have made a great after-school special about the dangers of playing with candles.”
“They couldn’t save your mother?”
“Her dress caught fire.” The corners of his mouth twitched and she realized with horror that he was trying not to smile. “She died in the hospital three days later. Third-degree burns over eighty percent of her body.” His face looked dreamy. “I like to imagine that she was in great pain when she finally went, but she was unconscious and never woke up.”
Sheila shuddered.
“I got a nice, fat inheritance when I turned eighteen,” he continued, his eyes blank and staring into nothing. “Insurance from the house, the trust she had from the grandparents I never met. Came to just over two million bucks.”
Sheila’s shock was genuine. “That’s a lot of money.” And it explained a lot. The souped-up vintage motorcycle, for one. A thought occurred to her then. “Do you own this place? Whatever this is?”
“This is my house, yes.”
“So why pretend to be a poor, starving student?”
“When did I ever pretend?” Ethan shrugged. “People assume. I don’t correct them.”
“You’re awfully young to be a millionaire.”
“You think so?” He finally turned his gaze toward her. “How much money does Morris have, anyway?”
Somehow their conversations always drifted back to Morris, which frightened her. “I don’t know, I’ve never asked him. It never mattered. I make my own money, you know that.”
“Just making conversation.”
Silence filled the room and she felt a desperate need to say something before Ethan retreated inside his head. Taking a deep breath, she blurted, “So why do you do what you do?”
His blank gaze became more focused. “Which is what, exactly?”
“You’re a master’s student in psychology.” She cleared her throat and spoke in her best professorial voice. “Why are you the way you are? What possesses you to do the things you do?”
He laughed, his face a picture of delight. “What, you want me to headshrink myself? That’s a first. Planning to teach a course on antisocial personality disorder, Dr. Tao?” He saw her expression and laughed again. “What, you don’t think I can diagnose myself?”
“That’s your diagnosis?”
“I was being facetious.” He rubbed his head, his eyes bright with amusement. “ Au contraire, I would say I’m a highly intelligent, highly motivated individual with good impulse control.”
“So you don’t think you’re a psychopath?”
“Psychopath,” Ethan repeated. “Let’s see. The definition according to the Hare Psychopathy Checklist is ‘a predator who uses charm, manipulation, intimidation, sex, and violence to control others and satisfy his own needs. A psychopath lacks empathy and conscience, takes what he wants and does what he pleases, and violates social norms and expectations without guilt or remorse.’” He finished his recitation with a raised eyebrow, his gaze fixed on Sheila. “That’s half the people I know. Including you.”
“I don’t-”
“Ever bumped a car in the parking lot and not told the owner? Ever sweet-talked a salesclerk into giving you a better deal on something? Ever seduced a guy to get what you want? With no feelings of guilt afterward?” Ethan raised an eyebrow. “We all do it.”
“There are limits. We don’t all rape, kidnap, and murder.”
“Is that what you think I do?”
Sheila stared at him. “Isn’t it? I am here, after all.”
“You don’t know why you’re here. You think you do, but you don’t.”
Time to make a move.
She slipped off the bed and stood in front of Ethan. “I’m pretty sure I do know.” She stepped out of her new sweatpants, then pulled her T-shirt over her head. She stood in front of him wearing just her panties, the ones he’d bought for her.
His eyes moved over her bare skin, taking it all in.
“You care about me,” Sheila said. “You might even love me, though you can’t admit it to anyone, let alone yourself. If you could admit it, if you could have let your guard down with me, we wouldn’t be in this situation. Because there’d be no need.”
She hooked her thumbs into the sides of her cotton underwear and began inching them down. “I’m tired of playing games with you. That’s all we’ve done since the moment we got involved. You want me? You want to be with me? Guess what, you don’t have to force me.”
Her panties fell to the floor and she stepped out of them and moved closer to Ethan. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She knew she looked good. She’d lost weight since she’d been in the basement. Those pesky five pounds she couldn’t lose in time for the wedding had finally come off.
“Now who’s the psychopath?” he said, but his breath was coming a little faster. He placed his hands on her naked hips, drawing her closer.
She felt his arms move around her waist as she stepped toward him. Still seated, his lips were on her belly button and she felt his tongue tracing its outline.
It didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel like anything. But she plunged her fingers into his short hair and allowed a small moan to escape her lips.
He pulled her down and she straddled him. He was still fully dressed, but through the scratchy coarseness of his jeans, she could feel his erection right under the handle of the gun that was digging into her thigh. She kissed his neck, trailing her fingers slowly down his chest toward his crotch and the weapon. She began grinding her hips and his breath came faster.
“You sure you want to do this?” His voice was hoarse.
“I want you. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes.” It came out a gasp, and not because she was overwhelmed with emotion. The word had stuck in her throat because she was forcing the lie. Her fingers brushed over his stomach. Another inch or two and she’d be touching the gun.
“More than Morris?” he said.
“No comparison.” Her fingers closed around the handle, already warm from being so close to his body.
“Tell me why you love me more than him.”
Sheila couldn’t pull the gun out of his jeans just yet. She continued nibbling on Ethan’s neck, grinding her hips down a little deeper. With her free hand, she pulled down his zipper and was inside his jeans in one smooth motion. “Because you’re smarter, younger, sexier.”
She had his penis in her hand and she began massaging. His breath came faster and a grunt escaped his lips. She remembered that sound, remembered what it meant. Her right hand gripped the butt of the gun tighter. He was getting close. Another minute, maximum, and he’d be incapacitated for at least five seconds, enough time for her to pull out the gun and point it at his head.
Her hand worked expertly.
“Sheila,” he said, his face buried in her neck.
“Yes,” she said in his ear.
“I’ve always loved you.”
“I know.”
She could feel it, he was about to reach orgasm. She worked faster, her other hand tight around the handle of the small silver gun.
“But here’s the thing…” he said, his voice strangled through his rapid breathing.
“What’s that?” she said, working faster. Come on, come on, let go already.
His hand suddenly gripped her wrist and twisted. The pain was intense, a flash of fire. She had no choice but to let go of the gun with a whimper.
With his other hand, he shoved her off his lap. She fell over, her back slamming into the thick industrial carpet.
“I’ve never trusted you.” Looking down at her naked body, Ethan stood and zipped his pants. “I know now I
