His voice didn’t falter until she’d undone his belt and tucked her hand under his waistband, closing her fingers around him. Her bra came loose; he’d unfastened it with his free hand. Sparks flared throughout her body, tiny spots of tingling heat adding to the warmth already there.
“Oh, I know, I…what?”
She sank to her knees in front of him and pulled down his zipper.
“I’ll call you back,” he said, and the phone fell to the floor.
Afterward she lay collapsed on top of him, her forehead nestled under his chin while he stroked her back. Every inch of her body felt relaxed, all the tension gone. Which had kind of been the point, really.
“We should get up,” he murmured. “We’ll be late.”
“Mmm.”
“And I didn’t get to finish my call.”
“Are you complaining?”
“I’m not a complainer.”
She slid sideways to lay next to him, one leg thrown casually over his. From that angle, looking up at him, his cheekbones seemed to cut the air around his face. “Greyson?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you…do you think you were a good son? To your father, I mean?”
“Couldn’t give a fuck, bryaela.” He reached down and stroked her thigh. “In fact, I rather hope I’m not.”
“He’s still alive?”
“Unfortunately.”
“But—where? Georgetown?”
“Mm-hmm.” Where he grew up, she knew. He’d told her once about watching his parents dress for an inaugural ball when he was a little boy. He’d never mentioned them in the present tense, and she knew his mother had died when he was young—she’d just assumed they were both dead.
“Do you ever see him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Why haven’t you been back here for thirteen years?”
“Point taken.”
“Come on. I’m hungry.” He kissed her forehead and started to slide away, but she grabbed his arm.
“Why?”
The bed shook a little as he dug his fists in the mattress and pushed himself up to a sitting position, his dark eyes opaque as he studied her face. “Okay. I’ll tell you a story about him and then we need to get dressed.”
She nodded.
“Right after my mother died, I found him in my bedroom, going through my stuff. He was taking everything she’d ever given me, all my books and clothes and—well, everything. I asked him what he was doing, and he said, ‘Well, the whore is gone, so we can get rid of her shit too.’”
“Oh my God.”
He shrugged. “The sentiment behind it wasn’t surprising. They never liked each other. It wasn’t the words, you see, or even what he was doing. It was that he didn’t think I might not see it the same way. It never occurred to him that I wasn’t him. And until then, it hadn’t occurred to me either.”
“How old were you?” she asked softly.
“Nine.”
“What was—”
His lips on hers cut off her question before he slid off the bed, unfolding his long, lean body and opening his suitcase. “Don’t you get enough of this at work?”
“I quit.”
“What?”
Megan pulled the thin hotel sheet up, covering her bare breasts. “I quit. Monday morning. I left.”
His brows furrowed for a minute as he stood by the cheap dresser. “Just like that?”
“This business with Gerald…I didn’t want to stay anymore.” It was mostly true, right?
He nodded, but she thought she saw something else in his eyes. Suspicion, maybe, or just curiosity?
“I can still pay my bills,” she said, not sure why she was being defensive but being it just the same. “The show pays me enough.”
“You don’t have to explain it to me.” He slipped a white T-shirt over his head, then a charcoal V-neck sweater, one of her favorites.
“But…I mean, don’t you have an opinion?”
“Yes, and you know what it is. What did you expect, that I’d be shocked and disappointed? I’ve wanted you to leave that damned practice for months.”
“That’s not why I did it.”
“I never would have assumed it was.” He buckled his belt and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Come on. Unless you want to stay in bed? You do look fetching under that flimsy sheet.” His teeth scraped her throat. “We could send the boys out for food, and spend the day—”
“No. Brian and Tera are waiting.” This was so typical. He opened up, then retreated. Now she was doing the same. She wanted to talk to him, to tell him why she’d left, how scared she was, that her radio pay would cover the bills but not much else. That she didn’t know if she could ever do her job effectively again, that in her darkest hours she’d found herself actually considering taking up the station’s offer of a TV spot on their evening infotainment show because at least there she wouldn’t find herself accidentally sucking out people’s pain like oysters from a shell.
But something held her back, as firmly as a hand over her mouth. If she told him he’d want to help. He’d offer to cover her bills. He’d as much as offered several times already, and she just…she didn’t want to be kept.
She didn’t want to look weak.
“Ah, yes. Our friends Brian and Tera. How long do you think it will take before Tera brings up those witches again?”
She smiled in spite of herself. “About two minutes.”
“That long?” He took her hand and tugged her gently up from the bed, encircling her bare body with his arms so his palms rested hot on her back. “And speaking of time…we have ten minutes or so, don’t we?”
They were fifteen minutes late, in the end, long enough for Brian and Tera to be thoroughly annoyed.
“We were worried about you,” Tera said, for the second time. “You should have called.”
“I—we fell asleep.”
“You told me you never nap.”
“I did today,” Megan said lightly, grabbing a menu from the stand. This restaurant—a tidy little diner off the highway—wasn’t close enough to town for her to run into anyone she knew, at least so she hoped, and it was crowded enough to make her think the food might be decent.
Tera raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. Instead she turned to Greyson. “So, Grey, about those witches…”
“I win,” he muttered. Megan elbowed him.
“I just have a hard time believing it’s a coincidence,” Tera continued.
“It probably isn’t, but I don’t see why I’m your chief suspect when the one you should be looking at is already in custody.”
“Templeton? He couldn’t have done it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he’s—he’s in prison. He couldn’t have gone out and—”
“And I was in New York, but you’re perfectly willing to believe I was behind it all.”
Megan had seen the implication earlier, outside the church, but it wasn’t until that moment that it fell into place. The witches were Templeton’s guards. The witches had tried to kill them—or at least warn them, if shooting at them from a speeding car and chasing them through the city flinging foul, oily smoke at them could be considered a warning.
Templeton Black must have been behind it.
Jesus, was there anyone who didn’t want to cause trouble for her this week?
“Look, Tera, if there’s a problem I’ll come to your office after the holidays, but you know as well as I do that I’m not stupid enough to go after witches, and I don’t think there’s any need to bore Brian with this anymore, do you?”
Tera glanced at Brian, who was studying his menu. Medieval monks transcribing holy texts could not have concentrated harder.
“Fine,” she said. “But I—”
“C’n I take your order?”
Brian practically leaped out of his skin. Megan smiled, but her laugh died in her throat. She felt awfully jumpy too. She’d thought it was just the tension from Greyson and Tera’s conversation, but the butterflies in her stomach didn’t want to settle even now, when Greyson and Tera seemed to have reached at least some kind of accord.