but after a shaky start I managed a brisk trot. “You needn’t be so grumpy,” I said, trying not to huff and puff. “It’s your fault I’m here.”
“In case you don’t remember, I was unconscious when they brought me back.”
“That’s up to interpretation,” I said. “I can’t argue, since I seem to have huge gaps in my memory. What do you think they should have done, then? Left me in the forest? With those wild animals out there in the dark?”
He frowned. How could a man have a beautiful frown? “No,” he said. “They shouldn’t have left you.”
“And what the hell were we doing there in the first place? What in God’s name is happening to me?” I hated the plaintive note in my voice, but honestly I couldn’t help it. I could be all Strong Modern Woman most of the time, but right now I was tired, cranky, and totally defeated.
He didn’t answer. I hadn’t really expected him to. “Are you hungry?” he said instead.
As a distraction, it was an effective one. I suddenly remembered I was famished. “Yes. Why don’t you take me to McDonald’s and we can hash this out?” I figured that was unlikely but worth a try.
“No McDonald’s,” he said. “No restaurants at all, but we have people who cook. Tell me what you want and they’ll bring it to us.”
“Just like that?” I said caustically. Not that I believed him, but if that was true, this might very well be paradise.
“Just like that.”
I decided to be difficult, simply because I could. Besides, my need for comfort food had become critical. “Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, gravy, corn, strawberry shortcake for dessert. And a nice Beringer cabernet.”
“You want champagne with your strawberries? Red wine is a little heavy for dessert.”
He was being sarcastic, of course, but I simply nodded. “Of course. Moet, I think. No need to go overboard with Dom Perignon.”
He said nothing, walking into the house. I took one last longing glance outside. Nowhere to go. Until I found out what the fuck was going on, I was stuck.
In a place with, supposedly, limitless, effortless food and a beautiful man who’d kissed me. I supposed things could be worse.
I had to run to catch up with him. He made no effort to adjust his stride to mine, and I was damned if I was going to complain. It was taking forever to get to his rooms—we went through a maze of hallways, and up so many stairs I was ready to fling myself down on the polished wood floors, gasping and panting like a landed fish.
“How much farther?” I gasped, clinging to the thick, carved handrail.
He was watching me out of narrowed eyes. “One more flight. My rooms are at the top of the building.”
“They would be,” I said in a dire voice. “And I don’t suppose you believe in things like elevators?”
“We don’t need them,” he said.
No wonder Sarah was so lean and fit at fifty-something. She didn’t need yoga, she just needed these stairs.
“Sarah isn’t fifty-something,” Raziel said.
I froze. “That time I didn’t say it out loud.”
“No, you didn’t. You’re very easy to read. Most humans are.”
“Wait until we get to my rooms.”
I hadn’t said anything that time either. I was getting seriously creeped out by this situation. It didn’t matter how much food I got or how pretty he was, this was just plain weird. The kiss had been nice, from what I could remember, but I wasn’t sure kisses were enough to—
“I’m not going to kiss you again. I didn’t kiss you in the first place—you were drowning. I gave you breath.”
This was just . . . wrong. Clearly silence wasn’t silence to the creature I was following, so I quickly changed the subject, trying not to think about the cool salt taste of his mouth on mine. “Then how old is Sarah? She’s married to Aza—what’s his name?”
“Azazel,” he said. “Yes, they are married; at least, that’s as close a definition as most people could understand. And I don’t know how old Sarah is, nor do I care.”
I looked at him with astonishment. “She’s got to be at least twenty years older than he is. And he’s, what . . . thirty-five? Cool.”
“He’s older than she is,” he said in a dry voice. “And you might think twice about passing judgment on someone like Sarah.”
If Azazel was older than Sarah, then I was the Virgin Mary. “I’m not passing judgment,” I said rapidly, following him down the hallway toward another miserable, cock-sucking, goddamned, motherfucking flight of stairs. “I meant it. Too often it’s men who have younger lovers. I heartily approve of boy toys.”
“You think Azazel is a boy toy? He’ll be entertained by the notion.”
“Christ, don’t tell him I said that! I expect by this time their marriage is more platonic than anything else.”
He looked amused, which was even more annoying. “I believe they have a vigorous sex life, though I can ask Azazel to tell you all about it if you prefer.”
“No need,” I said hastily. “It’s none of my business.”
“No, it is not,” he said in that odd, half-formal way of speaking.
I looked up at the steep flight of stairs. It was the last one, he’d said. Of course it had to be the steepest and longest. I took a deep breath, steeling myself. I could make it. If it killed me, I was going to make it.
“What do her children think of her new husband?” If I kept him talking he might not notice how long it was taking me to get up the stairs.
“She has no children, and Azazel isn’t her new husband. He’s her only one.”
I thought back to Sarah’s gentle, tender concern. “That’s a shame,” I said. “She would have been a wonderful mother.”
“Yes.” It was one word, but there was a wealth of meaning beneath it.
Suddenly I thought back to the stretch of beach in front of the house, the wide expanse of lawn. With no toys, no games littering the beach. Something felt off about the place. “Where do the children live around here?” I asked, uneasy.
“Children?”
“The women who were with Sarah—she said they were other wives. Some of them were quite young; there must be children.”
“There are no children here.”
“That goes against whatever crazy cult you have going on here? You send the children away?” I was righteously infuriated, and it gave me energy. And the end of the stairs was in sight, thank God. I was ready to fling myself on the top landing with a weeping cry of “Land!”
“The women here don’t have children.”
“Why not?” Shit, it wasn’t the top of the stairs, it was just a landing. I faltered, turning the corner, looking at what simply had to be the last flight. Maybe. I wanted to cry, and I never cried.
Before I realized what he was going to do, he’d scooped me up in his arms and started up the final flight of stairs.
I was too shocked to struggle. His arms were like iron bands, his body hard and cold and uncomfortable; for a bare second I considered arguing, then thought better of it. Anything was better than walking.
“You know, if it weren’t for the stairs, I could manage it with no problem,” I said, keeping myself as stiff as he was.
He snorted, saying nothing. When he reached the top of the stairs he dumped me on my feet, seconds before I could demand that he let me down. The hallway was shorter than the lower ones, with only one double door in the center of it.
He’d left me again, already pushing open one of the doors, and once again I followed him, resentful as hell until I stepped into the dimly lit apartment.
The door closed behind me automatically, and I caught my breath in wonder.
It was like being on the prow of a ship. The front of the room was a bank of windows looking out over the night-black sea. Several of them were open, and I could smell the rich briny scent of it, hear the sound of the waves as they lapped against the rocks below. There were seagulls in the distance, and I breathed a small sigh of relief. At least something in this crazy place was normal.
“Sit down,” he said.
He was standing in the shadows. There were two mission-style sofas in the room, upholstered in white linen, and a low table between them. With a covered tray on top, a bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne waiting, and a bottle of red wine open to one side.
I stared at the table mistrustfully. “Shit,” I said. I knew without question that there would be meat loaf and mashed potatoes beneath the domed cover.
“How did you manage that?”
“Sit down and eat,” he said. “I’m tired and I want to go to bed.”
I stiffened. “And what does your wanting to go to bed have to do with me?”
Such a pretty mouth, such a sour smile. “Since I don’t intend to be anywhere near you when I go to bed, I won’t be around to answer your incessant questions. So if you want answers, sit down.”
“You’re an asshole.” I took a seat and pulled the cover off the tray. The smell of meat loaf was enough to make me moan with pleasure. Ignoring him, I started in on it, only looking up when I realized he’d poured me a glass of the red wine and pushed it toward me.
“Mannerly,” he said.
“What?”
“Mannerly glutton. You haven’t drooled or dropped food or—”
I dropped my fork. “Stop that! I don’t know how you do it, but stop it!”
He took a sip from his own glass of wine, leaning back against the cushions of the opposite couch with a weary sigh. “Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s rude of me.”
“You bet your ass,” I snapped. Of all the mental assaults of the day, his invasion of my thoughts felt
