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“They have kits for that, you know. Online. You can find almost anything.”
“What—while I was sleeping?”
She shrugs. “Well, it sure wasn’t while we were fucking.”
The necklace that falls between her perfect breasts catches my eye, the diamond moving in time with her increased heart rate.
I’ve never met anyone like her. And I don’t think I ever will again. “You’re fucking insane.”
“You have no idea.”
I might.“So what now?”
“First, you put down the gun. And then we toast to your first lesson.”
“My lesson? Racing school?” I ask, swallowing hard.
She tilts her head and raises one brow suggestively. “I haven’t decided yet.”
* * *
We move toward the bedroom,my pistol aimed at her back. I wonder what kind of good defense you’d need to get away with shooting a naked woman in your house. Especially one you’ve dated. It sounds expensive. I wonder what prison is like and it isn’t looking good.
I follow her slowly, feeling like I’m being lured into a trap, as though a way out is slowly closing, cutting off my escape route entirely.
If the sight of her from behind is any indication of what’s coming, I’m not sure I mind.
We reach my bedroom, which is lit up by dozens of candles. I can’t know for sure whether it’s romantic or whether a human sacrifice is about to take place. On my nightstand sit two champagne flutes. Ali shifts and turns abruptly, placing her hand on the gun. “I don’t mind a little kink.” She fingers the tip. “But this is a bit much, don’t you think?”
She drops her hand and holds up the champagne bottle. Once I’ve placed my gun back in the holster, she thrusts the bottle in my direction. “You do the honors.”
“I’m not in the mood for a drink.”
“So? Get in the mood. Moods are choices, you know.”
I pop the bottle and watch as the bubbly liquid spills over the sides. It runs down my hand and trickles onto the floor. She takes the bottle from me, and then takes my hand in hers, bringing my hand to her mouth. Suggestively, she sucks the champagne off my fingers. I can’t tell if she’s serious, but it certainly feels that way. “I know you’re not an attorney—” she says, dropping my hand. “Or an accountant or whatever bullshit you said. And I know your name isn’t Mark.”
“You broke into my house. Obviously, you know a lot of things.”
“I’m very resourceful, Ethan. Very,veryresourceful.”
“I have no doubt.”
“What I want to know is what you know about me?” she asks, turning on her heel. She walks on tiptoe toward the bed, stopping to stretch her arms toward the ceiling, arching her back in a way that makes me dizzy. Then she drops back on to the mattress, calling me with her finger as she slowly spreads her legs wide open.
My eyes widen. “You’re not great at television interviews. I know that.”
“Oh, Ethan, Ethan, Ethan, Ethan. That wasn’t an interview. That was an ambush.”
The way she says my name is hypnotizing. She pops one finger in her mouth and starts sliding it down her body, and then—
“Come here,” she says.
I follow her direction. “God,” she murmurs, as my mouth moves from one breast to the other. She arches her back again as two of my fingers work inside her. It’s a tight fit, but nothing she can’t handle. When I add my thumb, pressing it against her clit, her eyes roll back in her head. She squirms, but I don’t stop. I keep working her over. I let her get close, so close. Then I stop and pull away.
“What are you doing?”
“You seem to like lessons,” I shrug. “Figure it out.”
