In that way that it was sometimes easier to point fingers at other people for the faults I didn’t want seen in myself, I laid out my hypocritical judgment. “It means you’re an even bigger slut than I thought you were.”
“Did you just call me a slut?” Now I was sure he wanted to spank me.
I grinned. “If the shoe fits.”
“It doesn’t. It’s your shoe.”
“Now you’re calling me a slut?” I deserved the turnaround, but I didn’t deserve the term… not anymore.
“Yeah. I am.” He stood and closed in on me, pulling me to the edge of my seat so that I had to open my knees around him. “What’s more, you like it.”
I put my hands on his chest like two stop signs, not pushing him away, but not letting him get closer until I made this clear. “When we’re having sex, yes, Reeve, I like it. A lot, in fact. But not just in regular conversation. Mostly because it was true at one time, but it’s not anymore. At all. You know, I can count the men I’ve been with in the last five years on one hand?” I could count them on two fingers, to be precise.
“Really?” He didn’t bother hiding his surprise.
“Yes, really.”
“Huh.” He also didn’t bother hiding his satisfaction. “I guess I’ll have to save the slut reference for when you’re underneath me.”
“That would be preferred.”
Without any warning, he picked me up and threw me roughly on the countertop, pinning my arms above my head with his hands.
“Like this?” His eyes danced with dark pleasure. I squirmed, trying to get loose, but his hold on me only tightened. “Is this what you wanted, slut? Such a fucking dirty girl. Such a greedy little whore.”
Yes. Exactly like this. His tight grip on me hurt and the counter edge dug into my lower back where his hips pressed against me, but I was instantly aroused, my breathing heavy, my mouth and pussy ready for invasion.
His gaze went to my lips, and then slid up to my eyes. He kept my hands pinned, but his pressure loosened and I stopped pretending to fight him. And the way he looked at me – with interest, with adoration – it stirred goose bumps to poke from my skin and made my chest flutter.
“Emily,” he said, and I realized I liked my name when he said it. “Stay over every night you come here.”
A lump formed in my throat. “Okay.”
I wanted him to kiss me, thought that he might, but he stood up instead. “Now look what you did.” Following his gesture, I found his pants tented.
He nodded his head in the direction of the stairs. “Come shower with me so you can take care of this and prove how miserable you make me.” He left, completely sure I would follow.
I did. Of course I did, and as I took each step behind him, I remembered what I’d known since the day he’d shown up at my apartment and kissed me for the first time. What I’d somehow let myself forget. Whether or not Reeve was an actual killer didn’t really matter. Whether or not he’d pushed Missy Mataya from a cliff or ordered someone to do it, or – God, please no – done anything that had gotten Amber killed, Joe was right to be concerned for my safety.
Because, little by little, moment by moment, without any shred of doubt, Reeve was certainly going to kill me.
CHAPTER 16
The consequence about a pleasant Sunday with Reeve was a Monday filled with guilt. My stomach ached as I drove into my incredible job in my amazing car given to me by an enthralling man who should be my enemy rather than my lover. If I was going to spend my weekends with him, then I needed to do my best to keep the rest of my free time focused on other ways to find Amber. Not that I had a lot of free time. With twelve-hour production days and limited avenues of investigation, it wasn’t like there was a lot I could do.
But by the time I’d checked in at the lot, I had an idea of something I could do – I could talk to Chris Blakely. Frankly, I should have followed up on it before and if I hadn’t been so consumed with my fascination about Reeve, I would have. Though Chris hadn’t known Amber, he’d known Missy. He’d spent time at the Palm Springs resort with her. Surely he could tell me something new about Reeve during that time. Give me some inside dirt about the couple. His theory about the cause of her death would be worth a conversation alone.
While I wasn’t as certain as Joe was that my phone calls were monitored, I decided it didn’t hurt to be cautious. Also, Chris hadn’t given me any indication of his opinion on Reeve. That meant I needed an excuse to reach out to him. I could bring up Missy as an afterthought. Luckily, a suitable cover story came up at that morning’s table read.
As soon as I had a break, I called him on the cafeteria phone. I’d considered using the disposable but suspected Chris wouldn’t take a call from the unknown number. A call that showed up coming from the studio, however, he’d surely answer. No actor could resist those calls.
He answered on the first ring.
“Hey, Chris, it’s Emily.”
“Emily. Hi. Wasn’t expecting you. What’s up? Did you lose your cell?”
“No. Stupid me, I left it at home, and I couldn’t wait to talk to you so I’m using the phone on the lot.” It was almost disturbing how easy it was to lie to him.
“Well, this sounds promising. I don’t know how Megan will feel about it, but —”
I cut him off. “Stop it. That’s not why. I have a lead for you. Just found out the show is introducing a new male character next season, and I knew you’d want to know ASAP.” Really, I didn’t think Chris had a chance in hell of getting the part, but he didn’t need to know that.