That got a growl from him. He took an abrupt step back. “Yes. I think I shall haveplentyof that. But not with a pack of eager children crouched by the door, listening for every gasping breath and thump of furniture, hm?” He straightened his suit coat.
Turning to face him, she was proud to see the kind of state she left him in. He had to reach into his pocket to adjust himself to keep from making quite the scene. She had done that. ToProfessor James Moriarty.He wanted her.Her.Yes, Irene Adler. Butherversion of the woman.
That made her want to throw him to the ground and ride him to oblivion, costume assistants be damned.
But she couldn’t. Not here. Not now. Not ever. Right? Right.Right.“I should be seen going home alone.”
“Indeed.” Reaching over, he plucked a single red rose from the bouquet he had brought her. With a bow of his head, he left the room without another word, shutting the door behind him.
What an abrupt, infuriatingly ingenious, and evil man. What was shethinking?Letting him—wanting him—Irene was going to let him—no.Sashawas going to let him. She couldn’t deny how quickly he had lit a fire in her. Slumping down onto the plush stool of the dresser, she shut her eyes.
Sleeping with Moriarty might help gain his trust. Make him easier to manipulate.
No, it won’t. He’s an evil mastermind. He wouldn’t fall for that kind of shit. It’d just be because you both want it.
Maybe it’d help manipulate Vile.
No, it won’t. He’s an evil mastermind. He wouldn’t?—
She sighed. Moriarty was evil. And Vile was the reason they were in this mess to begin with. She couldn’t allow herself to get involved with them. Him. Whatever. She couldn’t. Shecouldn’t.But a strange, eager excitement wouldn’t let go of her as she changed into the black and white street dress she would wear on the carriage and to the flat she was renting. Again, all of it she knew how to act out simply because she wassupposedto.
Her hair that she did up in a style that she couldn’t have done in a thousand years otherwise. Her makeup. The dress that she wore without a problem. The heels. It was all coming to her comfortably—if she let it.Was that it? She was adapting to the fiction and it was adapting to her.
Maybe because she wasn’t fighting it anymore and starting to “let it in,” it was starting to make itself available to her. There was no other explanation for how she knew precisely how to get home to the flat she was renting. How hailing the carriage was a practiced event. How she knew the address without flinching. How she paid the driver the right amount without thinking about it.
It was when she got up the stairs to the door of her flat that she paused, her key in her hand.
The door was open. Someone had broken in—picked the lock, most likely—and left it sitting just so the latch sat on the striker. Anyone walking by likely wouldn’t even notice it was open.
Tucked into the crack was a single red rose.
Moriarty.
It was an invitation.
It was a promise.
And it was a threat.
Come inside.
You know you want to.
Come inside.
You’re already mine.
Her silk-gloved hand hesitated over the doorknob. Her heart was pounding in her ears, deafeningly loud. Drowning out all other sound. She had the money to walk away and stay in a hotel. To turn away from this scheme and find another. To politely turn down Moriarty and simply tell him that their plan was to go forward as business partners only.
But there was something raging inside of her.
An inferno that demanded to be fed.
A desire—aneed—to feel what it would be like.
He was a villain. A monster. He wasevil.The dastardly mastermind, Professor James Moriarty.Moriarty!Just for one night. Just once. She could taste the darkness. Sidney was going to have her way with Virtue, anyway.
This wouldn’t mean anything.
