“What’s this?” Kate asked pointing at the bundle.
“An apology for being a selfish ass**le.” Raphael unwrapped the canvas, revealing the instantly identifiable shape of a high-tech compound bow: low-tech bows were bent outward, like a crescent, but this bow’s center bent inward, toward the archer. I zoomed in. Lightweight, a hollow carbon fiber riser with the telltale Celtic knot grid pattern, dampers to absorb the recoil vibration, ornate cams, string suppressors…Oh Jesus Christ, he was holding an Ifor compound bow. Sleekest, leanest, meanest bow on the market, with pinpoint accuracy and a vibration-free shot delivered in complete silence. It wasn’t a bow, it was death wrapped in a dream and twenty-first-century engineering. They were made in Wales by a single artisan family, one at a time. I had been trying to buy one for ages, but there was a waiting list a mile long and UK buyers were given a strong preference. How could he even get one? Where?
“Do you think she’ll like it?” Raphael asked.
“She’ll love it,” Kate said. “But I don’t think buying her things will work.”
For me! The bow was for me! I dropped my tablet.
Raphael glanced up. “Did you hear something?”
Oh crap.
“No,” Curran said. “Can we come in?”
“Of course.” Raphael wrapped the bow back up.
I switched to the foyer camera.
The door swung open.
I held my breath.
Raphael stepped inside.
I tapped the screen, splitting it in two and zooming the right half on his face.
Raphael opened his mouth and froze.
The entire house was covered in purple ultra-long shag carpet. It wasn’t just purple, it was bright, vivid, psychotic grape-purple. It made my eyes bleed after a mere five seconds. Medrano Reclamations had pulled miles of it out of some warehouse they had reclaimed, and Stefan had sold the entire lot to me dirt cheap, because nobody in their right mind would ever buy it.
I had covered everything: the floor, the walls, the ceiling. The elegant couches, the dark rough-wood coffee table, the swords on the wall, the fireplace. I had wrapped the logs in the fireplace.
Raphael just stood there and stared, his face a mask of utter shock.
Behind him Curran froze in place. Kate put her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh.
Slowly Raphael walked inside over what once had been his pricy tile and now was just a sea of cushy, hideous purple, and looked at the kitchen.
The island was a block of carpet. I had wrapped his pots and pans hanging from the frame identical to the one he had installed at my place. I had wrapped the frame. The fridge. The stove. The butcher block, each knife handle wrapped lovingly in the purple nightmare.
“Wow,” Kate said. “I had no idea you liked carpet so much, Raphael.”
“What is it that you wanted to discuss?” Raphael asked, his voice monotone.
“We’ll do it later,” Curran said. “You’re obviously too tired. Come on, Kate.”
She hesitated. “But…”
“We need to go and do that other thing we need to do.” He pulled her away and they went out. The door clicked shut.
Slowly, as if in a dream, Raphael opened the carpet-sheathed cabinet. A stack of carpeted plates looked back at him. I didn’t have the time to do absolutely everything, so I had only done the plates. I knew he would open that cabinet. That’s where he usually went first.
Raphael drew his hand over his face.
Slowly the shock drained away from his face. He inhaled deeply.
That’s right, darling. Drink me in.
He went back into the living room and checked the windows, one by one. Slowly, unhurriedly he made his way upstairs to the master suite.
I switched to a different camera.
The bed was purple, too. He locked the windows and walked into the bathroom. The tub was carpet. The toilet was carpet. I had cut carpet into a long strip and threaded it onto the toilet paper holder.
He turned and finally noticed a mirror, the lonely spot in the synthetic moss that had sprouted all over his apartment. On it I had written in red lipstick, “Your personal padded room.”
Raphael raised his head and looked up. An evil smile curved his lips. He was almost unbearably handsome.
“Andreeaaaa,” he called, his voice seductive and wicked.
I gulped.
“I know you’re here.” His voice was like a purr wrapped in a growl. “You could never resist seeing me take this all in.”
Bastard knew me too well. I tried to breathe quietly.
His shoes came off. He stretched.
“Andreaaa…”
His voice sent tiny caresses all over my skin.
Raphael raised his face and inhaled, sampling the air. He seemed slightly feral.
“I’m going to find you,” he promised.
Oh no.
He followed my scent out of the master suite.
“You can’t hide from me. I know you, I know how you think. I know you’re watching me. Did you wire the house?”
He was hunting me.
Fear dashed through me, mixed with delicious excitement. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose.
He reached the attic.
My heart was beating a thousand beats per minute.
He reached for the cord.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
The attic’s ladder slid down.
I took a deep breath.
Raphael put his foot on the first step.
I leaped up, tore my surveillance screen away from the cables, and tried to hurl myself through the attic window. And ran right into bars. Trapped.
Raphael’s head appeared in the attic doorway. He saw me.
I dropped my stuff and braced myself.
Slowly, lazily he climbed the stairs. One step, two…
“You’ll never take me alive,” I told him. It felt appropriate.
He stepped into the attic. “You got it all wrong. The plan is for you to take me.”
He pulled his shirt off. His scent hit me. He opened his arms…
I jumped him.
We collided. The smell of him, the feel of him, the heat of his skin on mine, oh my God, this cannot be happening. He kissed me on the mouth, searing hot. “I love you. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I was an ass…”
I couldn’t even talk. I just kissed him, running my hands over his chest, over his muscled back, touching his hard ridged stomach, wanting him inside me, wanting to be one. He slid his hands under my T-shirt, and I pulled it off, in a desperate hurry. He touched me again, pulling me into his arms, and it felt so right, so good, so sensual that I trembled. I slid my hands into his pants and stroked the hot hardness of his shaft. I wanted to feel him inside me, sliding in and out. I wanted the ultimate proof that he was mine and that I was his, and I was hot and slick and ready. All of my tricks went out the window, and I just rubbed against him, tasting his skin and purring. He kissed my neck, sliding his tongue along the sensitive spots, and then he lost it, too. Somehow, intertwined, we made it down the attic steps into the hallway.