"They being Julian Garrett's people?"
"Right." She wrinkled her nose. "I know you don't believe my theory of the case."
"Your conspiracy theory of the case," he corrected. "Thus far I haven't found anything to indicate that Garrett or anyone else was involved in any way with your grandmother's death, assuming she is dead."
"It's okay." She gave him a glowing smile. "You don't have to explain. You're still investigating. That's all that matters. Sooner or later you'll find the proof."
They started up the stairs to the second floor.
"You do understand that we may be trying to prove a negative here," he cautioned. "There is no way to do that. Which is, of course, how conspiracy theories work in the first place and why they manage to stay alive."
"You never know, we might find a solid clue in Cactus Springs."
"Don't get your hopes up," he said.
"I'm pretty sure that Sherlock Holmes never said that to a client."
"You're my assistant, not a client."
They reached the landing and went down the hall to Isabella's room. He took out the card key and opened the door for her. She stepped into the room on the impossibly high heels and turned to face him.
"We didn't really need to go to the expense of booking two rooms," she said. "Evidently everyone back there in the ballroom knows that we're personally involved."
"How the hell did they find out?" Outrage crackled through him. "Zack or Raine must have said something, although how they knew is an interesting question. I'll have a talk with Zack in the morning."
"No, no, no," she said hastily. "Zack and Raine didn't gossip about us. It's just something about our energy. Even nonsensitives can often tell when two people are involved in a physical relationship. The energy of that sort of attraction is very strong."
Annoyed, he gripped the door frame and checked the hallway to see if anyone was watching. Then he turned back to her. "Damn it, I won't let anyone embarrass you."
"Trust me, I'm not in the least embarrassed."
"You're sure?"
"Absolutely," she said. "What about you? Do you mind people knowing that we're sleeping together?"
He gave the question a couple of beats, trying to sort out his reactions. Deep down he liked the fact that everyone knew that Isabella was his, at least for now. He wanted other men to know that she was not available. And since when had he developed a possessive streak?
He finally got to the bottom line.
"Only if it makes you feel awkward," he said.
She put her arms around his neck. "Poor Fallon. How did an old-fashioned gentleman endowed with such quaint Victorian virtues ever survive in the modern world?"
He groaned. "You think I'm some kind of throwback?"
"Only in the nicest sense of the word."
"Calling me old-fashioned and Victorian makes me feel ancient. I know I'm a little older than you, but not that much. I just look old."
"No." She stood on tiptoe and brushed her mouth against his. "You don't look old. You look perfect."
The touch of her mouth acted like an electrical switch. Everything inside him went to flashpoint in a heartbeat.
"You're the one who is perfect," he rasped.
He moved into the room and shut the door. The action plunged the small space into a shadowed realm, a world lit by the silver light of the canyon-country moon.
He took off his tux jacket for the second time that evening and tossed it across the back of the nearest chair. When he started to loosen the black bow tie, Isabella stopped him.
"Let me," she said.
He opened his senses and saw the heat in her eyes.
When she reached up to unknot his tie, her fingers trembled a little. He caught her hand and kissed her palm. She let the ends of the tie dangle around his neck and went to work unfastening the onyx cuff links. There were two faint clinks when she put the cuff links carefully on the table. The small, intimate sound jacked his senses even higher. He was certain he had never been so hard in his life.
She went to work on the black studs that secured the front of his shirt.
He kissed her and began to strip her with quick, focused motions. The evening gown collapsed into a dark pool at her feet. He got the lacy bra off next. The panties followed, leaving her in the sexy high heels.
Energy ignited the atmosphere of the shadowed room. Isabella's effect on him could only be described in terms of alchemy, he thought. She was the fire that transmuted the cold iron inside him into gold. With her he could look into the heart of chaos and glimpse the ultimate goal of the ancient art, the Philosopher's Stone. With her he was, for a time, complete.
Desperate now, he picked her up and braced her against the nearest surface, the wall. She put one bare leg around his waist and then the other. Her scent was more intoxicating than any drug. He cradled her with one hand and stroked her with the other until she was wet and frantic.
"For me," he said. He caught her earlobe between his teeth and bit down a little, needing to reinforce the words. "I want you like this only for me. No one else."
"It has never been like this with anyone else. It couldn't be. Only you." She clutched at his shoulders and looked at him with her mysterious eyes. "This had better work both ways or it's over now."
"Only you," he said. He was shatteringly aware that his voice was hoarse with passion. He could barely speak at all. "Never like this with anyone else."
She smiled her devastating smile.
"Good," she said.
Her fiercely wonderful energy filled the room, enveloping him.
He managed to unzip his trousers and then he was pushing into her. She closed tightly around him.
He thrust again and again, fast and hard. She clung to him, wrapping herself around him. He could hear her breathing: quick, shallow gasps that betrayed her rising excitement.
"Fallon."
He forced himself to stop pounding into her long enough to lift her away from the wall and put her down onto the bed. He got rid of his trousers and briefs, kicked off his shoes and lowered himself onto the bed beside her.
"My turn," she said.
She flattened one hand on his chest and pushed him onto his back. He went willingly. And then she was on top, sliding slowly downward, fitting her tight core to him.
She rode him slowly, tormenting him until he thought he could not endure it. But he forced himself to let her set the pace. He gripped her soft thighs and opened his senses fully. He did not try to focus his talent. Rather, he gave himself up to the glittering exhilaration of the moment. It was only at times like this, when he was so intimately connected to Isabella, that he could safely slip the bonds of his self-control and fly free.