If Looks Could Kill (18 page)

Madison…

God, he wanted her. It was painful; it was anguish. He couldn't touch or taste his fill. He had always known that her hair was silk, that her naked flesh would be like satin, stroking him. But she was vibrant, as well, twisting, arching, biting lightly into his shoulders, as he touched her with an ever-greater intimacy, rubbing her belly lower and lower with the brush of his knuckles, sliding his fingers into her….

Their mouths met again in a long, wet, ravaging kiss. His fingers were still inside her. He felt her touching him. Hands on his erection, closing around him, stroking.

He broke away and looked at her, and her blue eyes looked back into his, glazed, yet ready….

He moved against the length of her with a renewed impetus of passion. He wet her breasts with his tongue, drew moist patterns down her torso, laving her navel. He parted her thigh with a quick thrust of his hands and fell between them, making love to her with the intimate caress of his tongue.

She cried out, fingers knitting in his hair, tugging. He endured the pull. In seconds she climaxed. Blood thundered and pulsed painfully in his aroused penis, and he rose above her, sliding into her with the force of his passion. Searingly hot, wet, she gloved him….

He moved with a fevered, urgent rhythm, losing all sense of thought and reason with the sheer force of his need. He gritted his teeth together hard, trying to remember that he wanted her with him, drowning in the tantalizing scent of their sex, in the erotic feel of her flesh, being within her. Her hips pulsed with his to a frenetic, desperate beat. Then his climax exploded violently from him, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her, drawing her harder and harder against him until he heard a cry of release spill from her lips once again….

He rolled her over and held her against him, content in the feel of intimacy that still pervaded him. She was naked, sleek with sweat, her back curved to his chest, her skin against his own. He touched her again, lightly, drawing a line from her shoulder down her spine, over her hip and the curve of her buttocks.

“Now I know why I've stayed away from you so long,” he murmured softly.

“Why?” she murmured.

“You're pure temptation, Madison.”

She shifted, turning in his arms, smiling slightly. “So are you.”

“Well, thanks, but somehow…Never mind.”

“Why did you accuse me of reading your mind?” she asked him softly. “Do you still think I'm a witch?”

He pulled her slightly closer. “Yes, you're definitely a witch. You cast spells. Men fall in love with you, just seeing you on the page of a magazine. They'd die to have you.”

“They?”

“And I've been thinking about walking down the hallway and bursting into your room with almost the exact same words.”

“Oh.”

“‘Let's get on with it!”' he murmured. “I think something awful would have happened if we hadn't come to this. I would have exploded.”

“Surely not!”

“Little pieces of me would have landed all over south Florida,” he told her gravely.

She smiled, but then her smile faded. “Like that poor woman!” she said softly.

He shook his head, realizing what he had said. “Worse,” he assured her, and she had to smile, resting her head against his chest. “Well, we did get to it.” She was quiet for a few minutes. He absently smoothed her hair, engrossed in the feel of it against his flesh.

“I should go back to my own room now.”

“Don't even contemplate the idea.”

“But—”

He lifted her chin so that he could look into her eyes. “That was the best sex I've had in my entire life. And if you think that I'm just going to let you walk out of here now—when you're wet and ready and in my bed already, when we don't have to go to dinner, have drinks, figure out how to get one another's clothes off or anything—you're nuts.”

She stared back at him. “Funny, isn't it? I thought that I was curious. That I just needed…”

“One good shot?” he inquired dryly.

Madison stared at him steadily. “I thought we'd be at the get-on-with-the-rest-of-our-lives bit by now.”

“Are you there? Done with me?” he demanded.

“I wish I was!” she said honestly.

“But?”

“I suppose I shouldn't have come here. Except that I was going crazy, I had to know—”

“Are you done sleeping with me?” he asked, interrupting impatiently. “Have you had all you want?” She hesitated, staring at him, irritated by the bluntness of his demand. “Well?”

“That's an incredibly rude question.”

“It isn't rude. I'm dying here. Well?”

“Blunt, crude.”

“It's an honest question. Answer it.”

“No,” she admitted angrily.

“Good.” He found her lips and kissed her, in greater control than he'd been when she first came naked into his arms, licking, nipping, teasing, playing, until a rise of passion seemed to stir them both once again.

Then he was inside her again.

And it was true.

It was the best sex he'd had in his whole life.

 

It didn't matter in the least to Trent Adair how late it was getting. He could keep at it all night. He stared down at the page he was working on, deeply pleased.

Chief Inspector Jésus Hernandez hunched down by the corpse, shaking his head in dismay as he fought the nausea that bubbled in his stomach. With each murder, the killer was mutilating the body with a greater fervor.

She had been a beauty—once.

Young, with hopes and dreams in the crystal blue eyes that now stared sightlessly toward heaven. Perhaps, in her dying moments, she had traveled the path of her soul skyward. Hernandez could only pray that it was so.

For what lay on the ground, the remains of her mortal person, was a tragedy, a crude jest against the hopes and dreams of the young. She had been neatly dissected, her organs removed and displayed about the body, her head nearly severed, the line of blood around her neck so thick that she might have been wearing a gaily colored ribbon…

He sat back staring at his words. He smiled, pleased.

Damn, he was getting good, and he was going to get published before any of them even knew that he was trying to write a book. He'd kept it a secret, not wanting anyone to think that he meant to get help from Jordan, or use Jordan's influence in any way to help him. He could do it on his own.

The scene was downright gruesome.

Good, but gruesome.

And very different from what Jordan Adair wrote. This was far more graphic.

Real.

 

Morning came.

Light filtered through the shades into the bedroom.

Kyle awoke slowly, then wondered at first, a frown furrowing his brow, if his dreams hadn't grown frighteningly tangible and far too graphically erotic.

But no…Madison was there. Lying beside him.

Naked.

Still sleeping deeply.

Which was nice. Talking to each other this morning was going to be awkward; he was glad she was asleep, because he just wanted to watch her for a while. She was stretched out on her stomach, her hair a wild red tangle around her shoulders and over her back. She'd casually kicked the sheet aside, so she was barely covered at all, and he had a nice long look at her. Naked—and relaxed. There was only so much he had seen in the sheer heat of passion. It was good to look at her at his leisure now.

She did have the world's most incredible back, long and sleek, caped now with the fall of her dark auburn hair. Her legs were very long and shapely. Madison didn't have the anorectic look that characterized so many fashion models; she was in superb condition, slender, but sleekly muscled. Really nice, tight, rounded buttocks.

He wouldn't allow himself to touch. She might awaken.

But he frowned suddenly, leaning over and pushing aside a corner of the sheet that created a shadow on the right side of her hip.

There…just below where a bikini line might fall, was a tattoo. Tiny, discreet, very pretty.

Yet it made his blood run cold.

A rose.

A bloodred rose.

K
yle moved so abruptly that he startled her awake. She rolled over, nearly jumping into a sitting position. He found himself watching as her emotions swept clearly through her eyes: realization of where she was, and dismay that she was still there.

They'd been wild during the night.

But now, with sunlight filtering into the room, she reached instinctively for the sheet, drawing it up to her breasts as she turned a nervous gaze on him. “I…meant to be out of here. Martique must be awake. She'll—”

He cut in sharply. “Where did you get that tattoo?”

“What?”

“Your tattoo. Where and when did you get it?”

“I really don't see that it's any of your business!” she replied irritably.

Kyle took a deep breath, realizing that he was tense and acting like a drill sergeant. “It's important, Madison.”

She stared at him for a moment, then started to turn away, as if anxious to find her robe and get out. He caught her arm. “Madison, get back here.”

“Let me go, Kyle.”

“Madison, two of the murder victims had rose tattoos.”

“Lots of women have tattoos.”

“Not just tattoos, rose tattoos.”

“I hadn't heard—”

“And you won't hear. The police are keeping the information quiet. When murders like these occur, they get dozens of cranks calling in, confessing to them. Information like this helps them weed out the phonies. Trust me, Madison, or hell! If you don't trust me, call your sister. Two of the victims had rose tattoos. Another of the victims had just received a huge vase of roses. Now please, where and when did you get your tattoo?”

She paused, looking at his hand, where it rested on her arm. The look meant that he should let go. He didn't.

“Kyle, I've had that tattoo since my first year of college. I was out with a bunch of my girlfriends. We went to a club, had a few drinks and all decided to get tattoos. Luckily, we weren't too loaded, or it might have been a lot bigger.”

Kyle frowned, shaking his head. “What ever made you think about getting tattoos?”

She shrugged, her beautiful mane of auburn hair waving down her back, a small, rueful smile curling her lips. “We were college kids. On break, with too much time and too much money. We were being wild, decadent—adult, or so we thought. I think the tattoo parlor was somewhere in Virginia. Near Manassas, I'm pretty sure. I don't remember. It was a long time ago. It was one of those things kids do—I had blue hair once, too.” She sighed, shaking her head. “And as to the rose, well…”

“Yes?”

Her eyes rested on his. “I guess I felt guilty.”

“Guilty? How?”

“I spent so much time not wanting to be like my mother. I still worry about it, now and again, I think because I'm the spitting image of her, and I—I don't want to have a life like hers, though it does seem I'm on the path, doesn't it?” She didn't want an answer; she was already talking again. “I did love Lainie. She was a horrible wife, and she was selfish, but in her way, she was a wonderful mother. She was in costume and all made up for a play once, and the director yelled at her that my sitting on her lap was going to mess up her dress. She hugged me tighter and told him that her children were more important that any dress, and for that matter, they were more important than any play. She did love us. Anyway…Lainie had this rose.”

Kyle exhaled a long breath of relief. “Your mother had a rose tattoo?”

Madison nodded gravely, then smiled again. “Do you remember how your father used to call her his rose? He'd say that Lainie was just like the most glorious rose, so beautiful and sweet-smelling—and so full of thorns. She had her tattoo done because of your father. She said that she got it complete with thorns because she didn't want him to forget that she had her own defenses. She said she needed her thorns. You wouldn't have seen it, because my mother was hardly going to run around naked in front of you, whereas she felt perfectly natural dressing in front of her daughters. The night I had mine done, I'd had a few glasses of champagne, and you know my tolerance for alcohol. I was probably a little weepy, thinking about my mother, even though she'd been dead a long time by then. My friend Cathy Tarlington had a sailfish done, because her boyfriend was an avid sports fisherman. Jill Anderson got a beautiful heron—she's still working to save the Everglades. And I had…a rose.”

Kyle stared at her, nodding after a moment.

“There's nothing remotely dangerous about my tattoo.”

“I guess not. It's just so curious. An incredible coincidence.”

“You might never have seen it.”

He met her eyes. “I think you're wrong. I would have seen it eventually. Last night was long overdue, and you know it.”

“It couldn't have been too long overdue. You haven't been down here that long.”

“Well,
I've
been fantasizing since the night I got here. How about you?”

“I hadn't fantasized at all,” she assured him regally.

“No?”

“No.”

“You're a liar.”

“I'm not.”

“You told me you were so curious you couldn't stand it. Not another minute.”

“I never said that.”

“You said something damned close.”

“Well, I wasn't fantasizing—”

“I see. But your friends have been pointing out the fact that I might be a good lay?”

She arched one brow with elegant disdain. “What a way with words.”

“How do you want to put it?”

“I don't.”

She started to rise, drawing the sheet along with her. He pulled it back. She let it go, spinning around to face him.

“Hey, I'm being honest,” he told her huskily. “You're the best I've ever had.”

“The best what?”

“You just told me I'm too graphic.”

“I didn't say that. Not exactly. The best what?”

He stared at her for a long moment, resting on an elbow. “You're the best partner I've ever had in bed. You're beautiful, erotic and giving. And there's no way in hell I'll ever be sorry.”

She paused, watching him. “I didn't say
I
was sorry, either,” she told him. Then, moving with pure grace and elegance, she reached down for her green silk robe, but she didn't put it on.

She meant to leave him, he knew. She would be back, he told himself. Oh, God, yes, she would have to come back! Because he was more obsessed than he'd ever been. Still, he luxuriated in gazing at her as she veiled her nudity. She was so beautifully built, and her skin had the perfection of porcelain. He had the sheet now, covering him. But once again, he was discovering that watching her was all he needed for an erection.

It might cause some problem in the days ahead, he reflected.

“Why are you in such a hurry?” he asked.

“It's morning. Martique—”

“Would never dream of saying a word to anyone.”

“I have to take a shower and get ready. We're doing some more shooting for the poster today.”

“Madison, it's not over six-thirty. And do you really have to do more photos? Jaime must have taken hundreds of shots yesterday. I've got to go back to Miami—”

“And I have to work here.”

Kyle stepped out of bed. Meeting her eyes, he took the emerald green robe from her hands. He didn't want to argue with her. Not now.

“I can be really quick, I promise,” he vowed solemnly.

“Kyle…”

“Really quick.”

He tugged at the robe more forcefully. “Once you get away,” he told her, taking the green silk garment from her and letting it fall back to the floor, “I don't know when I'll get you back again. Don't leave me like this.” He pulled her into his arms and molded his hands over her buttocks, forcing her against his pelvis.

A smile twitched at her lips. It was good enough for him. He swept her up and laid her down.

And once he had her there…

It was impossible to let her up.

He was nowhere near as quick as he had promised.

 

Okay, she
had
walked into his room, Madison reminded herself. And it wasn't that she wasn't glad to have done so. Darryl had been a good lover, giving, exciting….

It was just that nothing in life was like being with Kyle. His passion was so explosive, each touch bringing new sensation. When she thought she was tired, he could reawaken her. When she thought she would die from reaching such peaks, he lifted her over another one. It was wonderful. And he was so vocal, telling her that she was the best lover he'd ever had. In defense of her soul, she didn't dare return the compliment.

But sex seemed to make men possessive. Maybe it made women possessive, as well, she thought as she showered, because she knew she would knock Sheila right in the head if she started making a play for Kyle again. And yet, Sheila certainly still had the right to do so. She and Kyle had come together with no expectations, no commitments. Chemistry had been brewing between them from the first, and they'd both recognized it, then acted on it. And it had been good. But that was all. They were supposed to have gotten the obsession out of the way, so that they could get on with their lives.

There was absolutely no way Madison was ever going to admit that she'd been in love with Kyle most of her life, that she was still in love with him and would always love him. He had called her a witch once. And now he thought she was great in bed. Well, what had she expected? Kyle didn't give of his heart or his soul easily. They'd had great sex. Such words did not speak of involvement or commitment, and she was going to keep her own head level on her shoulders.

Except that he was making it so hard.

“I don't like you staying here,” he said, shaking his head.

“I'm committed to another day's shooting, but I'm safe with these guys, you know.”

Dressed, dark and deadly handsome in a business suit, he nodded gravely as he sipped his coffee, surveying her, his eyes very green against his bronzed skin.

“The frightening thing is that this killer is someone everybody trusts. Someone leading a dual life, walking around every day looking as normal as can be.”

“I'll be fine. Jaime is picking me up, and I'll have him bring me home, too. Martique will be here all day, and—” she paused, with just a sparkle of amusement in her eyes “—my dad's alarm system is even better than my own.”

“Umm,” he murmured.

“Besides, I'm supposed to be the psychic one. The witch,” Madison reminded him. “I don't feel any sense of danger here.”

He raised a brow, then shrugged. “I can't explain it, but I feel really uncomfortable about this entire case.”

“Maybe,” she suggested softly, “you've just been at it too long.”

“Yeah,” he said lightly after a moment, “maybe I need a vacation. Anyway, I'll leave once Jaime gets here, but I'll be back tonight, and I'll drive home with you tomorrow.”

“That isn't necessary.”

“I think it is.”

Madison gave up arguing. A few seconds later, she heard Jaime beeping outside. “I've got to go.”

He didn't kiss her cheek, didn't touch her. He just nodded gravely, followed her to the door and watched as Hector stepped from the van to help her into the front passenger seat. Hector waved to Kyle, then crawled into the back, slamming the side door.

“
Mucho macho,
that man,” Hector said, shaking his head.

“Indeed!” agreed Michelle from the rear seat.

“He'd make a good model,” Jaime said. “Good face.”

“Great body,” Michelle added.

“He'd be good on the poster,” Hector mused. “What do you think, stepsister of
mucho-macho
man? Would he pose?”

“Well, we'll all be together again at his father's gallery opening,” Madison commented lightly. “You can always ask him.”

“
You
can always ask,” Jaime agreed, glancing from the road to Madison with a half smile on his lips.

“Well, that's Sunday,” Madison said.

“Right, we have our work today,” Michelle said. “Can't think too far ahead. But, Madison, look at you! You're just glowing today. Don't you think so, Hector?”

“She's pure neon,” Hector agreed.

“You had a good night, eh? Thank God!” Michelle laughed.

“What?” Madison gasped.

Hector and Jaime laughed softly, and she knew that they hadn't known a thing about her night until she gave herself away.