watch
Batman
?”
“The old movie. With … was it George Clooney?”
“Clooney played Batman, too. But I’m thinking of the one with Christian Bale. There’s this character, a super-villain, who calls himself the Joker. He’s particularly frightening because he’s completely insane.”
Anna was watching him, listening carefully. “And addicts who
joker
…”
“Are drug users who lose their minds,” he told her. “There’s something in this particular drug that makes a significant portion of the population go insane.”
“Crystal meth?” she asked anxiously. “Because I think one of my neighbors is a meth user.”
“Not meth.” Bach shook his head. “This is where,” he told her as he took the exit for Route 30, “it gets a little strange.”
Shane woke up to find himself alone in the bed, still in the dark.
Or near dark.
A little bit of light was still streaming in through that crack he’d made between the bottom of the shade and the window frame. And then he realized that there was a glow coming from the main part of the apartment, too.
From here, it looked like candlelight.
He pulled off the blanket someone—Mac—had put over him, and found his jeans where he’d dropped them. He stepped into them and was still fastening the buttons as he went into the kitchen.
Where Mac had, indeed, lit a candle.
She was wearing his T-shirt. And even though he would’ve liked to believe that she was wearing it because it belonged to him, it was probably just the first thing she’d grabbed off the floor as she’d gotten out of bed.
Still, it looked great on her. It hit mid-thigh—she was that short—and he liked the idea that she was wearing it with nothing else beneath.
Holy shit, he was hot for her. Again. Already.
Although, if they were keeping score? She’d had three orgasms to his two. Which kind of meant he was winning, didn’t it?
“Hey,” she greeted him in that husky voice that belonged to a much bigger woman. “It was getting cold, so I, um, came out here to …”
She’d gotten the heat working again. Shane reached out toward the ancient radiator, which was definitely living up to its name.
“There must’ve been some kind of power surge,” she continued. “All of the circuits in the box were thrown.”
She had the built-in microwave running, but the light was off inside of the thing, so it was just whirring as the LEDs counted down from forty-seven. Forty-six, forty-five …
“I got the thermostat and the appliances back on line,” she reported, “but the lights …” She shook her head.
“Bulbs might’ve burned out. Power surges can do that,” he said, as part of him stood off to the side and gave himself a skull-duster at the inanity of their conversation. Why wasn’t he falling to his knees before her, and pledging his unending devotion and adoration?
Why wasn’t he over there next to her, kissing the hell out of her, and lifting her up onto the counter, which was the perfect height for him to push his way inside of her again?
She wanted him to do it. He could see it in the way she was standing, breathing, looking back at him—her nipples already tightly peaked beneath his T-shirt.
But the microwave dinged, and she turned away and reached up to open the door, which made his shirt ride up and …
Yeah, she was not wearing anything under there.
As she set her mug of tea on the counter, she glanced at him and he could see his reflection along with a whole lot of heat in her eyes. But then she sighed and said, “I have to go. There’s a situation at … Work.”
Her hesitation before saying that—
work
—made
him
hesitate. Was he reading this—and her—wrong? Was it really trepidation inher eyes that he was incorrectly interpreting as heat? Was she looking for an easy excuse to get him to leave?
He kept his voice level, easygoing. “Okay. I’ll walk you over there.”
But she was already shaking her head.
“I’ll walk you to the
Batman
?”
“The old movie. With … was it George Clooney?”
“Clooney played Batman, too. But I’m thinking of the one with Christian Bale. There’s this character, a super-villain, who calls himself the Joker. He’s particularly frightening because he’s completely insane.”
Anna was watching him, listening carefully. “And addicts who
joker
…”
“Are drug users who lose their minds,” he told her. “There’s something in this particular drug that makes a significant portion of the population go insane.”
“Crystal meth?” she asked anxiously. “Because I think one of my neighbors is a meth user.”
“Not meth.” Bach shook his head. “This is where,” he told her as he took the exit for Route 30, “it gets a little strange.”
Shane woke up to find himself alone in the bed, still in the dark.
Or near dark.
A little bit of light was still streaming in through that crack he’d made between the bottom of the shade and the window frame. And then he realized that there was a glow coming from the main part of the apartment, too.
From here, it looked like candlelight.
He pulled off the blanket someone—Mac—had put over him, and found his jeans where he’d dropped them. He stepped into them and was still fastening the buttons as he went into the kitchen.
Where Mac had, indeed, lit a candle.
She was wearing his T-shirt. And even though he would’ve liked to believe that she was wearing it because it belonged to him, it was probably just the first thing she’d grabbed off the floor as she’d gotten out of bed.
Still, it looked great on her. It hit mid-thigh—she was that short—and he liked the idea that she was wearing it with nothing else beneath.
Holy shit, he was hot for her. Again. Already.
Although, if they were keeping score? She’d had three orgasms to his two. Which kind of meant he was winning, didn’t it?
“Hey,” she greeted him in that husky voice that belonged to a much bigger woman. “It was getting cold, so I, um, came out here to …”
She’d gotten the heat working again. Shane reached out toward the ancient radiator, which was definitely living up to its name.
“There must’ve been some kind of power surge,” she continued. “All of the circuits in the box were thrown.”
She had the built-in microwave running, but the light was off inside of the thing, so it was just whirring as the LEDs counted down from forty-seven. Forty-six, forty-five …
“I got the thermostat and the appliances back on line,” she reported, “but the lights …” She shook her head.
“Bulbs might’ve burned out. Power surges can do that,” he said, as part of him stood off to the side and gave himself a skull-duster at the inanity of their conversation. Why wasn’t he falling to his knees before her, and pledging his unending devotion and adoration?
Why wasn’t he over there next to her, kissing the hell out of her, and lifting her up onto the counter, which was the perfect height for him to push his way inside of her again?
She wanted him to do it. He could see it in the way she was standing, breathing, looking back at him—her nipples already tightly peaked beneath his T-shirt.
But the microwave dinged, and she turned away and reached up to open the door, which made his shirt ride up and …
Yeah, she was not wearing anything under there.
As she set her mug of tea on the counter, she glanced at him and he could see his reflection along with a whole lot of heat in her eyes. But then she sighed and said, “I have to go. There’s a situation at … Work.”
Her hesitation before saying that—
work
—made
him
hesitate. Was he reading this—and her—wrong? Was it really trepidation inher eyes that he was incorrectly interpreting as heat? Was she looking for an easy excuse to get him to leave?
He kept his voice level, easygoing. “Okay. I’ll walk you over there.”
But she was already shaking her head.
“I’ll walk you to the
Similar Books
