Lure of the Wicked by Karina Cooper

Author:Karina Cooper
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2011-06-30T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Sometime in the earliest hours of the morning, when the sky was still dark and the bedclothes were tangled beyond repair, they fell to exhaustion.

The suite was cozy, the mattress soft and welcoming, and Naomi woke to find her body draped over Phin’s like silk, her legs tangled with his. Her cheek was warm, pillowed on the smooth planes of his muscled back.

For a long, still moment, she forgot to breathe.

Morning. And with it, a shattered illusion. She knew this game.

Slowly, carefully, she eased away from the vivid temptation of all that naked skin. As the mattress dipped beneath her weight, he shifted, turned his face into the gap between both pillows, and didn’t so much as let out a sound. Naomi breathed out a silent sigh of relief.

Last night had been a lot of things. Fun. An exercise in endurance. Her body ached in places Naomi loved to feel on a morning after.

But it was daytime now, and she had work to do.

Work that included betraying Phin.

Well, not so much betraying. She’d made no promises. No guarantees. The night had been one hell of an amazing dream. Like some kind of princess, she’d been dressed and bathed and painted, and he’d stripped it all away.

Now dawn kissed the windows, and the dream was over. Bullets and blood.

She didn’t have the luxury of wishing.

She surveyed the suspiciously clean floor where her clothes had been. Her bags had been emptied and folded—folded, for fuck’s sake—and stacked neatly away. The polished door of the armoire stared at her.

Jesus bastard Christ. Had Phin shoved her clothes over a corpse in the dead of night? And didn’t notice?

He couldn’t have.

Only she could be insane enough to screw a man while a body rotted in the same damn room.

The thought didn’t feel as humorous as it should have.

Although every muscle in her body screamed at her to get moving—and get the hell moving right this fucking instant—Naomi forced herself to ease from the mattress inch by nerve-bending inch. Biting her lip, she tiptoed to the closet and eased open the door. She didn’t realize that she held her breath until it whooshed out of her on a soundless curse. Phin’s shirt hung in the murky light, a masculine companion to the array of frothy, silky, expensive tops the Mission had stuck her with. A pair of his expensive shoes sat neatly beside her own. Her pants hung on specially designed hangers, as neat as if he’d pressed them himself.

There was no body.

Her mind whirling, she withdrew a pair of designer denim jeans and a red sweater, and grabbed the only heeled boots that wouldn’t dump her flat on her ass.

Despite the mind-boggling absurdity of an ambulatory corpse, she was unable to help the faint tug of a crooked smile as she spun slowly. Or the way her eyes latched on to his sprawled, sleeping form.

He slept like he forgot he shared a bed. His face buried between the pillows, his curls wild and one foot hanging off the side of the mattress, he clung to one pillow and slept like the dead.

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