“That’s good enough for me.”
He studied the book for another few minutes. Opened the pages, ran his hands over the calligraphy, examined the paintings and brushstrokes, inspected the positions. “It’s quite extraordinary.”
“Yes.” I sounded breathless. I’d been just as fascinated watching him as he was with exploring the book.
“And it’s written in French,” he murmured. “That’s unexpected, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
He looked up at me. “Have you studied the Kama Sutra?”
“Only a bit,” I said, as I ran my fingers over the corded spine. “I suppose everyone has a vague knowledge of it. You know, positions and such. But wasn’t it written as a social primer of sorts? Marital etiquette or something like that?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what it is.” He turned a page and stared at the French script. Was he translating the words? “An Englishman, Richard Burton, is said to have written the definitive English translation. I was compelled to study it extensively for an assignment once upon a time.”
I laughed. “Oh, don’t stop there. I want to hear about this assignment.”
“I can’t say too much-only that one of our own government operatives had been co-opted by a sex therapist working at a spa somewhere on the coast of Sardinia, who planned to extort certain secrets.”
“Sounds like fun.”
He chuckled. “Elucidating, yes. Fun? Not really.”
“Well, that’s a shame.”
He lifted the book again and perused the ornate red leather cover. “This is really outstanding.”
“I think so, too.” I gave up, took a deep breath, reached over, and stroked the spine. “What does
He looked amused as our hands touched. “He’s the author.”
“Oh.” Warmth spread up my neck. My cheeks would be turning pink any second now. Again. “I guess I should’ve known that. And I should probably know what the words
“It’s Sanskrit,” he said, moving closer. “
“Ah, I see.”
He turned to a page in the middle of the book. “Here’s a rule you might be interested in. It refers to pressure points.” He read the text in perfect French, an experience I found insanely erotic.
“Um…”
“In the corresponding illustration”-he pointed to the facing page-“you can see how the woman’s anxiety has been eased.”
“Oh… yes.”
“Let’s try that.” He took my hand and rubbed a spot between my thumb and first finger. At the same time, he pressed his leg against my thigh.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Do you feel that?” he murmured.
“I feel… Oh…”
“Yes, you do.” He moved in and covered my mouth with his. His lips were firm and his intention was clear. My heart thrummed against my ribs as he softened the kiss; then his lips moved along the ridge of my jaw to my ear. It was pure instinct that made me stretch to accommodate his every move. I felt a twisting and turning in the pit of my stomach and I heard myself moan with need. The sound and its unfamiliarity brought me back to reality, if slowly.
Derek stood and pulled my chair back and I slid off it. His mouth hovered within reach of mine and I didn’t hesitate. I stretched up and pressed my lips to his. He enclosed his arms around me and deepened the kiss, just as someone battered their fists against my front door.
The door flew open and a man burst into my house, waving a gun.
I screamed.
“What the-” Derek shouted, then shoved me behind him. “Get back.”
I watched as Derek boldly slapped the man’s gun hand, then grabbed and shook it. The gun went flying as the man fell to his knees.
He was big with a pockmarked face. Big and ugly. Was this Tyler’s bad guy?
“Who do you work for?” Derek yelled as he grabbed the man’s shirt and tie and shook him.
From where I was crouched, I could see blood dripping onto the floor. “Derek, he’s bleeding.”
Derek took hold of the man’s jacket lapels and whipped them apart. A large splotch of blood was seeping through his white shirt.
“Who did this to you?” Derek asked in concern. “Who are you?”
The man blinked up at him. He was heavyset, and his eyes were red rimmed.
“Who sent you?” Derek asked again, then spurted out a flurry of words in a foreign language. Russian? Ukrainian? I didn’t know, but the man nodded quickly and replied in the same language.
Derek barked out one more sentence.
The man sighed deeply, muttered something else, then crumpled to the floor.
Chapter 11
“Call nine-one-one,” Derek said brusquely as he slammed the front door. “Get an ambulance here.”
I scrambled for the phone on the desk as he checked the man’s neck for a pulse, but within seconds, he swore under his breath.
“Never mind the ambulance,” he murmured in resignation. “He’s dead.”
I continued holding for the operator. “We still need to get the police here.”
After reporting the break-in and telling them about the dead guy in my house, I called Inspector Lee. She answered the phone on the first ring.
“Why am I not surprised to hear from you?” she said.
I gave her a brief rundown of what had just happened and she assured me she’d be there shortly.
As I spoke on the phone to Inspector Lee, I watched Derek check the dead man’s pockets and clothing labels. I assumed he was looking for identification and any telltale clues as to what Mr. Big had been doing here and why.
In an inside pocket, he found the man’s passport. Taking out his phone, Derek snapped a picture of the open passport, flipped the page, took another picture, then slipped the passport back in the man’s pocket. I figured he would be sending those photos to his pals at Interpol.
In another pocket, he found the passkey to my building as well as a key to my loft. He held them up for me to see, then raised a brow in amusement as I bared my teeth at them. Damn, I was willing to accept that a shady locksmith had been paid to make a copy of my new key, but how had the guy obtained a key to the building? It was aggravating in the extreme.
Derek slipped on a thin rubber glove-where in the world that came from, I had no idea-and picked up the man’s gun, examined it, smelled it, held it at arm’s length, and aimed it at the wall, then lowered his arm. He extracted the thing that held the bullets, then counted the bullets. Placing the gun on the worktable, he snapped another picture. It was as fascinating a routine as anything I’d ever seen him do, and that was saying plenty.
After I ended the call with Inspector Lee, I wrapped the Kama Sutra in its layers of protection and stuck it back in its hiding place at the bottom of the hall closet.
As I walked into my workroom, I noticed that Derek was slipping the man’s shoes off to study the brand.
“What in the world just happened here?” I muttered, rubbing my scalp with both hands. My life just kept getting more and more bizarre. Strangely enough, that wasn’t really a complaint.
I brushed my hair back from my face and went to check my front door, just to make sure there was no damage.
