The Collector
Page 70

“A manicure set,” she murmured. “Worth millions. It would be millions again?”
“It would be.”
“It doesn’t seem real—any of it. Are you sure you trust this Kerinov?”
“Vinnie did.”
“Okay.” She nodded, rose. “We probably need to warm up the steaks.”
“There are a couple of salted baked potatoes in there, and some asparagus.”
“So we heat and eat—I can’t think of the last time I had a steak—and we’ll plot and we’ll plan.” She opened the bag. “I’m pretty good at the plotting part.”
She glanced up when he ran a hand down her hair. “What?”
“It occurred to me that outside all of this, and all of this is quite a bit, I’m glad I’m here, having dinner with you. I’m glad that later I’ll go upstairs with you, be with you. Touch you.”
She turned, wrapped her arms around him. “Whatever happens.”
“Whatever happens.”
And that, she thought, holding on another moment, was all anyone could ask for.
Seventeen
Lila opened one eye when her phone on the nightstand sang to her.
Who the hell would text her this early? Her sleep-blurred mind couldn’t come up with a single person she knew who’d be up and functioning before seven A.M.
She told herself to ignore it, to snuggle back to sleep. And gave up within thirty seconds.
She was a girl, she admitted. She knew no girl who could comfortably ignore her phone.
“Get it later,” Ash mumbled, drawing her back as she levered up to reach the phone.
“I’m a slave to communication.” With her head cuddled on his shoulder, she called up the text.
Luke was waiting for me when I got home and made me a turnover before he left this morning. He’s my muffin.
“Aw.” So saying, she texted back just that.
“What is it?”
“It’s from Julie. She and Luke are together.”
“Good. Better somebody stay with her until all this is done.”
“No—I mean yes, but he’s not there to look out for her.” After setting the phone down, Lila curled back to Ash. “Of course he’ll look out for her. I mean, they’re together.”
“You said that.” His hand slid down her back, over her butt.
“Together-together.”
“Hmm.” The hand detoured up her side, skimmed her breast. Stopped. “What?”
“They’re a couple—and don’t say a couple of what. A couple-couple.”
“They’re having sex?”
“That’s a definite yes, but that’s not all. They still love each other, which Julie told me when she came by yesterday. But she didn’t need to tell me because I already knew.”
“You already knew.”
“It’s all over them. Anyone with eyes can see it.”
“I have eyes.”
“You just weren’t looking. You’ve been distracted by this and that. And . . .” Her own hand got busy, trailed up between them and found him hard and ready. “This.”
“This is distracting.”
“I should hope so.”
Her lips curved as he lowered his to them, then warmed, parted, welcomed.
She felt so soft—her skin, her hair, the curve of her cheek. Soft everywhere his lips and hands roamed. She’d left a chink in the curtains when she’d drawn them the night before, so sunlight beamed through in a narrow slant.
He touched her in the dreamy light, wakening her body as she wakened his and all the needs inside him. No rush in the light as they both seemed to feel in the dark. No need to hurry the climb. Instead, they savored the long, easy ride, wallowed in the sensations, skin against skin, the slide of tongues, the brush of fingers, until together they reached for more.
Just a little more.
And more still when he slipped inside her, with the rise and fall like a slow, sleepy dance. Her hands framed his face, fingers stroking as her eyes stayed on his. Watching him watching her as if there was nothing else.
Only this. Only her.
Only this, she thought, as she arched up to give him more.
Only him, as she drew his face to hers, poured that only into the kiss.
Gentle, tender, the quiet pleasure flowed like wine until, drunk with it, they spilled over the crest.
Later, she shuffled her sleepy, satisfied way downstairs to make coffee with Earl Grey on her heels. “Just let me get this down, okay? Even half of it. Then I’ll take you for your walk.”
She winced even as she said the word “walk.” As she’d been warned, the dog let out piping yips, rose up on his hind legs to dance in joy and anticipation.
“Okay, okay, my mistake. One minute.”
She opened the little utility closet for the leash, the plastic baggies and the pair of flip-flops she’d stowed with them for just this purpose.
“What’s all this?” Ash asked when he came in. “Is he having a seizure?”
“No, he’s not having a seizure. He’s happy. I erred in speaking the word W-A-L-K, and this is the result. I’m going to take him out before he dances himself into a heart attack.” She grabbed a travel mug, filled it with black coffee. “It shouldn’t take long.”
“I’ll take him out.”
“My job,” she reminded him, and pulled a hair clamp out of her pocket to bundle her hair up in a couple of expert wrist flicks. “But I made eggs yesterday.” She eyed Ash as she clipped the leash onto the nearly hysterical dog. “Luke baked Julie a muffin—from scratch—yesterday. Today he made her a turnover.”
“That bastard’s just showing off. I can make breakfast. I’m excellent at pouring cereal. It’s one of my major skills.”
“Fortunately I stocked Cocoa Puffs—top cabinet, left of the fridge. We’ll be back.”
“Cocoa Puffs?”
“It’s a weakness,” she called back as she grabbed her keys and let the little dog race her to the door.
“Cocoa Puffs,” he repeated to the empty room. “I haven’t had Cocoa Puffs since . . . I don’t think I’ve ever had Cocoa Puffs.”
He found them, opened them, studied them. With a what-the-hell shrug, reached in and sampled some.
And realized he’d been a cereal snob his entire life.