Page 41 of The Queen (Masterpiece Duet 2)
“No one else could come,” Damon warns, his voice harsh.
I glance back at Hiro, who watches us solemnly. At the trained security men with their guns and muscles. And then at Damon, who looks at me with challenge. “Can you tell me why?”
“Because my father will kill them if they get close. They wouldn’t even make it inside the door. And the death benefit clause in my contract with these guys is too expensive.”
He keeps his voice light, but he cares about more than money. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here.
“So if you don’t come back, they would—what? Shoot from the outside?”
“Grenade launchers,” he says as if he’s discussing his poker strategy.
“Why don’t you use them now?”
“The government frowns on private citizens destroying buildings,” he says drily.
“That wouldn’t stop you.”
“It wouldn’t,” he agrees, speaking more slowly, more carefully. “What Avery did was incredibly brave. It was unbelievably strong. She got those nurses to safety, but…”
I search his eyes for some clue. “But what?”
“But the other inmates. They’re still there. With him.”
Oh God, the people who had been locked up. The ones who had helped Jonathan Scott. Should they be held accountable for their sins? For his? It’s one thing to decide that one man is beyond redemption, entirely another to condemn a whole asylum full of people to death.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Damon doesn’t exactly agree I can come, but he does change his plans.
Instead of immediately making the two-hour drive from the small airstrip to the asylum, alone, he rides with our entourage to a small bed and breakfast, the kind with quilts thrown over the sofas and a long-haired cat staring at us moodily from the carpeted stairs.
An older woman greets us at the door, her smile fading when she takes us in.
Hiro steps forward. “We spoke on the phone a few minutes ago.”
The woman attempts to recover, but she can’t quite meet anyone’s eyes. “Yes, of course. I’m so glad you called. We have three rooms available. I hope that will be all right.”
“We’ll make it work,” Hiro says, her voice brusque.
“Thank you,” I offer, knowing the woman is a little afraid. Her instincts are telling her that we’re dangerous, and she’s right. We’re just not dangerous to her.
She gives me a faint smile before bustling to an antique desk. “Here are the keys. The family suite has two rooms, one with a king-sized bed and the connecting room with two double beds.”
Hiro accepts the keys with a nod. “The boys and I will take that one.”
“And then there’s the honeymoon suite. It’s got a California king bed.” She smiles in a motherly way. “We call it the Queen of Hearts room. You’ll understand why when you see it.”
Damon gives her his signature smile, which makes her blush. “I’m sure we’ll love it.”
The woman is still smiling when we head up the stairs. And immediately find out why the Honeymoon Suite is called the Queen of Hearts. Because there are hearts stitched into the bedspread. Painted on a canvas against the far wall. Hanging along the edge of the ceiling in little heart-shaped lights. I stare at the room from the open door, somewhat in shock.
From behind me Damon whistles. “Wow.”
“It’s absolutely insane.”
“Don’t tell me you’re a cynic,” Damon says, laughter in his voice.
Something brushes against my legs, and I look down to see the cat winding its way in figure eights through Damon’s legs, leaving white fur on black slacks. “Do you charm every female you meet?”
“Do you solve every math problem you see?”
“Yes.”
I take a step into the room, wondering how I ended up sharing a bed with Damon Scott. There isn’t a little servant’s room available now. Maybe I can bunk with the woman who owns the place, wherever she sleeps. When we pulled into the gravel drive, there’d been nothing around for miles.
Damon follows me inside, nudging the cat out before closing the door, eliciting a plaintive meow.
“Where am I supposed to sleep?” I mutter, unable to look at him directly.
He laughs softly. “Are you afraid of me, sweetheart?”
“No.” The tremble in my chest calls me a liar.
His body covers my back. His mouth lowers to my ear. “Are you shy? Did you forget what we did? Did you forget that I tasted your pretty pink cunt, that I licked you until you came all over my face?”
My cheeks must be on fire. That’s how they feel. “I didn’t forget,” I say, my voice high-pitched.
“Don’t worry,” he says, his mouth brushing the side of my neck. “I have no plans to touch you tonight. So you can stop shaking. In fact I’m going downstairs.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling faint. Disappointment knots itself in my stomach. It’s more than disappointment. I want him to touch me again. He’s become my addiction, more intensely and more dangerously than numbers ever have been.
