Chapter 72
"How-this is stupid that I'm asking this, but how do you know it's a woman?"
"Her clothes are still on her." Fiona shuddered once, hard, then seemed to lose the rest of her control and suddenly, she was trembling, crying, and in his arms all at once. "I didn't know what to do or who to call...so I came here."
He smelled her hair and held her close, his mind working rapidly even as his body leapt and sizzled at the feeling of her against him. "Did you call the police? What about Dylan? Does he know?"
She shook her head against his shoulder, her curls tickling his chin. "No," her voice was m.u.f.fled. "I came right here."
"All right, then, let's head over there so I can be there when you call the police."
CHAPTER NINE.
White bones glowed in the dim light, easily visible in the small closet like room.
Gideon didn't consider himself a squeamish person, but the sight of the skeleton, still clothed, collapsed against the wall, sent an uncomfortable ripple through his middle.
Her skull tilted back, empty sockets and gapping mouth yawning at the ceiling. One of her knees was somehow still propped upright and the other had fallen to the side, stretching her skirt like a canopy between them. Judging from the style of her dress, she appeared to have been there since the mid-fifties. A hat lay fallen to one side and its decoration of pale yellow feathers matched the trim on some other type of garment sitting in a crumpled heap next to it.
Gideon jumped slightly when something touched him from behind, but it was Fiona, coming to stand next to him at the gaping hole in the wall.
"Did you talk to the police?"
"Yes. They're on their way. I told them not to use their sirens-it's going to be bad enough having a cop parked in front of my shop so soon after my reopening." Fiona seemed less unsettled than she'd been when she first came to his office. Still, though, when he turned to look at her, he could see the worry and shock in her amber eyes.
He started to reach for her, but she stepped away, putting distance between them. "Gideon." Her voice was a soft warning, and she shook her head slightly.
A pang shot through his belly. He didn't want her pulling away from him, keeping her distance, banning him from her life. The realization came quickly-its force a shock that actually made his eyes widen. He wanted her, physically, s.e.xually, of course...but her flamboyance and casual personality intrigued him against his will, bringing an air of the unexpected into his staid world. He wanted to know her.
That realization both lightened the regret that had clouded his life for the last week, and scared the h.e.l.l out of him. He'd been playing the game of hard to get, and carrying the need to be in control like a s.h.i.+eld in front of him...but in that moment of clarity, he realized he couldn't do that with Fiona. She was too open, too honest...and crazy though it was, she had begun to insinuate herself into his mind so that he couldn't shake her loose.
That simple warning-the sound of her speaking his name-made something click inside him. He realized how foolish it would be to hold onto a non-relations.h.i.+p with Leslie just so that it didn't appear he was capitulating to Fiona's demands...and in the process, lose the opportunity to be with her.
Just as he was about to speak, the faint scream of sirens reached their ears and Fiona jerked her eyes to his, dismay coloring her face. "Oh, no!" she moaned, turning toward the front of the store. "I told them not to use the sirens!"
She fled toward the door and Gideon followed, unable to help admiring the back view of her jeans.
A homicide detective accompanied the officer who came, and they were both very pleasant men even when she scolded them for using their sirens. In fact, Gideon felt that they were a bit too solicitous toward Fiona, treating her as though she'd found a blood-spattered, decapitated body-not a harmless, long-dead skeleton.
She showed them the hidden alcove and Detective Sherman Hinkle pried the rest of the boards away from the s.p.a.ce under the stairs. They took photographs of the bones, and searched the small area to be certain there weren't any other items in there.
When the forensic team arrived, and they were ready to move the skeleton, it took only a moment to determine the cause of death: "Head wound," said the team leader, gingerly pulling the skull away from the wall. "Right in the back. Probably didn't feel a thing."
Fiona closed the shop for the rest of the day, and, when, at nine o'clock in the evening, all of the police and detective personnel had filed out, she was surprised to find that Gideon was still there. He'd been beside her all along, of course, fielding questions, directing the lawmen, and keeping the peace in his own direct, structured way...but when the activity finally settled down hours later, Fiona realized that she should be surprised that he'd stayed.
"You're so busy," she said, suddenly feeling awkward now that they were alone in the store. "I can't believe you're still here."
His handsome face stilled. "I wouldn't have left you to handle such a thing on your own." He looked at her, and she felt the weight of desire in his gaze, warming her, but she also saw something less mercenary there. Like concern, or tenderness...not simply l.u.s.t.
"Well, thank you." She didn't know what to say, and the awkwardness was growing. When she found the skeleton, she had one coherent thought: get to Gideon-he would help.
She'd forgotten her need to stay away from him and her resolve that, as attracted to him as she was, she couldn't give in and share him with another woman. As she looked up at him now, and her attention rested on the planes of his face, gliding over the firm, manly chin and to his mouth, she felt that resolve falter.
"Let's grab a bite to eat," he suggested in a voice rough with some emotion. "Unless your appet.i.te has fled?"
"Yes. That would be great," Fiona agreed, seizing on an opportunity to move past the heavy moment. Perhaps he'd taken her warning to heart, and the only caution she need have would be directed at herself.
His car, so different from her tiny yellow Beetle, had b.u.t.ter soft leather seats that embraced her in comfort. It was a sleek black Mercedes, and it had been parked with less neatness than she would have expected. She couldn't resist the opportunity to comment-after all, the mood had to lighten up soon or she was going to go mad at the thought: a skeleton in her closet-so she teased, "Nice parking job."
He paused in buckling his seatbelt and looked up at her from under a thick shock of hair. "You didn't give me much time to tidy it up," he replied dryly, then changed the subject. "Would you like me to cook, or are you in the mood to go somewhere?"
"What? This sounds suspiciously like a date," she replied with an arched brow. And then she added, "You cook?"
"Yes, well, I usually wait at least a week after finding a skeleton in her closet before I ask a woman out, but I
Fiona stared at him. "Did you-did you just make a joke? You?"
Gideon frowned, tilting his head as though contemplating a deep thought. "Yes, I guess I did. Sorry about that. Now," he turned to fit the key into the ignition, "what's your preference? Eating in or eating out?"
"Depends what you're cooking," she replied, still staring at him.
The decision was made. "My house." He started the car with a low purr and the Mercedes slid into the street.
Suddenly, Fiona panicked, picturing them at his house, enjoying an intimate meal, picking up where they left off.... "Gideon, I don't think-"
He glanced at her, his face inscrutable as the streetlights flickered over his features. "You don't have anything to worry about, Fiona. I'm not planning to jump your bones or any-ouch!" He directed a definite glare on her and rubbed the thigh where she'd poked him. "All right, I'm sorry-that was two too many jokes in as many minutes. I'll stop." And she was shocked and delighted when his frown turned into that devastating smile of his.
She was still reeling from the effect of his sensual mouth curving in such an unfamiliar manner when they pulled into his garage and he stepped around to help her out of the car. She slipped past him, afraid to let him touch her even in the most innocent of matters.
This was going to be a tortuous meal.
Gideon waited until she was sitting on a bar stool at the counter in his kitchen before telling her. "Wine?" he asked, pulling two balloon gla.s.ses down from a cupboard and setting them on the counter between them.
"Sure."
He could tell she was nervous-like a cat ready to spring-and he was pretty certain it was only partially due to the heap of bones in her shop. He forced himself to be nonchalant as he poured sparkling garnet wine into the gla.s.ses. He handed her one rounded goblet and raised his own in a slight toast.
"To skeletons...and to us. We're going to be magnificent." He caught and held her eyes firmly as he sipped the rich Cabernet, looking at her from over the rim of his gla.s.s so that she would be in no doubt of what he meant.
Fiona took a drink and set her gla.s.s down quickly. "Gideon," she began, her voice surprisingly firm for the consternation she must have felt. "You can't seduce me. I won't let you."
He almost laughed, but realized in the nick of time that that would be fatal. "No, Fiona...I'm going to let you seduce me. But first...."
He paused, reaching to cover her s.e.xy, parted, angry mouth with two fingers. Her lips were plump and warm, and he felt their faint moisture as he pressed lightly against them. "Let me tell you one thing: there is nothing between Leslie and me. What there was, was convenient, occasional s.e.x when we both wanted it, and an agreement to act as each other's escort at certain functions. That's it, that's all it ever has been, and that's over. It's been over, except for the escorting part."
"Oh." Fiona settled back onto the counter stool from where she'd half risen in irritation and just looked at him. She took another sip of wine, narrowing her eyes as she glowered over the rim. "And what makes you think I'm going to believe that convenient story?"
He settled on his elbows across the counter from her, and, leaning toward her, stared into her eyes. "Because you want to. And...because I don't lie." The words came from deep inside him, laced with some emotion he wasn't entirely comfortable with. But he knew it was vital that she believe him.
She looked back at him, her golden brown eyes clear and steady, and he felt p.r.i.c.kles of awareness travel up his spine. The situation couldn't be more innocent, for a whole expanse of counter yawned between them, but tension zinged through the air as they gazed at each other.
Finally, she spoke. "Let me see your hand." Resting her own palm on the counter, she opened her fingers to take his.
He obligingly offered his hand, and the p.r.i.c.kles turned into a surge of heat when she began to examine the lines on his palm with her delicate, beringed fingers: tracing, smoothing over them with the pads of her fingers as she'd done in the restaurant. What did she think she'd see there? Whether he was telling the truth?
At last, she released his hand and returned hers to clasp the winegla.s.s. She caught his gaze with her own, and he saw that her lids had dropped slightly, giving her a sensual, come hither look that set his blood racing to a particular, throbbing location. She smiled very slowly. "All right."
He started to come around from his side of the counter, wanting only to yank her into his arms and dispose of that horrible t-s.h.i.+rt...among other various items of clothing.
"When are you going to show me your art?"
Her words, low and warm, stopped him cold three feet away. "What?" He stared at her, visions of having her sprawled on the Corian counter scattering with the rest of his thoughts.
"You're an artist, Gideon. I'd like to see your work. While you make us something to eat." Her face was the picture of innocent interest, but he saw the way the corners of her mouth curled up in a smug smile.
"How...never mind." He stared at her, fighting within himself the fear of exposing that part of him to someone he didn't know well, but, who, it seemed, knew him even better than he could have imagined. He had no choice. "They're in the den-my most recent ones. In the big drawer in the desk."
She slid off the stool, brus.h.i.+ng past him, sauntering out of the room as though she hadn't just escaped being laid on his countertop. He watched her go, knowing he'd just lost the upper hand in this tte--tte...and wondering what she would do next to catch him off guard.
Then his stomach squeezed as he realized she would be looking at his work. He knew the drawings weren't bad...but would she think they were good? Gideon took a healthy drink of wine and forced himself to open the refrigerator. Better to keep his mind occupied with tasks other than Fiona Murphy's reaction to his most personal items.
He'd rubbed two filets with garlic and cracked peppercorns when she wandered back into the kitchen. "Something smells good," she said casually, and he heard her slide onto the stool behind him.
Gideon forced himself to remain focused on preparing the steaks, refusing to turn to face her for fear he'd see disinterest, or even antipathy, for his work. A rejection of his creativity would also be a rejection of himself. "How do you like your steak?" he asked as he turned.
"Steak? Oh."
He looked over to see that she was biting her lower lip. "Oh?" he repeated, standing there with two beautiful filets mignon on a plate-one inch thick, perfect dark pink steaks that would just round out that Cab he'd opened.
"I'm a vegetarian," she confessed, her eyes wide and apprehensive. "But I-"
Gideon, who considered himself the most patient of men, would have thrown up his hands in defeat if he hadn't been holding the steaks. Perhaps he should just give up on this-on trying to connect with a palm reading, esoteric, disorganized New-Ager who didn't know how to enjoy a good steak. How the h.e.l.l did he think they could ever get over their differences enough to find their way to bed?
"How about some pasta, then?" he mumbled, eyeing the rich, aromatic steaks with regret. This was definitely not going as planned.
"Pasta is fine, but I...Gideon, I'm not a vegetarian in the truest sense of the word-I mean, I'm not a vegan or anything...I eat dairy products and seafood, and...ugh," she wailed in frustration, "the truth is, I have a real weakness for filet...I can't resist it...even though I haven't had red meat regularly for years...or, well, at least since last New Year's...."
He stared at her, more baffled than ever. She was a vegetarian with a weakness for filet mignon? Did that mean she would eat the steak...or not? He was almost afraid to ask.
Fiona rested her head in her folded arms, wondering why she couldn't stop babbling such nonsense. She was making a complete idiot out of herself. "I'd love to eat the steak," she managed to say, her voice m.u.f.fled. "Medium."
She was afraid to look up and see the incredulous expression that must be plastered on his face. She'd been as nervous as a cat since arriving at his home...and that tension had just about set her heart to choking her when he made his blithe announcement that there was nothing between him and Leslie. It had been all she could do to seize the opportunity to get away from him-from the chemistry that sizzled between them, from those hungry eyes that did not rest from taking her measure-and escape into the den.
And then...when she saw his drawings, Fiona had been moved...and more unnerved than ever. The monochrome sketches were bold and expressive, almost alive...and she'd recognized herself in two of them. Yes, she'd recognized herself-but as he saw her...and that made her stomach flutter even more. How could she possibly be-live up to-match?-that siren-like, sensual woman he'd drawn, with hooded, bedroom eyes and wild, erotic hair?
When she raised her head at last, her cheeks heavy and warm from being huddled in her arms, she first saw the heavy chopping board in front of her on the counter. As she watched silently, unwilling to speak, Gideon sharpened a serious looking knife and began to chop tomatoes and cuc.u.mbers into bite sized cubes.
"I love your drawings."
The rhythm of his knife slowed...then sped up. He didn't speak, and didn't look at her-and that confirmed her suspicion that the artwork meant much more to him than he'd readily admit.
"They're full of emotion-simple emotion. Raw. I love that with only a few strokes, you can make a picture say something."
"Thanks." His response, brief, short, tried to be nonchalant, but it failed. She heard the underlying notes of relief and delight and smiled inside herself. Sensitivity was a good thing in a man. Especially one who informed her that she was going to seduce him.
She became quiet again, watching him. As always, she was fascinated by his hands, and admired the long, tanned fingers sprinkled with fine black hairs. She watched the tendons s.h.i.+ft on the back of his hands, giving texture and life to them, noticing the solidness of his angular wrists.
"Have you ever thought about exhibiting?" Fiona sensed that she'd inched her way out onto a limb, but if she was going to make love to the man...well, she felt she had the right to get to know him.
At that, Gideon snapped up his head to look at her. "Exhibit? My work?" The stark horror in his eyes threw her for a loop. "I would never even consider that."
"Why in the world not? They're definitely good enough. With some nice matting and frames, you could easily sell them." She pushed a little further.
"Absolutely not. I'm an attorney, not an artist."
Fiona arched her brows. Keeping her voice gentle, for she realized that this was some kind of red-hot b.u.t.ton for him, she reminded him, "They're not mutually-exclusive."
"To me they are." His mouth drew up firmly, and Fiona decided it would be wise to stop there. She could pursue the issue later.
She wanted to end with one last comment though. "I think they're beautiful, and if you ever wanted to gift me with one of them, I would be very flattered."
"How did you know about my work?"
She smiled, resisting the urge to reach across the counter and touch his hands. "The lines on your palms told me you had artistic abilities-but since they were fainter on your left, dominant, hand, I suspected that you'd pushed the urge to create aside, in favor of more structured pursuits."
Her guess had paid off not only by being accurate, but also by catching him off guard and giving Fiona a chance to catch her breath-away from him, in the den.
She'd come back into the kitchen, knowing she was going to have to play this cool, or she'd be lost in no time-succ.u.mbing to the strong attraction she knew sizzled between them, and very likely losing her own self control.
Being out of control was not something she was willing to risk.
CHAPTER TEN.