Somebody Killed His Editor: Holmes & Moriarity, Book 1 (19 page)

“Do you know how much has happened here since this morning?”

“This was important, though. This could help prove—”

J.X.’s hand fastened around my arm. “Time to go,” he said and despite the brisk tone, he was glowering at me. I was tempted to dig my heels in then and there, but the bitter awareness that he could put me in a headlock and drag me off—and was probably looking forward to doing so—forced me to give in with good grace.

Or at least give in.

He towed me right out of the room and down the hall to the heavy front door.

“Listen,” I gritted through my teeth, freeing myself at last. “I understand about not antagonizing this killer, but I don’t want to spend the next twenty years rotting in prison for a crime I didn’t commit. That earring is vital to my defense.”

“If you’re dead, you won’t need a defense.” He thrust my still-damp coat at me.

I shrugged it on, saying, “You’re going to great pains to make sure I can’t talk to anyone or build any kind of case that could help me.”

“So you know, I already asked the kid, Debbie, about the earring.”

“What did she say?”

He said calmly, “She said the glass was on the dresser, but it was empty.”

I stared at him. “That can’t be right.”

“I’m just telling you what she said. So you see, there’s no point going around blabbing to people that you think you’re being set up. You’re not going to get the answer you want, and you’re liable to draw the wrong attention.”

I was silent as he hauled open the door. In fact, I couldn’t think of a damn thing to say all the long trek back to my cabin. The night seemed eerily black and silent, the rain pattering steadily and the squishy thump of our boots the only sound as we walked. The perfect circle of J.X.’s flashlight beam bounced www.samhainpublishing.com 111

Josh Lanyon

merrily ahead of us, highlighting puddles and clumps of weeds. Our breath smoked in the air. The cabins rose out of the lightless night. Dark windows and smokeless chimneys. About as uncheery a destination as could be.

J.X. unlocked my cabin door and pushed it wide.

I stepped inside and waited for him to lock me in and leave me alone in the wood smoke warmed dark, but he stepped inside too and shut the door behind him.

Still saying nothing, he set the kerosene lantern he’d brought from the house on the table and lit it.

The flame guttered and then lit, throwing crazy shadows across the rough wood interior.

“Why don’t you pour yourself a drink?” he said as he moved to the fireplace.

“I thought you said I drank too much.”

“You do, but tonight you’re entitled to have a drink. One drink,” he added. “You can pour me one too.”

I didn’t bother pointing out that this would make my third drink of the evening, he knew as well as I did. Maybe he hoped I’d drink myself into a stupor, and anything that might shut me up for the night was worth a try. “To what do I owe this honor?” I asked bitterly, but I poured us each a slightly flat gin and tonic while he rekindled the fire in the fireplace. When the fire was crackling brightly, I handed him his drink.

He took the glass, sipped it, set it aside and took my glass from my hand. I looked at him uncomprehending—and more uncomprehending as he put his arms around me. I stood there rigid as a plank of wood as he held me, and it gradually dawned on me that he was simply hugging me. A simple, uncomplicated hug. When was the last time that had happened to me? Against my better judgment I found myself hugging him back, taking the unexpected comfort gratefully.

Against my ear J.X. said gruffly, “Hey. I know you’re scared. I give you my word I won’t let you go to jail for something you didn’t do. Okay? Can you trust me a little?”

I couldn’t rely on my voice, so I settled for nodding, resting my forehead on his shoulder. He was that disconcerting bit taller than me. David had been two inches shorter, so this unexpected dynamic threw me.

He said, still husky-voiced, “First and foremost, I want to keep you alive.”

I nodded again, and then pulled away, keeping my head ducked so he couldn’t see my face because it really was too ridiculous getting choked up over the idea that someone cared if I lived or died. Not that there were people lining up, exactly.

He picked his glass up, staring at the fireplace. The fire threw shadows across his bearded face. I sat down and pulled my boots off.

Tossing the rest of his drink off, J.X. said, “I should let you get some sleep.”

He set the glass on the desk and headed for the door. “Don’t drink any more tonight.”

“Are you going back to the lodge?”

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“For a while. But I’ll sleep down at my cabin.”

I had the impression that was supposed to reassure me. And I suppose it did on one level. It’s not like I relished the idea of being the only living soul this far from help. If the killer did come after me, J.X. had already demonstrated what a jam I’d be in.

He scrutinized me. He dug in his pocket. “I won’t lock you in tonight, but for Christ’s sake keep the door barred. Don’t leave this cabin unless it’s actually on fire. Do you understand me?”

“
Ya vol, mon Commandant
.” I saluted, then grabbed hastily at the key he tossed my way.

He opened the door and I said, “Was it something I said or something I didn’t say?”

“What’s that?”

“Someone waiting for you in your cabin? You’re in quite a hurry.”

He didn’t move a muscle.

“Did I really break your heart?”

J.X. said, “I was pretty stupid back then. I probably deserved to have my heart broken.”

“Come here,” I murmured. “Let me kiss it better.”

~ * ~

I didn’t want to be alone, that was all. This wasn’t about anything but expediency, but I was already getting to know the taste of him, the texture of his skin, the sounds he made. I liked that he was calm and quiet in the face of my hunger, giving what I needed, giving generously, and taking without greed, appreciating as he went.

The light from the fireplace cast an arc over him, an old gold nimbus behind his head as he bent over me, and he was so beautiful it took my breath away. My hands shook, sliding up beneath the warm cotton of his shirt, pulling him down till our mouths met.

Yes, he’d learned a lot over the years. His lips were sweet and coaxing and wicked all at the same time, and though I had told myself I was in control here, I opened right up to him, murmuring acquiescence, liking the taste of his desire.

He pushed up on his arms, the ropes of muscle delineated by the shifting shadows, and he was smiling, but it was a knowledgeable smile—the vulnerable boy was long gone and I felt regret for that.

Regret that I hadn’t cherished that boy.

“You’re very beautiful,” I said.

His lips—well-shaped and rather sensual—curled cynically.

“You do talk too much, that’s a fact.” His mouth covered my own again. So many kisses after scarcity.

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I rested my hand against the side of his face feeling the silk of beard and hair, the smooth texture of his skin. My tongue prodded his mouth and he let me in, his tongue lazily pushing and then twining with my own. I’d forgotten how pleasurable kissing—just kissing—was.

And how pleasurable it was to be naked with someone again, to feel warm skin gliding on warm skin, the different textures of bone and muscle and hair. Our hips moved together, cocks rubbing against each other, thrusting with urgent playfulness that gradually gave way to something less playful but still unselfish, ungrudging. His mouth closed on my left nipple and sucked and I arched up against him, fingers sinking into his back muscles.

“That’s…nice,” I got out.

J.X. raised his head. “
Nice?
”

“Nice is highly underrated.”

He chuckled. He lowered his head again, licking and then teething very gently, and his dark, shining head moved to my other nipple. I moaned and he smiled against my chest. It was too good to bear. I tugged at him and his mouth reluctantly loosed the oversensitive nub. He resettled against me as though we were locking into place. Lock and load…

Oh God, the feel of bare skin from belly to thigh as we rocked against each other, harder, faster, fiercer—I could feel that heat shivering through me like wind shaking dry grass, setting it alight…setting a match to me…all that energy coalescing into—

What if we did it for real? Fucked for real?

Would he let me? Or would I have to—? The idea of letting him was unexpectedly…tempting.

But I let the thought go because that was getting complicated and the last thing I wanted was complications. Simple, quick, warm relief. That’s what this was about.

His skin was gleaming with sweat, tinted amber, and his heart was banging hard against my own as we thrust and tussled our way to a sudden, pumping slick release…desperate friction giving way to the slip and slide relief.

There it was…there…that spate of wet heat and snapping energy, a fireball blazing through nerves and muscles and razing everything in its path, setting the fields of gold on fire. Summer once more.

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When I finally marshaled my scattered forces, we had caught our breaths again and were dozing side by side, arms brushing but otherwise not touching. I turned my head on the pillow and studied J.X.’s face.

His eyes were closed, although I knew he wasn’t sleeping.

He had disarmingly long eyelashes.

As though feeling my gaze, he opened his eyes, slanted me a look. I waited for another comment about how this had been a mistake, but maybe he thought that went without saying.

With my usual flair for pillow talk, I said, “So why don’t you wear your wedding ring?”

He didn’t blink, didn’t move a muscle. I wasn’t sure he’d even heard me, although given the fact that our noses were inches apart, I didn’t see how he could have failed to. At last, he said evenly, “Would it have mattered to you?”

“Not if it didn’t matter to you. Why should it?” Nobody was faithful, right? No such thing as fidelity anyway. Wasn’t even a realistic expectation, and only fools let themselves get hurt.

He said as a statement, not question, “Because this is just sex.”

“Right.” I said it but I can’t say I felt any great confidence as the word left my mouth. Sometimes I wonder if anything is “just” sex. There are ramifications for everything we do, and I didn’t like that particular glint in his eyes. Maybe it was the uncertain light…but I didn’t think so.

I was disconcerted to hear myself add, “Isn’t it?”

“It is for me.”

That was blunt enough, and it’s not like I was asking for it to be anything else, so I’m not sure why I felt that barb working its way up through my guts toward my heart.

“So…what’s the deal with you? You’re bisexual? You were going through one of those heterosexual phases?”

He said calmly, “I don’t feel a need to explain myself to you. I’m not asking you any questions, am I?” He sat up and reached for his boxers which were lying beside the bed. I felt taking time to don underwear showed a certain level of maturity and I accepted that the ardent boy I had once known was truly gone.

All the same, I pushed up on my elbows, watching him dress. “You can if you want to.”

He gave me another of those brief gleaming looks. “It doesn’t matter to me anymore.”

“Ouch.”

Josh Lanyon

“Hey, you asked.”

Watching him fasten the fly of his jeans, I observed, “The fact that you still seem resentful of something that happened over a decade ago might lead someone to think that you still have feelings for me.”

“I have feelings for you,” J.X. said. “I feel that you’re an egotistical and self-centered prick. But you’re a good fuck. I feel it would be a shame not to take advantage of that.” He shrugged into his shirt, his eyes meeting mine steadily, unselfconsciously.

I was the one coloring. To my astonishment, I heard myself confess, “I was scared.”

He raised his brows politely. The Grand Inquisitor allowing the convicted a last word.

I said, “The weekend of the conference I’d come home from a book tour to find my lover in bed with a neighbor. I thought it was over between us, and I…was in a lot of pain. It was not my intention to hurt you.” I grimaced. “You probably kept me from chucking myself out of a hotel window that weekend.”

He did the buttons of his shirt swiftly, eyeing me without interruption.

“But when I went back home, David apologized. He begged for another chance.”

“And you didn’t have the balls to explain that to me? You couldn’t take a couple of minutes to answer my emails or phone calls and tell me the truth?”

I put my face in my hands and groaned. “I know. I
know
. I’m sorry. I know I treated you badly. I was a shit.”

“Past tense? You still
are
a shit, Christopher.” He even smiled, though it was rather derisive. He picked his jacket up from the floor near the door and pulled it on. “Only this time around it’s David you’re treating badly, not me. Because I don’t give a damn.”

He zipped his jacket, opened the door and said, “Lock this behind me.”

With that, he was gone, and I leaped across the chilly boards to slide the bolt and sprint back to the warmth of the bed. I huddled into the bedclothes and listened to the beat of the rain—and the echo of J.X.’s words.

It sank in on me that I still hadn’t really managed to tell him the full truth—that I had been too gutless to allow myself further contact with him because I wasn’t sure I could end it. I’d liked him a lot. So much so that I’d been in danger of falling hard for him that weekend. For a kid five years younger than me. An ambitious nobody. A cop. He’d scared me in so many ways it wasn’t funny. Meanwhile there was the devil I knew. David. David, who was so sincerely sorry, and so determined to make it up to me, and so safe, and so familiar. And we’d already paid for the commitment ceremony.

I had never been very adventurous. Hell, admit it. I was a fucking coward. Which is why I wrote mysteries about a geriatric gumshoe and her furball feline.