia shrugged. “Same way I hire most of ’em. She heard about the séances and came in. We gave her a tryout. She was passable, in a pinch, so I added her to the list.”

“Do you know where she lives?” Rose’s voice sounded innocent. “We’d like to talk to her.”

He shrugged again. “Don’t know. Don’t care. All I’ve got is a phone number. You want that?”

Evan managed a neutral smile. “She come in yet to pick up her paycheck?”

Garcia swiveled his way. “Nah. Usually it takes a couple of days.”

Evan willed Rose to stay quiet. He didn’t want to let Garcia know they’d seen José pay Brenda the night before. Although why he’d lie about how he paid his mediums was anybody’s guess. “The guy who ran it—did he say anything about what went on last night?”

“José?” Another shrug. “Not that I remember. Same old, same old.”

Evan caught a faint movement at the corner of his vision. He turned toward the terrarium. A tarantula the size of a softball crouched two feet away from him, separated only by the thin glass wall. It had black and red stripes across the legs that jutted up from its bulbous body at a sharp angle. After a moment, it raised its front legs, then scuttled closer to the glass.

His shoulder muscles seized as perspiration began to drip down his spine.
Steady, Evan.
Just a phobia. He was a hundred times bigger than the spider. He could stomp it into a pulp. What had Grandma Anton always said? “He’s more afraid of you than you are of him.”
Yeah, right.
This particular spider looked like it was salivating for his blood. Evan, on the other hand, was fighting a panic attack.

Across the desk, Garcia grinned. For real this time. “You like my little
araña
? I’d let him run around loose, but his bite packs quite a wallop.”

“Yuck,” Rose snapped. “A big hairy spider doesn’t strike me as much of a pet.”

“Different strokes, Rosie.” Garcia gave her another lazy grin. “You got any more questions about Cerrone?”

Evan turned back, willing himself to ignore the spider. “Why did you use her last night? Her turn in the rotation?”

Garcia raised his hands. “Who knows? We hadn’t used her in a while. I felt like throwing her some business.”

“Could you give us that phone number?” Rose’s smile looked a bit tight. “Like I said, we’d like to talk to her.”

“Sure, Rosie. Maybe she can do a private reading for you.” His expression looked faintly nasty all of a sudden.

Evan was betting Garcia knew Cerrone wouldn’t be giving private readings to anybody ever again.

***

They went to dinner at a place on the Scenic Loop, far from the city, King William and all lingering questions. The evening sky seemed clearer the farther they moved out of San Antonio, as if the fog only hung around the city limits. Children clambered on the swings in a playground next to the restaurant, and a trio played soft jazz for the diners outside.

The hostess found them a table near windows that opened onto the patio. They watched the children playing and heard the music trailing gently from the trio. For once, Evan embraced normalcy.

He took a deep breath. It felt good to get some distance from Nightmare on Novalis, and not just because of the spider.

“You don’t like spiders, do you?” Rose asked, reading his mind.

His lips tightened. “Do you?”

“I don’t like tarantulas much, but garden spiders don’t bother me. Live and let live, I guess.”

He shook his head. “Never liked them, but I can usually tolerate them. That one in Garcia’s office took me by surprise, though.”

She shuddered slightly. “Me, too. I’d guess that’s why Augie keeps it there in the middle of the room. To intimidate people and make them uncomfortable.”

A waitress appeared at their table with Evan’s Negra Modelo and Rose’s white wine. Outside the window, the trio switched to salsa.

He took a long pull on his beer. “I thought Garcia was your friend.”

“I don’t think Augie has friends. Augie has contacts. I don’t really know him that well. He just referred some people to me who needed my help with research.”

Evan studied her, trying to decide what kind of things the patrons of the Nightmare might like her to research for them. His mind reeled.

“So tell me about Locators.” He brought his beer bottle to his lips again and watched her shoulders stiffen.

“I do research for people. Historical research. They want to know something about their ancestors, and I try to find out. Sometimes they’re looking for things their relatives had at one time, and I try to locate them.”

“So if I asked you to find out what happened to my father’s cuff links, could you tell me?” He let the cool liquid flow down his throat, trying not to notice the way she wasn’t meeting his eyes.

“You’d have to tell me a lot more than that.” She leaned back in her chair. “Where was he when he had them last? Who was with him? Did anybody see them after that? What did they look like? Were they valuable?” She picked up her glass of wine, sipping it as she looked away from him again. “Stuff like that.”

“He wore them last at the Golden Slipper Casino in Las Vegas on the night of October 31, twenty years ago. About fifteen hundred people were with him, but they were in the audience. I have no idea whether anybody saw his cuff links later. It was the night he died.” He tipped back his bottle again, watching her set her glass back on the table.

“What did they look like?” she murmured.

“Flat onyx in a gold frame. Worth around three hundred dollars. Sentimental value, mainly.”

She stared at him, her emerald eyes suddenly concerned. “What happened, Evan?”

He took a deep breath and blew it out. He hadn’t told anyone the story for a long time—it wasn’t something he talked about as a general rule. But he thought he could tell her, for reasons he didn’t want to examine much.