She smiled. "Yes."
She continued her work, removing lights from the stands and putting them away in cases while he debated what to say.
"Not to sound rude, but what are you doing here?" she finally asked, folding up a light stand.
"I wanted to tell you what was happening with Sheldon Barnes."
"Oh. Okay."
"He's back in San Diego now, on suicide watch. He confessed everything, in fact, he confessed to even more murders than we knew about. He apparently went on for hours, confessing to killing about fifty women. The detective who interrogated him said he was a pretty smooth talker."
"He is," Marli confirmed, her voice sad.
"They said they could see how he used his charm to lure women to trust him. When they told him we were interested in him for five murders, he laughed and told them it was more like fifty."
Marli made a shocked noise, standing there with an umbrella in her hand.
Trey shook his head. "Don't necessarily believe that," he said dryly. "I'd never believe anything a sexual criminal tells me without hard evidence or witnesses. He'll deny, exaggerate, manipulate...basically lie through his teeth." Trey shook his head. "But he'd moved around so much, working on ranches, other odd jobs, he could easily have killed women in a lot of places and then just left town. They're reopening cases in Texas and New Mexico."
"Sounds like he loves the attention," Marli observed.
"Yeah, no kidding. Narcissistic personality. Exaggerating his exploits to impress people, grandiose fantasies. But eventually he stopped talking and asked for an attorney. Claimed to be totally innocent. Said he'd just been joking. All those women, he said he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, just an unhappy coincidence."
"Bullshit."
He smiled.
"Trey, what makes someone do things like that?"
"Oh, lots of things." He ran a hand through his hair.
"Is he insane? Would they let him off because of that?"
Trey shook his head. "No. His behavior was too violent, although he definitely seems as though he has that sociopathic personality." He paused. "He had problems dealing with anger and, frustration. His upbringing had a lot to do with it. His relationship with his mother. All along, I believed he was getting his gratification from the thrill of controlling a woman...the power he had over her as he raped her. The power his mother had over him."
"Did she... Was he abused?"
"Emotionally abused, for sure. Some physical abuse. Not sure about sexual." He shrugged. "He was so angry at his mother, that's why his victims were always blonde women. That's why the murders were so brutally aggressive."
"Why did he stalk me, though?" she asked. "I was thinking about it, and it wasn't like the other murders. You said he'd always just leave after, go somewhere else."
"You laughed at him," he reminded her. "I recall that his mother laughed at him for wanting to be a cowboy, too. And you rejected him. It set him off and made him act outside his usual pattern."
She nodded slowly.
"You know, we all have the ability to distort reality in our minds, to protect ourselves, make us feel okay about ourselves. A psychopath already lies without remorse, but this just adds to that. He may well have convinced himself that he really wasn't doing anything wrong. He believed you'd really done something to him."
"Oh, God."
"Most of us can recognize we do that--that our perceptions aren't necessarily reality--but he wouldn't be motivated to do that, clearly, in trying to protect himself from being convicted and from a death penalty."
"You didn't come all the way here just to tell me that." She closed up a case of equipment with a snap.
His lips curved. "No. Maybe we could sit down somewhere and talk." He looked around.
Marli motioned to the leopard chaise, no longer lit by the powerful lights.
He went over and sat down, and she came and sat beside him, leaning against the curved back of it. A vision of her, clad in lingerie, lounging on the chair, flashed into his head and he almost groaned.
"Okay. So?" She looked at him encouragingly, her eyes a bit wary. She briefly bit her luscious bottom lip.
"So," he repeated, just drinking in the sight of her. "I don't know where to start. So maybe I'll just start here." He leaned forward, put one hand on her cheek and kissed her, closing the small space between their bodies on the chaise. She couldn't move back, and he took her mouth in a long, hot kiss.
She was warm and delicious, sweet and tempting, and God, he'd missed her. He lifted his head to look at her, brushing his thumb across her full bottom lip.
She looked sweetly dazed, green eyes dark with emotion. "Uh, wow."
He smiled faintly. Then they were at each other, mouths hungry, hands greedy, touching each other, pulling at clothes, sucking, licking, eating at each other.
He filled his hands with those breasts, high, full and soft, nipples hard against his palms, kissing her over and over. She moaned, writhed beneath him, and they shifted their bodies without a word, fitting themselves to each other, stretching out on the chaise. He pressed a thigh between her legs, feeling the soft heat there, and she arched into him, crying out softly. With one hand, he turned her face to him again, ate at her lips, licked his way into her mouth, played with her soft tongue.
He tried to get under her T-shirt, desperately needing to feel skin, but damn, it was long, and he had to pull and tug and lift her hips to get it up around her waist. Then yes, his hands were on skin, silky and warm, and he shoved the T-shirt up the rest of the way and tugged her bra down. He buried his face between her breasts, inhaled her, that spicy scent that was hers alone, then nipped at the full curve of one breast, licked over the hard nipple, took it in his mouth.
She grabbed his hair and pulled hard, but his hair was short and her hands slid out.
"God, Trey! Someone could come in."
"Who cares?" he asked, blind, mindless, focused on her beautiful tits. "Ah!" He sucked the other nipple and this time her hands pulled his head to her, holding him at her breast, her head falling back, eyes closed.
"I need you, Marli," he murmured. He sat up and pulled her with him. "Lift your arms, sweetheart." She obeyed him, and he whisked the T-shirt over her head, then quickly dispensed with the sheer bra. He knelt to take off her jeans, tossed her shoes aside, then unbuttoned his fly. He looked at her, hesitating.
It was a little arrogant to come walking in here and five minutes later be doing her on the couch. He didn't want to screw this up. She'd said she loved him, but suddenly he was unsure, knowing he'd hurt her before he'd left.
She lay on the leopard chaise, her hair a bright contrast to the gold and brown print, her pale gold body long, lean and gorgeous. Her eyes watched him as he paused, hands at his fly. Then she lifted her graceful arms to him, inviting him, welcoming him, and he dropped his pants and fell onto her.
He couldn't get close enough, couldn't get enough of her, because it would never be enough...never, never. He kissed her mouth, the side of her neck, her soft shoulders. His hands moved over her, exulting in the feel of her, parting her legs, dipping into her sweet wetness. The scent of her arousal rose around them, making him pant and driving him wild with need. He touched her clit, a hard, swollen bud and she jerked beneath him, raising herself against hand. He moved his fingers, rubbed her there, and she came apart in his arms, trembling and whimpering.
As her tremors slowed, he pushed her legs farther apart and slid into her, hot, soft and lush. With a long, shaky moan, she welcomed him in, opened for him, clasped him to her body with her strong, slim arms.
"You feel so incredible." He kissed her breast. "So fucking good. God, Marli."
He thrust harder, deeper, then her hands clawed at his back, tugged at his shirt. "A condom," she whispered raggedly. "Trey..."