Deep Dark Secret by Sierra Dean

Author:Sierra Dean [Dean, Sierra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B00669PIP6
Publisher: Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Published: 2012-03-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

My original plan had been to go straight from the Medical Examiner’s office to Columbia to talk to Mayhew again. But with the smell of rotten corpse clinging to me, I needed a hot shower and a change of clothes before I went anywhere.

There were any number of places I could have stopped between the financial district and the Columbia campus, but I still felt like I reeked of death and had corpse stink oozing out of my sweat. The only shower that would do was my own.

When I unlocked my door, I almost tripped over Desmond’s work shoes. Kicking them out of the way, I shucked my boots off next to his. The water was running in the bathroom, so Desmond had probably gone to the gym after work and just gotten home. If he’d been in a hurry to go from the office to a workout, it would explain his haphazard shoe disposal. Of the two of us, he was almost always the neater one.

Who was I kidding? He was always the neater one.

I contemplated waiting for him to finish in the shower, but the stench wafting off me was too much to bear. Stripping in the middle of the hallway, I stalked into the bathroom and climbed into the steaming shower stall. Desmond’s brown hair and olive skin looked especially dark against my garish pink tub and rose-print wallpaper.

He also seemed surprised to see me.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, his voice slipping into the husky growl he reserved for bedroom conversation.

I would have loved to act out some slippery, soapy, shower-sex fantasy with him right then, but it wasn’t meant to be. He was a werewolf, and his sense of smell was second to none, even when he was in his human form. The moment he stooped to kiss me he recoiled, his nose wrinkled with disgust.

“What? You don’t like my new perfume?”

“Eau de Putrification? God, Secret, what is that?”

“Death.” I should have known he’d be able to smell it on me. It was bad enough that the wolves could smell vampires on me, but real human death had its own distinctive, lingering quality. I’d been right to shower.

Desmond put his hands on my waist, but it wasn’t a come-on. He pushed me past him so the full brunt of the showerhead was angled in my face. The water was so hot I thought it might burn off the top layer of my skin. I turned it hotter. To Desmond’s credit he didn’t bail out to get away from the smell. Instead he opted to empty half a bottle of green-apple-scented shampoo onto my head and made a desperate effort to scrub the stink out of my hair by sheer force of will.

In spite of the unpleasant reason for my being there, it felt fantastic to have him wash my hair. He applied just the right amount of pressure on my scalp and wrapped my hair into a thick tail to rinse the shampoo free.

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