Out of Control (20 page)

Davy outlined Margot's story and Snakey's exploits. He felt uneasy doing so without discussing it with Margot, but he needed backup. Besides, Sean was such a spaz, he would only treat the situation with proper gravity if Davy told him what was really happening.

“Whoa,” Sean breathed, at the end of Davy's terse monologue. “You make me jealous.”

Davy snorted. “Yeah? How so?”

“Here I am, messing around with bouncing bridesmaids while you've got a mysterious, gorgeous desperado in your bed. Damn. That should be me. I'm the one who likes to play with fire. You're the one who likes to keep things under control. Right?”

Davy winced at his brother's choice of words. “It just happened.”

“Want to trade?”

“Don't even go there with your mind. Smart-mouthed punk.”

Sean's laughter had a triumphant ring. “God, I love to see you get worked up about something.”

“I'd rather it didn't involve murder,” was Davy's dour observation.

“Me too. You should have brought her here tonight,” Sean fretted. “I don't like you in town all alone with a pissed-off psycho on your case.”

“We'll come up tomorrow. Oh, yeah. Ask Miles if he would look after Margot's dog for us during the reception, if he's not still pissed at me. Tell him I'll pay him. Free coachings, whatever he wants. And don't tell Connor about this. He's had enough trouble. He deserves a break.”

Sean made a derisive sound. “Like I could if I wanted to. He disappeared with Erin right after the rehearsal. They're off combining their DNA in a locked room someplace, I expect.”

“Good,” Davy said. “Keep it that way. Tell Seth and Nick about the stalker part. I want some other suspicious, paranoid sons of bitches prowling around being vigilant tomorrow. Especially since you'll be gorging yourself at the bridesmaid buffet.”

“Piss on you for your lack of faith in me,” Sean said mildly. “I'm a born multitasker. I could flirt with ten cute girls while defusing a bomb. What you think of as scatterbrained is actually concentration in a higher form than you could possibly comprehend.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Davy rolled his eyes.

“You think concentration means staring at something until you burn little eye-shaped holes in it. That's just obsession, bonehead.”

“How about we debate this later?”

“Yeah, run back to make sure that the covers are tucked in tight around your sexy fugitive nymph,” Sean said. “Give her a long, wet kiss from me. Oh, and Davy? About the fugitive thing…I don't suppose you told her that the wedding is going to be crawling with FBI agents?”

“Considering that she's being stalked by a homicidal maniac, I consider that an advantage, rather than a disadvantage.”

Sean grunted. “She might disagree. Chicks are contrary. It would be smart to prepare yourself. Like, with a bulletproof vest, maybe?”

“Yeah, thanks for the tip. Oh, and hey. Sean. One last thing. Did you do anything with my bottle of Scotch?”

“Nope.” Sean's voice was puzzled. “Why would I? I loathe that stuff. Makes my tongue shrivel.”

“Just wondering. I can't seem to find it. Weird, that's all.”

“Maybe your good twin poured it down the toilet while you were sleeping,” his ever helpful brother suggested.

Davy sighed. “Take it easy, Sean.”

He clicked the phone shut and wandered into the living room.

The missing bottle of whiskey was ominous. He wished he'd given into his buddy Seth's urging to install a home security system. He'd scoffed at the idea at the time. His locks were excellent, his hands and feet should be registered as lethal weapons, and everybody in the neighborhood knew he was a martial arts expert as well as a detective. God help the intruder stupid enough to bother him. That had been his reasoning thus far, but looking around at his quiet, well-ordered house, he got a creepy sense that his barriers had been breached.

Yeah, right. By a malevolent entity who went for a half-empty bottle of whiskey, and left tens of thousands of dollars worth of cutting-edge computer, audio and video equipment alone.

He brushed the thought away, angry at himself for giving in to stupid paranoia, even for a moment. Paranoia was a family weakness, to be guarded against at all times. Even so, he would swallow his pride tomorrow and tell Seth he'd changed his mind about the alarms. The place needed another line of defense if Margot was going to be here.

The implications of that thought hit him, and he went hot and cold all over. God. What was he thinking. He seldom let women into his house. He preferred going to theirs, so he could gracefully control the timing of his amorous encounters. He liked to leave when he was done.

And he really, really liked having the option of removing himself quickly from tense, uncomfortable situations. Like the one he'd just gone through in the bedroom with Margot.

The more he thought about it, the more agitated he got. Brain racing, breathing choppy and short, muscles knotted.

He needed to practice kung fu. Moving meditation was his only hope of chilling out. When nightmares and insomnia gripped him, a few hours of kung fu practice rested him more than twice as many hours of sleep ever could. A brain wave phenomenon. Whatever worked.

He headed into the practice room, formerly a back terrace. He'd glassed it in and turned it into his personal martial arts studio. Paneled with fragrant red cedar, tatami covering the floor, a bank of windows streaming moonlight. He positioned himself in the middle of the room.

Crane flies into the sky…crane stretches left claw…crane cools his wings…
his body knew the form so well, he didn't have to think about the movements. He tried to keep his mind empty, but thoughts kept springing up. He brushed them gently away, one after the other.

An instant later, another would bounce up to take its place.

Lazy tiger stretches his back leg
…and even when he'd been involved with Fleur, it hadn't felt like this. Fleur had been so fragile and damaged. She'd aroused all his protective instincts. As emotionally immature as he'd been at the time, it had felt like love to him.
Crane guards the cav
e…
crane leaps up and kicks behind…crane guards his nest
…she'd been beautiful, too, in a wispy sort of way. He remembered having sex with her so carefully. Holding her like she was made out of blown glass.

Wild tiger looks back…

Nothing like what had just happened in the bedroom with Margot. Wildcat. Panther woman. He'd barely gotten out of there in one piece.

Back to
wild tiger raises his head
…and he had a hard-on again. This was a challenge.
Golden dragon stretches out his left claw
…

The door opened to the living room. Margot was silhouetted against the light, wrapped in his huge terrycloth bathrobe.

“Oh,” she said. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” he repeated, for lack of anything better to say.

She walked in and closed the door behind them so they were alone in the moonlight, and watched as he finished
watersnake swims to the surface
. He stopped, and waited.

“Do you always work out in the middle of the night?” she asked.

“Often,” he said. “I don't sleep real well. This is a good substitute.”

“Me, neither. Maybe I should try it.” She stared at him, her eyes haunted looking pools of shadow in the moonlight.

“I'm sorry I shot off my mouth,” she said. “I didn't want to make you mad.”

“I wasn't mad,” he said.

“Were too,” she said. “Madder 'n hell. You big fibber.”

“I'm not going to argue with you again, so don't start with me.”

Margot looked down. “I'm doing it again already,” she murmured. “I can't seem to get out of your face. I'm just compelled to bug you.”

“Wow, what an honor,” he muttered.

She let out a cute snort of laughter, and an awkward silence fell.

He bore it for as long as he could stand. “Do you want something from me?”

He immediately regretted the words. They were an invitation to intimacy. The last thing he was equipped to deal with right now.

Margot stepped closer. “Last night, when I came to your gym, and saw you doing your kung fu…”

“What?” he prodded, after several maddening seconds.

“You were so gorgeous,” she whispered. “Like something out of my wildest fantasies. You hardly seemed real.”

He had no idea what to do with that. His face was hot. Hard to believe that much blood had actually managed to divert itself from his throbbing groin. He was grateful for the concealing shadows.

“Uh, thanks,” he mumbled.

She wrapped her arms around herself. “You were so sexy, I forgot all the stuff I was worrying about and started to picture, um…”

“Yeah?” His heart was thudding again, at a hard gallop. “Stop torturing me, for God's sake. Just tell me.”

“That I was a martial arts expert, like that girl in
The Matrix.
Trinity. Dressed up in tight black leather.” Her voice was dreamy and hypnotic. “I would jump on you and wrestle you to the ground. Have my wicked way with you, right there on the mat.”

“Uh…wow.”

She let out a self-deprecating laugh. “But I'm not a kung fu expert. So much for that fantasy.”

“You've got secret weapons of your own,” he said.

“Do I?” She moved closer, and reached up, petting his bare chest. Her hand slid down his belly and stopped, uncertain of her welcome.

He grabbed her hand and dragged it lower, tugging down his sweatpants so that he could wrap her cool fingers around his cock. “When you say stuff like that, you could knock me over with a feather.”

“Really?” Her voice was soft with wonder.

“Try me,” he said rashly. “Go on. Attack. See how you do.”

Her smile in the moonlight was mysteriously beautiful. “OK,” she whispered. “Imagine that my finger is a feather.”

Her strong, slim hand gripped his cock, caressing him with bold, sensual strokes that jolted agonized pleasure through his body. She reached out with her other hand and traced a delicate, lacy pattern on his chest with the very tip of her forefinger. Her touch was so light, it barely brushed his chest hair, as ticklish as a puff of air, but his nipples tightened and his breath roughened to audible gasps.

“Just the tip of a feather,” she whispered, tracing the forefinger over his shoulder, his throat, his face. Her other hand gripped and swirled, milking him tenderly.

He couldn't handle the feather torture for another second. He pulled her hand away from his cock and dropped backwards onto the tatami, pulling her after him so that she tumbled over his body with a startled gasp. “Uh, Davy? What are you—”

“You knocked me down,” he explained. “With your feather. I'm helpless.” He arranged her so she was straddling him. “You go for that, right? Being in control, running everything? That's your comfort zone.”

She stiffened. “You should talk! It's your comfort zone too, buddy, except that you've got eight inches and a hundred or so pounds on me. I'm not the only one around here who's afraid to—”

“Don't be mad,” he pleaded. “It's not my fault that I'm bigger. Besides, I'm trying so hard. You've won. I'm flat on my back, at your mercy. Pinned. What the hell more do you want from me?”

Margot trailed her fingertips over his chest. “I'm not sure,” she murmured. “At the very least you should promise that we take turns running things. That way nobody gets a swelled head.”

“OK,” he agreed readily. “Anything you say. You're the boss.”

“Oh, don't overdo it, or you'll ruin it.”

“God, no.” He made his voice meek. “Never that.”

She scowled in mock fury as she reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a condom. She shrugged the bathrobe off her shoulders, letting it drop down onto his thighs behind her.

He couldn't believe how beautiful she was, no matter how many times he feasted his eyes on her naked body. Curvy and sinuous and lush, all at the same time. She ripped the condom open with a dramatic flourish, rose up onto her knees and proceeded to make the sheathing of his cock into its own slow, sensual ritual.

“You're beautiful in the moonlight, Davy,” she said softly.

He was startled and embarrassed. “Uh…you're beautiful all the time,” he offered, feeling awkward.

Her sweet, unguarded smile flashed again. She pulled his cock into position and nudged it between her slick, tender folds, arching back as she sank down onto his cock.

A groan rasped out of him. “God, you're tight. It's amazing.”