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Guilty Pleasures :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 105 из 205Youare the reason I have missed so many meetings. I left hints that not only are we lovers, but I've been … “ He spread his hands wide as if searching for a word. … cultivating you, until I felt you were ready for a party.”
“Cultivating me?” I turned off the car, and the silence settled between us. He was staring at me. Even behind the glasses I felt the weight of his gaze. The skin between my shoulders crawled.
“You are a reluctant survivor of a real attack, not a freak, or a junkie, but I've talked you into a party. That's the story.”
“Have you ever done this for real?” I asked.
“You mean given them someone?”
“Yes,” I said.
He gave a rough snort. “You don't think much of me, do you?”
What was I supposed to say, no? “If we're lovers, that means we have to play lovers all evening.”
He smiled. This smile was different, anticipatory.
“You bastard.”
He shrugged and rotated his neck as if his shoulders were tight. “I'm not going to throw you down on the floor and ravish you, if that's what you're worried about.”
“I knew you wouldn't be doing that tonight.” I was glad he didn't know I had weapons. Maybe I could surprise him tonight.
He frowned at me. “Follow my lead. If anything I do makes you uncomfortable, we'll discuss it.” He smiled, dazzling, teeth white and even against his tan.
“No discussion. You'll just stop.”
He shrugged. “You might blow our cover and get us killed.”
The car was filling with heat. A bead of sweat dripped down his face. I opened my door and got out. The heat was like a second skin. Cicadas droned, a high, buzzing song far up in the trees. Cicadas and heat, ah, summer.
Phillip walked around the car, his boots crunching on the gravel. “You might want to leave the cross in the car,” he said.
I had expected it, but I didn't have to like it. I put the crucifix into the glove compartment, crawling over the seat to do so. When I closed the door, my hand went to my neck. I wore the chain so much it only felt odd when I wasn't wearing it.
Phillip held out his hand, and after a moment I took it. The palm of his hand was cupped heat, slightly moist in the center.
The back door was shaded by a white lattice arch. A clematis vine grew thick on one side. Flowers as big as my hand spread purple to the tree-filtered sun. A woman was standing in the shadow of the door, hidden from neighbors and passing cars. She wore sheer black stockings held up by garter belts.
“Cultivating me?” I turned off the car, and the silence settled between us. He was staring at me. Even behind the glasses I felt the weight of his gaze. The skin between my shoulders crawled.
“You are a reluctant survivor of a real attack, not a freak, or a junkie, but I've talked you into a party. That's the story.”
“Have you ever done this for real?” I asked.
“You mean given them someone?”
“Yes,” I said.
He gave a rough snort. “You don't think much of me, do you?”
What was I supposed to say, no? “If we're lovers, that means we have to play lovers all evening.”
He smiled. This smile was different, anticipatory.
“You bastard.”
He shrugged and rotated his neck as if his shoulders were tight. “I'm not going to throw you down on the floor and ravish you, if that's what you're worried about.”
“I knew you wouldn't be doing that tonight.” I was glad he didn't know I had weapons. Maybe I could surprise him tonight.
He frowned at me. “Follow my lead. If anything I do makes you uncomfortable, we'll discuss it.” He smiled, dazzling, teeth white and even against his tan.
“No discussion. You'll just stop.”
He shrugged. “You might blow our cover and get us killed.”
The car was filling with heat. A bead of sweat dripped down his face. I opened my door and got out. The heat was like a second skin. Cicadas droned, a high, buzzing song far up in the trees. Cicadas and heat, ah, summer.
Phillip walked around the car, his boots crunching on the gravel. “You might want to leave the cross in the car,” he said.
I had expected it, but I didn't have to like it. I put the crucifix into the glove compartment, crawling over the seat to do so. When I closed the door, my hand went to my neck. I wore the chain so much it only felt odd when I wasn't wearing it.
Phillip held out his hand, and after a moment I took it. The palm of his hand was cupped heat, slightly moist in the center.
The back door was shaded by a white lattice arch. A clematis vine grew thick on one side. Flowers as big as my hand spread purple to the tree-filtered sun. A woman was standing in the shadow of the door, hidden from neighbors and passing cars. She wore sheer black stockings held up by garter belts.