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Nikolai was sitting sideways in his desk chair with his canvas propped on one knee when Madison slinked into his apartment. She had used the key he kept under his doormat to get in. She would have called this “trusting” from any other man but not from Nikolai Makarov.
He was applying thick layers of acrylic to the canvas, which she knew he would then scrape off later with a palette knife to apply dimensionality and texture. He was particularly fond of textures, like scales and leaves and leather, with raised bumps and recessed lines. “Working in skin,” she had teased him, which was just dark enough to amuse him.
“You shouldn’t leave your key out where anyone can get it.”
“Typical cop,” he remarked. “Always policing, even while off the clock.”
“I’m not a cop,” she corrected him for what had to be the hundredth time. “I’m a PI.”
He scoffed without looking up. “What’s the difference?”
“A PI can bend the rules.”
That made Nikolai glance up and smile briefly before going back to work. Her heart quickened when he picked up the palette knife and began carefully carving out chips of paint to create a shimmering effect on the carp he’d painted earlier.
He had beautiful hands. That was the first thing she’d noticed about him when she had met him at St. Andrew’s Cross. The second thing she noticed was how good they felt when they were wrapped around her throat. It didn’t surprise her at all when she later learned he was an artist. It took a certain kind of artistic skill to turn pain into pleasure.
“Take off your clothes, Maddi.”
She shivered. He still wasn’t looking at her but she knew that he was watching, and she knew that he’d punish her if she didn’t obey.
She unbuttoned her blouse, taking it off slowly. When her bra followed, she revealed full breasts with pert dark nipples. They swayed gently as she bent to undo her slacks, turning sideways to give him a view of her ass as she slid them down in a single sweep, along with her underwear.
Nikolai carefully set down the canvas and her heart began to pound as he got up and began to walk towards her. A little cry of excitement escaped her with he grabbed her firmly by the throat, so her chin was lifted over the side of his broad hand.
“Your ex-partner was here earlier.” He caressed her breast with the blunt edge of the knife, watching the flesh around her nipple pucker. “He asked me some very interesting questions about the Scene Slayer. Where I’ve been. Who I’ve been seeing. Did you send him to me, Maddi?”
“No,” she gasped, squirming. “Of course not.”
“I’m not a fucking killer,” he intoned.
“I know that.”
“I hope you do, my little dirty cop.”
Slowly, he released her neck but it was only to grip her dark curls to gather them up in a fist, working his hand higher until he controlled all her head movements like a lead.
For a moment, her throat was fully bared to him and he still held the knife.
It occurred to Maddi, as it had before, that Nikolai well could be the Scene Slayer. It seemed to occur to him, too. He looked at the brown expanse of her throat for a very long time, as if imagining how blood would look running over her skin, like paint over canvas.
Then he tossed the blade aside and yanked open his fly, exposing his hard veiny cock.
When he pushed down on her head with his other hand, she dropped to her knees and eagerly opened her mouth to accept him, smearing her perfectly applied lipstick all over his shaft. “Yes,” he said approvingly. “That’s very good. Why don’t you show me exactly how dirty you can be?”
Chapter Seven
A Place to Get What I Want
When Donni woke up, she felt like she was on the worst carousel in the world: one filled with mechanical bulls instead of horses. She hugged her pillow as if for dear life and caught sight of the water and aspirin on the nightstand. Rafe?
She uncapped the water and gulped down half of it before popping two of the small white pills. Only after she’d taken both did it occur to her that to obtain these items, he’d have had to go through her things.
She got out of bed wearing just her blouse and underwear. That alarmed her until she remembered that he’d just said strange things to her before putting her to bed. Something about fantasies and her old dresses.Jesus, thought Donni.What happened last night?
Her purse wasn’t by the nightstand. Rafe must have set it somewhere and she just bet he went through it. Forgetting she was half-dressed, she went room by room looking for him, but apparently he had left, which was strange, because the front door was also locked.
She finally located her studded Rebecca Minkoff bag, where it had been thrown down carelessly by the door and crushed, no doubt when Rafe had swung it open to let himself out.
