I kicked off my covers and tiptoed to my bedroom door, inching it open a crack. Nina was stretched out on the couch, the silvery light from the television glowing ominously on her marble skin.
I slid into a pair of yoga pants, socks, and tucked my Reebok EasyTone sneakers under one arm. Hey, crime fighters need good glutes, too, right?
I peeled open the door again and dropped down to my knees, crawling from my bedroom doorway to dive behind our side table. If I could just get out the door, I could do in Harley myself, and Nina would never have to know. My heart was pounding in my throat, and sweat started to prick at my upper lip. I crawled from behind the side table to behind the couch; my hands and knees moving silently on the carpet.
“Can I help you?”
I stopped—rather, Nina stopped me—when my forehead banged against her shins. She was blocking the front door, hands on hips; her charcoal eyes glaring down at me.
“Um,” I said, sitting back on my bum, “I was looking for one of ChaCha’s chew toys.” I felt a smile of relief pushing up to my earlobes.
Nina cocked a single eyebrow; her smile was wry. “A chew toy?”
I nodded spastically. “Yep.”
Nina crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Oh, I know what this is about.”
I gulped. “You do?”
“Uh-huh. You’re sneaking out to meet a boy, you little minx. Now, who is it? Alex ... or Will?”
“You caught me, Nina. Nothing gets past you.” I forced a tittering laugh. “Yeah, I’m going to meet Alex. He just got back from Buffalo. Tonight. I would have told you, but—”
“But you knew that I would never let you leave the house looking like that?”
“What’s wrong with the way I look?”
Nina rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding me? You look like—like ... Well, I can’t even come up with a funny retort. But you look awful. Yoga pants, no makeup? I know Alex is all good angel and stuff, but trust me, Sophie, looks matter.” A wide grin spread across her face. “Wait here. Just give me two minutes and Alex will not be able to resist you.”
Nina hopped cleanly over me. Once I could see that she was in her room, knee deep in lace and see-through camis, I continued on my hands and knees out into the hallway.
“Did I mention how much I love this country?” Will said, grinning down at me from his doorway. He was shirtless and barefoot, wearing a pair of faded jeans, which hung in all the right places. His naked chest was slim, but every single muscle was brilliantly well defined, a la David Beckham or one of those anatomy posters.
I felt myself start to salivate—the last hint of male chest I had been privy to had been gray, lichen covered, and dripping with gold chains.
Screaming hormones or not, I was a woman with a mission.
“You’re pretty,” I heard myself say.
“I mean, pretty ... jerky,” I corrected in an uncertain cadence. I stood up, brushing off my already achy knees. “I’m sneaking out of my apartment.”
“Nice strategy. Where you headed?”
I pushed Will’s chest until we were both in his apartment; then I slammed the door. “To the Mark Hopkins hotel. I need to go find Harley. He’s the one who’s responsible for all this. He’s the one who tried to kill me.” My eyes drifted from Will’s brilliantly hazel eyes to his broad shoulders ... those ropey muscles ... the two-inch tuft of hair that led from his navel to the top button of his Lucky Brand jeans.
Will seemed amused, his eyes following mine.
“Harley. Yes. Bad,” I said, pulling out all the stops in my impressive vocabulary.
“Harley’s responsible. Are you sure about that, love?”
“Of course I’m sure! I read his book! And besides, who else would want to pick off demons?”
Will bit his lip. “How about Alex? You said yourself it could be a fallen angel picking people off to make you crazy. What happened to that theory?”
I blew out a sigh. “It’s not Alex. Alex wouldn’t hurt a fly. He won’t even go to the circus because of the way they treat the animals.”
“Are you sure he’s not just afraid of clowns?”
I was about to fire back my own witty retort, when there was a quick rap at the door.
“Is that—”
“No!” I pantomimed silently. “She can hear you!”
Will yanked the door open and I dove behind the selection of lawn chairs and Wii games, which passed as Will’s living-room set.
“Nina! What an unexpected surprise! Come round for a spot of plasma, did you?” I could hear the absolute glee in Will’s voice and it made me growl.
“That’s very sweet of you, Will, but I’m looking for Sophie. By the way, nice outfit.”
I peered out from behind two slats of tan lawn chair and caught a glimpse of Nina, eyes doing that incredibly sexy-smoldering thing, the tip of her tongue feeling her fang. A surprising surge of anger started to simmer low in my belly.
“Can you just tell Sophie, when you see her”—Nina peered around Harley and looked directly at Fort Lawn Chair—“that these are for her?”
I gaped as Nina piled a selection of black lacy things—topped with a pair of stiletto heels that would have been better suited for a
“Sure.”
Nina leaned up on her tiptoes, caught my eye, and gave Will a slightly sensual peck on the cheek. “Thank you, Will,” she said coyly.
Will slammed the door and I stood up, raging. “You know, Will, we’re going to have to get you some big-boy furniture!”
Will shrugged and shook the heap of garments out of his arms—save for some shimmery black dental floss or possibly a thong. (My lingerie IQ was woefully low.)
“Aren’t you supposed to put these on?” he asked, grinning. The dental floss/thong was hooked around one finger.
I snatched it. “No. She was just doing this for—for ...”
Will’s eyebrows went up expectantly. I made up my mind to stop Harley and then kill Nina myself. “I’ve got to go stop Harley.”
Will pointed to the heap of satin and lace. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
I shrugged. “Donate it. This city is full of needy people.”
“Needy sexy people?”
“I’ve got to get out of here.”
Will held up a finger. “Wait one second.” He disappeared into his bedroom—what I assumed was his bedroom, as I had never been in and would not be going in, I told myself sternly. He came back out, sliding a red football jersey over his head.
“Don’t you have anything that can’t be worn on a soccer field?”
“It’s called football, love, and you should talk.”
I looked down at my Giants ensemble. “Baseball is America’s pastime.”
“Ditto football in the UK. Hold this, please?”
I put my hands out. “Ew!” I shouted, dropping Will’s socks onto the floor.
“What’d you do that for?”
“They’re socks!”
Will rolled his eyes, beelining for the kitchen. “They’re clean.” I watched as he selected a pair of long barbecue tongs, then pulled open the oven door.
