The Lady Vanishes (19 page)

MILTON HURRIED DOWN THE STAIRS
and to the right into the kitchen, looking for the trays that he knew Mrs. Beechum had made him order when he’d been buying dishes for the kitchen. At the time he hadn’t understood why he needed trays, but now that he had a chance to bring the beautiful woman in his bed flowers, he was thrilled that he had dark wooden serving trays with inlaid mother of pearl and enamel in a Japanese design.

He wished he’d thought to order flowers with dinner as well, but since he hadn’t, he fashioned one out of a napkin and some wire that he kept in his junk drawer. It looked similar to the one he’d pinned to her scrubs a few days earlier. He wondered if she’d remember. She hadn’t mentioned it.

Once he had the tray, the flower, and a clean plate and silverware, he went back to the library to make her a fresh plate, or mostly fresh.

He liked the way she looked in his clothes. It had been a shame to give them to her, but he felt like if he didn’t cover her up, he’d go after her again and he didn’t want to hurt her.

He found himself half running, excited to see her again, excited to watch her eat, and talk about comics, and see her look at him with that speculative look, the look that said she liked fucking him, that she’d liked what he’d done to her. He kind of couldn’t believe he’d done that. He’d just . . . wanted to. He’d wanted to take all of her, experience everything there was to experience with her, make her come so hard that she would want to stay and fuck him again and again.

“Cold, but still edible—” he began as he came into the room, coming to a stop almost immediately.

She’d fallen asleep in the middle of his bed, her legs sprawled out and her arms thrown over her head. She was snoring lightly.

Milton stared and felt an odd little kick in his chest, like a muscle spasm, and he walked over to the corner of the room and set the tray down on the chaise. Sitting down next to it, he began to methodically eat the steak. Asleep. In the middle of his bed. He wasn’t sure why he found the idea so astonishing. He knew she’d gotten up early and ridden her bike to the hospital. He knew she’d been on her feet all day and that she’d spent the evening fucking him like a champ. Still, she was sleeping. Snoring. It was so weirdly normal. He didn’t think he’d ever had a woman snoring in his bed before.

He looked down, realized he’d finished the plate, and drank the glass of wine for good measure. Setting the tray aside, he picked up the gray throw and walked over to the bed. Jesus, she was beautiful.

Covering her gently with the throw, he paused for a moment, admiring her, and then went back downstairs to put the tray away in the kitchen.

Glass of wine in hand, he went back to the library and sat on the couch—grinning suddenly at the idea that he would think about tonight every time he sat on this couch. The fire had burned down, but it was still glowing red and hot.

Somewhere in the room, a phone beeped, and it wasn’t his. Locating her backpack, he found the phone in the outside pocket and pulled it out. There was a text from her sister showing up that read, “Hope you’re having fun! Fed the cat.”

He supposed she’d told her sister she was coming over while he’d been in the limo.

Out of habit, he logged onto his computer, reading absently through his emails. There were two from Roland, one asking him for help with a bug in the new system for the government, the other reminding him that the company was receiving an award for philanthropy from the
Boston Business Journal
in two weeks, but there was also one from Burris, the private investigator he’d texted a few days earlier.

“Have a lead on Burke. Want me to continue?”

Milton glanced up at the ceiling as if he could see all the way through the plaster to the woman who lay asleep in his bed. Her father was a bad guy, a guy who’d hurt a lot of people, including his own daughters. He could find Carter Burke, bring him to justice, maybe give her some closure.

A tiny, tiny voice suggested that maybe he should talk to her about this, but he ignored it. Her father had ruined her life, had made her not believe in happily ever after. Milton’s own father—a literature professor at Harvard—had believed in the power of literature to reveal humanity, to show truth, whether ugly or misshapen or guised as lies, and the truth was, Milton wanted to bring Carter Burke to justice partly to prove that he could, and partly to make Regina Burke happy with him.

With only the slightest hesitation, he typed, “Yes.”

REGINA KNEW SHE WAS DREAMING,
at least at first, but she forgot as soon as she began to climb the steps. She was headed to the magician’s workroom, she knew she was, but she wasn’t sure why. He was up there, but what was he doing, what did he have planned for her?

The door was huge, somehow taller than any other door in the house, and as she turned the knob, she thought she could hear a woman’s voice and laughter. Frowning, she opened it, and froze. It was her. It had been her voice. She was wearing something sparkly and revealing, and her arms were tied above her head and her ankles bound. Milton was touching her, running his hands over her with impunity, and she was moaning, letting him, enjoying it.

Fascinated, Regina started forward, and Milton turned to look at her. “Regina?” he asked.

Regina frowned, tried to speak, but the voice came again: “Regina.”

Regina came awake with a start, jerking upward and hitting Milton’s forehead with her own.

“Ouch. Shit,” she gasped, her eyes watering.

She gotten him good as well. He was holding his nose like it might start bleeding at any moment.

“I’m sorry.” Regina scrambled to her knees and tried to take a closer look. “Shit, are you bleeding?”

After a moment, he released the bridge of his nose, and managed a smile for her. “Well, that’s one way to wake up.”

Regina looked around, confused. He was fully dressed in jeans and a dark gray sweater, his hair damp as if he’d just taken a shower. Her eyes felt gritty, like she’d slept in her contacts.

“Or you could have some coffee.” He gestured to a tray laden with what looked like an omelet, orange slices, and a carafe of coffee. One of his paper roses was laid across the tray. “I’d like to take credit for cooking it, but I sent Shane to pick it up.”

“What time is it?” Regina scrambled off the bed, horrified to realize that she’d fallen asleep. She had to get home, change, get to work. Shit. She hadn’t been this irresponsible in . . . she couldn’t remember.

“Relax.” He lifted a hand. “It’s like five a.m. You have plenty of time to eat, have a cup of coffee, and still go home and change.”

Five a.m. He was right. “You don’t mind?”

He was still sitting on the bed, but he smiled at her and lifted his own cup of coffee to his lips. “I don’t mind.”

Now that she thought about it, the food smelled heavenly. She hadn’t eaten much last night before she’d apparently passed out. How fucking embarrassing.

She felt awkward, standing there, but she didn’t want to just crawl into his bed and make herself at home again, as she apparently had last night.

“Come on,” he said, patting the bed next to him. “I know you’re probably hungry.”

Regina pushed the hair away from her face and walked over to him, taking a seat on the bed next to the nightstand where he’d placed the tray.

“You’re not hungry?”

He shrugged and took another sip of his coffee. “Not really. I hope you like spinach and feta.”

Regina loved spinach and feta, but she didn’t want to pig out with him sitting next to her. Luckily he stood, setting his mug aside, and handed her the plate.

“Here, eat.”

Regina obeyed, watching him while he poured her a cup of coffee.
Oh, fuck. He’s perfect. I want to marry him.
Shaking off the thought, Regina straightened.
It’s just the coffee addiction talking. Will not give hand in marriage for cup of coffee.

“Cream?” he asked, and Regina nearly whimpered.

“Please.”

He poured it for her and then glanced at her lap. She’d already eaten half the omelet, which was delicious, but her bleary gaze was fixed on the coffee. She set her fork down, balancing the plate on her lap, and reached for the mug, which he gave her with a slight chuckle.

He seemed a little subdued this morning, and there were slight circles under his eyes.

Regina considered asking him if he had slept, but then she took her first sip of coffee.
Halle-fucking-lujah
.

“Good?” He laughed, and Regina gave him a look that called him an idiot for asking. Smiling at her, he stood and walked over to the chaise longue she’d noticed yesterday. Her backpack was there, as well as her clothes, which were carelessly piled rather than neatly folded. He wasn’t perfect after all. She breathed a sigh of relief.

He transferred her bag and clothes to the bed next to her and proceeded to move restlessly around the room while she watched. He didn’t seem to be able to sit still, making her wonder if she made him nervous or if he were trying to tell her that while last night had been fun, he wasn’t interested in continuing their little encounter.

Her throat tightened and she set her coffee back on the nightstand.

“Everything okay?” she ventured, wondering why she felt so hollow. She’d known this was temporary, she just hadn’t expected it to be quite
this
temporary.

“Great.” He removed a deck of playing cards from his pocket, shuffling them rapidly.

Regina took another bite of her food, watching him, until he seemed to realize that he had her undivided attention. The cards were gone before she’d seen him move.

“Sorry,” he said, scratching above his ear. “I’m trying to figure out how to ask you to come over again tonight.”

Relief made Regina smile broadly. “I think you just did.”

“So that’s a yes?” He rocked back on his heels a little.

“Yes.” She grinned, and took another enthusiastic bite of eggs.

“Good,” he said and laughed. “Good.”

“Now that that’s settled . . .” Regina finished the last bite of her eggs and set the plate on the tray. She picked up her coffee again. “Where did you sleep last night?”

“Ah”—he shifted his feet—“I was pretty restless, so I slept for a little while on the couch in the library. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You could sleep on that thing?” she murmured, thinking about last night with more than a little heat.

“No.” His gaze was warmer as well, his eyes wandering over her. “Would you like to shower before you go?”

Regina wasn’t sure she’d be able to withstand the temptation of him, hot water, and what was probably a shower built to host a bacchanal.

“You’re already dressed,” she blurted out before she thought.

His eyes widened, and she realized that she’d just spilled the beans about what she wanted to do with him in that shower. His delighted smile said that he didn’t mind in the slightest. “I’ve got time if you do.”

Regina considered. She had an extra pair of scrubs in her locker at the hospital. If she showered here, wore the clothes she’d had on yesterday, and changed there, she would be good. She even had contact solution. She could give them a good rinse before putting them back in her eyes.

A smile curled the corner of her lip. “A shower sounds pretty nice.”

He kicked off his shoes. “Yes, it does.”

MILTON GRIMACED AS HE PUNCHED UP THE SPEED
on the treadmill in the office gym. He was sore, actually
sore
, from the evening’s—and the morning’s—activities. That woman knew how to do some creative things with a showerhead.

Nick, who’d just finished running through a martial arts routine on a nearby mat, wiped his sweaty forehead with a towel, and took a seat on a nearby weight bench. His dark blond hair was damp with sweat, his blue eyes glowing with curiosity.

“So?” he said loudly enough to be heard over the noise of the treadmill. “How’d it go?”

Milton used the question as an excuse to dial the speed back down. He ran, but he’d never learned to like it much. When he’d slowed to a brisk walk, he said, “Two words: Mind. Blown.”

“Yeah?” Nick’s eyebrows shot up. “She seemed kind of reserved to me.”