A Taste of Love and Evil by Barbara Monajem

Author:Barbara Monajem [Barbara Monajem]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781428509313
Publisher: Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
Published: 2011-08-14T02:59:57+00:00

She had to get away. She couldn’t think straight with Jack around. She couldn’t look at him without yearning to trust him. She thought he meant well, but…He was holding something back. Uneasiness suffused his voice, colored his pleas.

Not his kisses, though.

Oh, God in Heaven, it was as if he’d poured his heart and soul into those kisses. She’d kissed far too many men, but no one’s kisses spoke to her like Jack’s. Like he was talking to her and her alone, like he belonged to her alone. Not a sexual thrall, not a besotted fool—she’d had plenty of those—but a strong, dependable, passionate man.

It wasn’t just skill. She’d had men with bedroom skills. Sure, he had a talented mouth and capable hands. And aggressive! He’d pushed her so high, so fast—but that wasn’t the point. He’d brought tears to her eyes. No man had ever done that.

She didn’t give him a chance to offer to lead the way. Rather, she tore out of the alley entrance while he was still peeling the cover off his car. At the first stoplight, she pulled the map she’d printed before leaving Chicago out from the pocket in the driver’s side door. She mustn’t let his prejudices and fears affect her. Soon she would be at Violet’s place, and everything would be fine. She would have a happy customer, maybe even a new friend, and a fresh start in life.

A dark Porsche idled behind her van. Judging by the size and shape, it might be Jack’s.

In less than five minutes, she reached the purple Victorian where Violet Dupree lived. No obvious thugs lurked nearby. She puttered past the house, down the live oak-lined street and around the block past the entrance to Blood and Velvet, which shared a back alley with Violet’s house, but nothing was going on. A few cars, a school bus, a TV news van, and not much else. The club district of Bayou Gavotte slept in the morning. The Porsche had disappeared, and no one else seemed to have followed her. So much for danger.

She pulled into the driveway of Violet’s house. The purple paint was just subdued enough to be pleasant, and the offwhite trim made the house look only vaguely like a gigantic cake. A porch swing, its chains motionless, hung below the veranda rail, along which sat five ceramic pots of pansies. From behind a glossy green bush—gardenia, maybe—a gray ceramic cat peeked with sly purple eyes. Cypresses lined the walkway to the rear, and camellias hung heavy with white blossoms on either side of the front steps.

It seemed a friendly house in the morning sunshine, but a sleepy one, blinds drawn upstairs, curtains closed below. Ah, except for a small window at one side of the door, behind which sat a calico cat, a real one this time. The cat closed and opened its eyes at her and began to wash.

Rose watched and stewed for a moment or two, until a black Mercedes sporting a TONY’S PIZZA sign on the roof pulled up across the street.

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