it.”
As they walked across the ballroom he became inordinately aware of her beside him, the way her hips shifted beneath her skirt, the clip-clop of her heels across the parquet flooring. It stuck him how different she seemed alongside him than that girl did from the night before, so much more natural, unlike how he had felt chasing down the scent of rut. How foolish I’d been , he thought.
“It’s through here to the right,” he said, holding open the exit door for her.
She slipped past him, then halted almost immediately. “Oh,” she said.
Bright yellow and black tape X’ed the door with “CRIME SCENE—DO NOT ENTER,” the knob and moldings still white from the fingerprint dusting.
Rex shook out his handkerchief and tried the doorknob. “It’s locked.”
“As I figured it would be. Yet our coming was inevitable, wasn’t it?” She laughed, a short harsh burst of irony. “They say the perp always returns to the scene of the crime.”
He hadn’t seen the point in coming, and he sure didn’t want to pursue it any further. He knew he had enemies, but he didn’t understand why they had followed him here. “Are you through?” he said, turning to the elevator bank. “Or would you like to see me squirm some more?”
She regarded him a moment. “No, I’ve had enough. Let’s go.”
A few silent minutes later they were at his suite, Rex surprised when his key card actually opened it. But then again, suspected felon or not, wealth did have its perks. She followed him inside to a sitting room.
“Can you give me a few minutes?” he said, setting down her briefcase. “I need to decontaminate myself after a night in that cell.”
“Go ahead,” she said, positioning herself on the sofa and crossing those long, creamy legs. Suddenly he found it almost unfathomable how he could have thought someone so much younger could look better than what he saw right in front of him. “But can I ask you a question first?”
“Sure,” he said, further loosening his collar, something he would have done long ago if he didn’t look so ridiculous already. “What is it?”
“It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while now.” She seemed to ponder it a bit more. “Why is it that when older women go after younger men they’re called cougars, but older men are almost expected to trade up for younger women?”
“I don’t know,” he said, removing his cuff links. “I’ve always appreciated experience.”
“Yet you left the congresswoman for the little lobbyist.” She looked askance. “Huh.”
“Let’s get one thing straight,” he said, going to her. “There was never any love lost between me and Lilith.”
“Yes, I know. It was strictly business.” She spread her arms across the back of the sofa. “Or so you said.”
He huffed, yanking off his jacket. “I’ll be in the shower,” he said, closing the French doors to the bedroom.
“Damnable woman,” he muttered en français. He ripped off his clothes, leaving a trail of them to the bathroom, knowing there’d be no housemaids to pick up after him like at home. Maybe he’d gotten used to too many things he shouldn’t have these past thirty years. Maybe he should try to remember what it was like before. Didn’t matter, he knew, as he stepped in the shower. He broke his back to get where he was. He soaped his face, grabbing his razor. Just like he’d break his back to stay there as well.
After he shrugged into his jacket he returned to the sitting room, still tying his tie when suddenly he stopped short. There was Charlotte lying on her side atop the sofa, her clasped hands tucked under her chin, dead asleep. It was a sight that shot straight to his core, and he would have drawn the curtains and left her there had her eyes not popped open. She sat up, her hair tumbling down around her.
“Oh,” she said, red-faced and yawning, “I think I fell asleep.”
“I think you did, too,” he said, finishing his Windsor knot.
As they walked across the ballroom he became inordinately aware of her beside him, the way her hips shifted beneath her skirt, the clip-clop of her heels across the parquet flooring. It stuck him how different she seemed alongside him than that girl did from the night before, so much more natural, unlike how he had felt chasing down the scent of rut. How foolish I’d been , he thought.
“It’s through here to the right,” he said, holding open the exit door for her.
She slipped past him, then halted almost immediately. “Oh,” she said.
Bright yellow and black tape X’ed the door with “CRIME SCENE—DO NOT ENTER,” the knob and moldings still white from the fingerprint dusting.
Rex shook out his handkerchief and tried the doorknob. “It’s locked.”
“As I figured it would be. Yet our coming was inevitable, wasn’t it?” She laughed, a short harsh burst of irony. “They say the perp always returns to the scene of the crime.”
He hadn’t seen the point in coming, and he sure didn’t want to pursue it any further. He knew he had enemies, but he didn’t understand why they had followed him here. “Are you through?” he said, turning to the elevator bank. “Or would you like to see me squirm some more?”
She regarded him a moment. “No, I’ve had enough. Let’s go.”
A few silent minutes later they were at his suite, Rex surprised when his key card actually opened it. But then again, suspected felon or not, wealth did have its perks. She followed him inside to a sitting room.
“Can you give me a few minutes?” he said, setting down her briefcase. “I need to decontaminate myself after a night in that cell.”
“Go ahead,” she said, positioning herself on the sofa and crossing those long, creamy legs. Suddenly he found it almost unfathomable how he could have thought someone so much younger could look better than what he saw right in front of him. “But can I ask you a question first?”
“Sure,” he said, further loosening his collar, something he would have done long ago if he didn’t look so ridiculous already. “What is it?”
“It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while now.” She seemed to ponder it a bit more. “Why is it that when older women go after younger men they’re called cougars, but older men are almost expected to trade up for younger women?”
“I don’t know,” he said, removing his cuff links. “I’ve always appreciated experience.”
“Yet you left the congresswoman for the little lobbyist.” She looked askance. “Huh.”
“Let’s get one thing straight,” he said, going to her. “There was never any love lost between me and Lilith.”
“Yes, I know. It was strictly business.” She spread her arms across the back of the sofa. “Or so you said.”
He huffed, yanking off his jacket. “I’ll be in the shower,” he said, closing the French doors to the bedroom.
“Damnable woman,” he muttered en français. He ripped off his clothes, leaving a trail of them to the bathroom, knowing there’d be no housemaids to pick up after him like at home. Maybe he’d gotten used to too many things he shouldn’t have these past thirty years. Maybe he should try to remember what it was like before. Didn’t matter, he knew, as he stepped in the shower. He broke his back to get where he was. He soaped his face, grabbing his razor. Just like he’d break his back to stay there as well.
After he shrugged into his jacket he returned to the sitting room, still tying his tie when suddenly he stopped short. There was Charlotte lying on her side atop the sofa, her clasped hands tucked under her chin, dead asleep. It was a sight that shot straight to his core, and he would have drawn the curtains and left her there had her eyes not popped open. She sat up, her hair tumbling down around her.
“Oh,” she said, red-faced and yawning, “I think I fell asleep.”
“I think you did, too,” he said, finishing his Windsor knot.
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