Theresa Weir - Bad Karma

She bolted upright, pulling the sheet over her breasts. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure you out.”

She pulled the sheet free of the bed and got to her feet, the fabric twisted around her.

“A little bit late for that, isn’t it?” he asked, indicating the sheet.

She took a sweep at her bag. He lifted it beyond her reach then lowered it.

“I’ve already seen everything there is to see,” he said. “And I’m referring to the bag, in case you wondered.”

“Go to hell.”

“Money. I should have known. Jo paid you yesterday, didn’t she? That’s why you took off.”

It would do no good to state her case. And it certainly wouldn’t do any good to tell him that she’d planned to give back every last cent. He wouldn’t believe her. She knew he wouldn’t believe her.

He scratched at the day’s growth of stubble on his cheek. “I ordered some breakfast from room service. As soon as we eat we can hit the road. That’ll get us back in time for you to spend the afternoon with Jo and have your voodoo session, reading those tarot cards and shit.”

There was a knock on the door.

Daniel’s eyebrows lifted, and he looked at Cleo as if to ask, Are you staying or are you going to be modest and make a run for the bathroom?

She ran for the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Inside the bathroom, Cleo checked the side zipper in her bag. The money was still there. Reassured, she brushed her teeth and scrubbed her face, then put on the clothes from the day before. She detested having to wear the same panties two days in a row, but she could hardly go without since she had nothing else to wear but the black skirt.

What had gotten into her? She was humiliated. Ashamed. And yet, just thinking about how he’d touched her-

Stop.

Just forget it ever happened. Or at least pretend it never happened.

Yes, she could do that. She was good at pretending.

She put on a little makeup, tied back her hair with the black fabric-covered rubber band, and joined Daniel for breakfast.

She stared at the tray, hoping to find something that wouldn’t make her stomach heave. And if she didn’t, well, she’d become proficient at pretending to eat. The crescent rolls were a possibility. Coffee, yes. Orange juice, no. Not only was it orange, it probably had pulp in it. Oatmeal? Definitely no.

She sat down on the bed, poured herself some coffee, and picked up a crescent roll.

“Something wrong?”

She pulled her gaze away from the roll to where he sat at the tiny hotel-room table, a plate of scrambled eggs and sausage in front of him, fork in hand.

“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I just guessed. You might notice that I didn’t order anything for you that was once alive.”

Muted sunlight drifted in, accentuating his perfect bone structure. Sunlight could be harsh and honest and unflattering. Not so with Daniel. It bathed him in a soft patina, light falling over sun-bleached eyebrows, revealing blond, curling eyelashes.

Her gaze dropped to the blond hair on his forearms, then to his hands. Strong hands, with fingers that were long and sensitive. Unbidden, a memory came to her, the memory of those fingers touching her, slipping inside her as she contracted around them. She put a hand to her mouth, remembering the pressure of his kiss.

She slowly came to realize that he was talking. His lips were moving, but she wasn’t listening. She pulled herself away from her erotic daydream, back to his voice.

So much for pretending the previous night never happened.

But apparently he’d been able to put it from his mind. Apparently it hadn’t been a big deal, because he was rambling on about the menu, wondering if she wanted something else.

By herself she would have ordered a milkshake-something with a lot of calories, something she’d never had trouble getting down. But she wasn’t by herself, so she just lifted the crescent roll.

“This is fine.” She took a bite, hoping it really would be fine.

The outside of the roll was flaky. Those flakes separated in her mouth, giving the roll a certain textured hairiness. She quit chewing and swallowed the piece whole, then quickly washed it down with coffee. She did the same with the next bite. By the time she’d finally finished three bites, Daniel was done. He pushed his plate away then got to his feet, leaving her to finish her breakfast in private.

In the bathroom, Daniel let out a long breath and raked a lock of tousled hair back from his forehead. This was going to be tough, having to spend the rest of the day in close proximity. Every time he as much as glanced at her he got a hard-on. He kept visualizing the way she’d looked as he held her against the wall, her eyes closed, head tipped back, lips parted.

He shaved and brushed his teeth, and when he stepped from the bathroom, he was relieved to see that Cleo had finished off the entire bowl of oatmeal, another crescent roll, and the glass of orange juice.

She patted her lips with the white cloth napkin. “I can’t eat another bite.”

And then he got to a subject he’d been pondering for quite some time. “I’ll bet they have rubbers in the gift shop.”

She grew very still. Was she considering? Checkout time wasn’t for several more hours. He wasn’t scheduled for duty until tomorrow.

She dropped her napkin on her plate then put her plate aside. “Yes.” She seemed preoccupied, as if giving more attention to something else going on in her head than the actual subject matter of their conversation. She looked at him and gave him a smile that almost knocked him down. “I’m sure they do.”

She was good, but she wasn’t that good. Maybe some other poor joker might have been taken in by her performance, but to him she was as transparent as glass.

He played along. It was sadistic, but he loved watching her get caught in her own trap. “I’ll go down and get a box of condoms,” he said. “And we can finish what we started last night.”

She got slowly to her feet.

What she wore was no more than a costume to her-the black skirt, the tiny top-but that knowledge made everything seem a little more dangerous, a little more erotic. Bad and sweet.

She crossed the carpet in her bare feet with their red toenails. She stopped in front of him and looked into his eyes. For the briefest of moments he thought maybe she wasn’t acting, maybe she wasn’t working him. In her eyes, he saw awareness of him as a man; in her eyes, he saw attraction and the memory of something hot, something clearly sexual.

He kissed her.

It was meant to be a teasing thing, but as soon as her lips opened under his, his head began to reel. He could feel himself falling under her spell just like any other blind idiot. He forced himself to pull away, to hold her at arm’s length. Her eyes were half closed, her lips parted, exactly the way they’d been the night before when he felt her tighten around his fingers. Her lipstick was smeared. He wiped at his own mouth.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, his voice sounding strained to his ears.

She didn’t answer. She only swallowed and nodded.

Cleo shoved her feet into her sandals, then grabbed her bag and swung the strap over her shoulder. From the top of the television, she snatched Daniel’s car keys.

At the door she checked the peephole. All clear.

She stepped out and pulled in a sharp breath as Daniel materialized in front of her, fingers wrapping around her arm.

“I decided you might like to come with me,” he said. “You know. To help me pick them out. I thought there might be a particular style you were partial to.”

He’d never had any intention of leaving her by herself. He seemed to know her too well. Or was he just adept when it came to the criminal mind? And was that what she was? A criminal?