Patricia Rosemoor - Skin

“The physical abuse…” Michael’s voice was thick, as if he was angry in her stead. “…how did it affect your life?”

“By making me determined never to let it happen again. I learned to protect myself. Ever since college, I’ve been in a program called Street Survival, something I will be involved with forever. I take the class over and over every year to stay fighting sharp. My version of going to AA, I guess. Not that I was a pain addict. I just always want to be able to protect myself, to make sure a man never has the upper hand with me again.”

Not even long enough to make her dance for him. She was still worrying about that, hoping against hope that he would be caught and Hannah saved before she was forced into the limelight to strip for a roomful of strange men.

Wanting to know if what Gabe told her about Michael was true, she asked, “So what about your father?”

“He’s a sociologist. The kindest, gentlest man you’d ever want to meet.”

“You don’t have to sound so apologetic about it. I mean your birth father. Last time you said you were adopted and your birth mother was a stripper, but you didn’t tell me about him . Your mother did tell you about the man who fathered you, didn’t she?”

“Not at first and not easily. Tony isn’t what you would call an upstanding citizen. No surprise considering where he met my mother. Not a gentlemen’s club where they have fancy areas for bachelor and bachelorette parties. A strip joint. Old school. One that was run by The Outfit.”

So he was connected. Gabe hadn’t exaggerated.

Her pulse tick-ticked when she asked, “Did you meet him?”

“I was curious.”

She wished she could see his face. Not that she would get anything off him if he didn’t want her to. He was fully capable of hiding what he was thinking or feeling.

“What about focusing on your father’s lifestyle in a documentary?” she asked.

“About mobsters?” He laughed. “Sorry, but you have to be kidding. That’s been done before. Nothing new to mine. Besides, I like taking chances, but not with my life.”

“So your real father is dangerous.”

“I’m told he was. I don’t know about now. Most of those old mob guys went legit years ago. They took the money they earned illegally and put it into legal businesses. None of them want to make the state pen their retirement home. That doesn’t mean they wouldn’t have someone step in to protect their ‘good names.’”

Again, the laugh.

“So what does he do?”

Michael gave her an odd expression, then said, “You did it again, turned the conversation around. We weren’t supposed to be talking about me.”

Which meant he wasn’t going to answer. “To tell the truth,” she said, “I’m all talked out tonight.”

Lilith slid off the stool and walked over to the cart near the fireplace where he kept his liquor. She took a quick look to see what he didn’t have, and when he asked, “Can I make you a drink?” she returned, “I would love a glass of red wine.”

“I’m out, but I can easily get a bottle. It’ll only take me fifteen-twenty minutes. There’s a liquor store with a great stock two blocks from here. What’s your preference?”

Thankfully, he didn’t seem suspicious. All was going according to plan. She needed him out of there to search for the heart-half.

“Malbec if they have it. If not, a Shiraz. Really, anything will do.”

“No problem.” He backed off toward the door. “I’m going to walk. I’ll leave your car up front. Your keys are here,” he said, leaving them on a small table next to the front door. “But you are going to be here when I return, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I won’t disappear,” she said, thinking about how Hannah had.

The minute he was out the door, Lilith went to the window. While Michael’s building was off the main drag, she could see lights from restaurants and storefronts a few blocks away. She checked her watch to keep track of time. The moment she saw Michael on the street, she started her search, opening drawers, looking in boxes he had stacked all over the place. Even the small ones — anything big enough to hold a heart-half. Or anything else suspicious.

Nothing.

She hated doing this, hated suspecting Michael even a little, hated betraying him. But if the task force had him on its radar, there had to be a reason why. Gabe had been correct when he’d claimed Michael’s father was connected. He’d also said the man was dangerous, but Michael had shrugged that off. If she kept at him about his birth father, would he tell her what he was holding back, or would he simply close up?

Finished in the main room, she headed for his office and editing room. She checked her watch. He’d been gone nine minutes. Did she really have time to search it? She worked as quickly as possible and found nothing to tell her he wasn’t exactly who he claimed to be.

Six minutes left. Hopefully, more. He’d said fifteen to twenty.

Keeping her ears open for noises that would tell her he’d returned, she crossed to his bedroom, big enough for a King-sized platform bed with an extended headboard and nightstands. She gave them a thorough once-over but found nothing of interest. To her relief, no heart-half. Next, she looked over the shelves on the wall unit. Tidy. Books. A framed photo of an older woman. His mother?

She opened a drawer. Underwear and T-shirts.

Another drawer. Sweaters.

Another. Papers.

This one she searched, careful to put things back as she found them.

The last drawer held small personal items and a flat case — a man’s jewelry box.

Hand trembling, she opened the lid. Inside: cufflinks, tie tacks, a heavy bracelet.

No heart-half. Relief washed through her.

The sound of a key in the lock made her heart thud. She shoved the box into place and closed the drawer and was barely back into the main room before Michael walked in, bag in hand. He set the bottle of wine on the counter and fetched a battery-operated opener from a cabinet.

“You didn’t leave, after all. I was afraid this might be wasted.”

“And if I had?”

“My bad luck.”

He used the wine opener on the bottle, and she fetched two stemmed glasses from the cart and brought them to the island, where he filled them and handed her one.

They clinked and sipped, and she said, “I thought you were just interested in my mind.”

“I’ve expanded my interests.”

The wine warmed Lilith inside. Relaxed her. She’d been living and breathing tension — had been trying to hold fear for Hannah at bay — and just letting go of all that for a little while was a relief. She finished her glass and let him refill it. She was so relieved at not having found anything incriminating in her search, especially not Hannah’s heart-half, that she smiled, really smiled, for the first time with him.

Topping off their glasses, he said, “I like that. The smile. You don’t do that often enough.”

“Give me reason.”

“I thought you would never ask.”

Feeling more for this man than she wanted to, Lilith couldn’t move. He locked onto her gaze, and she felt something between them clicking. Growing.

Attraction.

Empathy.

Connection.

He reached out, touched her cheek and moved closer. Slanted his mouth over hers. A brush of lips that made her entire body sigh. He pulled back a paper-width and their eyes connected again.

Michael slid his hand around her head to draw her to him more fully.

She needed this. Needed a way to forget her fears, even if for a little while. Needed his touch. His mouth on hers. His hand roaming along her hip, lifting her skirt, seeking her heat.