Serafina and the Virtual Man - By Marie Treanor Page 0,53
don’t understand the Australia thing.”
She drew in her breath. “Well, I have a theory about that. In fact, I have a few theories I need you to listen to, and you’re not going to like any of them.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. Let’s go somewhere more comfortable, and you can hit me with them.”
“Adam, we haven’t got time to play games!”
“We’re already talking faster than we could in real time. Why not do it with a little luxury thrown in? Sera doesn’t need you, does she?”
She tried to laugh. “With Blair around? Are you kidding?”
“Then let’s go.” He released her hand, strode to the nearest computer, and did a lot of clicking, followed by a bit of keying and a bit more clicking. She watched him, acknowledged the ache of pity and longing in her. Along with a more down-to-earth appreciation of the neat, tantalizing shape of his denim-clad bum.
He shouldn’t be dead. He just shouldn’t be dead.
Still bent over the computer, he looked back at her across his shoulder. A smile played around his expressive lips. His eyes were warm, sending butterflies scattering from her stomach throughout her whole body. “JK? I liked kissing you. I liked it a lot.”
Chapter Twelve
Her lips parted; heat flooded her body, along with dizziness as the world swam and whirled around her, shifting, changing. And when the earth righted under her feet, he was drawing her into his arms, and they were swaying to very tinny, scratchy jazz music.
“What the…?”
“1920s Chicago,” he murmured in her ear.
She was wearing a long, floaty dress of light, sky-blue georgette. Adam wore a white shirt and waistcoat with his tie loosened. They seemed to be alone in an opulent room with a parquet floor and a magnificent chaise longue. Adam danced her around, and she saw there was also a large bed draped in velvet and embroidered silk. They were dancing alone in a hotel bedroom.
She said, “Please tell me Al Capone isn’t coming for us. Or are you Al Capone?”
“Undercover cop. You’re a dancer at the secret speakeasy club downstairs, and one of Capone’s lieutenants is paying court to you. I’m hoping you like me better.”
“But you’re lying to me.”
“On the contrary, I’ve just told you the truth.”
She swallowed. “Isn’t that cheating to join the game halfway through?”
“I wanted a quiet bit with no shooting guaranteed. So we can talk.”
“We’re dancing,” she pointed out. To a jazz recording coming out of a horn that should have had a small white dog sitting under it.
“Can you think of a better way to talk?”
Offhand, she couldn’t think of anything better at all than dancing in his arms, one of his hands burning at the small of her back, the other lightly clasping her fingers. His dark eyes were excitingly warm as they gazed down at her face.
He said, “Tell me.”
She drew in her breath with her thoughts. “Okay, I think you did die when you said you did. After the fight with Killearn in August.”
His head dipped, his cheek touched hers, warm and rough with stubble. Unfamiliar pleasure seeped through her, along with little spirals of lust she recognised but no longer feared. For she understood too that he was hiding his face from her, hiding the pain he knew she’d inflict—and that was also something she related to all too easily. Involuntarily, her fingers slid farther over his shoulder to his neck, drawing him closer.
His body felt so good against hers, hard and warm, yet quite unthreatening. On the contrary, the strength in his arms made her feel oddly safe—a rather dangerous assumption, considering.
She said, “Were you into drink and drugs, Adam?”
“I’ve read the stories, and no. I never made the statements I’m supposed to have made.” His arm tightened. “Unless I’ve forgotten. It took a while for other things to come back to me. But if I was doing all that, I’d never have made this.”
She sagged against him with relief. “That’s what I thought.”
His arm squeezed in instinctive response, gathering her closer, and although he was taller than her by several inches, her body seemed to fit against his like a jigsaw, every curve and plane melding. Those little spirals of lust began to lengthen and unravel into something much stronger and more all-pervasive.
Her fingers tangled in the soft hair at the back of his neck. “So I think your death was kept hidden,” she said, with a shade of desperation, “and a false trail to Australia carefully laid. I don’t think it’ll stand up to