It was as he looked up that he saw the leg.
The very shapely leg . . . that was plugged into a shiny black stiletto with a red sole.
His eyes followed the dainty ankle to its delicate calf—and went farther up to a very lady-like knee. After that, there were the thighs, the incredibly smooth thighs that were set on display by a black miniskirt that gave both “skintight” and “short” new meaning. And Jesus . . . the top half of the woman more than lived up to the bottom part. Between the black push-up bustier, and all that brunette hair, and that face . . .
“Hi,” the woman drawled as she leaned up against the house, right over the salt container. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Her eyes were jet black and gleaming like they were backlit, and her lips were blood red, and she was as beautiful a woman as he had ever seen.
And her malevolence made him want to get his other gun back out. So he fucking did.
“Now, now,” she said, “is that really necessary. We haven’t even been properly introduced. If you’re going to shoot me, shouldn’t we at least shake hands first?”
With a graceful bend, she picked up the Morton’s. Meeting his eyes, she ran one blood red fingernail around the open metal spout.
“Just so you know, I’m totally resisting the urge to make some ‘you so salty’ jokes right now.” That finger continued to play with the opening. “I’ll say it again, do you really think you can keep me out of anywhere?”
In the pool of light thrown by an exterior fixture, she was an all-wrong trying to pull off perfectly-normal: The shadows under her body moved even when she didn’t, and then there was her aura. A pitch-black shimmer tinted the air around her.
Because she radiated evil.
She tossed the Morton’s over her shoulder, and the container bounced away like it was running from her. “You’re going to need a lot more than shit for seasoning French fries to keep me out. But enough about entrances and exits, tell me something, does this skirt make my ass look big.”
Pivoting around, she struck a pose and stared over her shoulder—as her hand took a stroll down the tuck of her waist to the perfectly proportioned swell of her hip.
“Hm?” she prompted in a throat purr. “What do you think of my ass.”
Sahvage blocked his thoughts by picturing a closet, a closet that had shelves running up its walls from floor to ceiling. Inside his closet, the shelves were empty, the bald overhead light revealing all the absolutely-nothing in there. When he was sure he could see the details clearly, from the wood graining on those vertical boards to the little string hanging from the bulb, he shut the closet door. And locked it.
As the woman stroked her rear assets, he held that final image foremost in his mind: A stout door, a thick door, a reinforced door that was dead-bolted, protecting a closet with nothing in it.
The woman chuckled. “Look at you, with the parlor tricks.”
Say nothing, he told himself. You give nothing out loud.
“So protective of the female under this roof, you are.” The woman—“woman”—glanced at the house. “You must care deeply for her. Or are you just making sure she lives long enough so you can fuck her?”
Sahvage stared forward and barely blinked.
“I’m right, aren’t I.” The woman smiled as she turned back around to face him. “You haven’t fucked her yet. But you want to, don’t you. You want her naked under you and you’re going to mark her as your own—like that means anything these days. Haven’t you heard that monogamy is out of style?”
Her voice was low and seductive, backing up her body, her lips, her hair. She was such an enticing package, but once you got that ribbon off? Ripped free the wrapping paper?
“Or maybe there’s more to you two.” She extended an elegant hand and pointed her blood red forefinger at the center of his chest. “Does she have this? What beats in here . . . has she taken your heart?” There was a pause. “Already . . . wow. I’ll have to take some pointers from her. She’s not much to look at, but her game is evidently on fire.”
I give nothing, Sahvage thought. I give nothing, Igivenothing, IgivenothingIgivenothingIgive—
Her eyes gleamed with menace. “You know, you make me want to get inside of you. I think it would be fun—for me, at least. And for you, for a short while. But hey, sometimes in life, all you get are short little funs, right? Itty-bitty funs. So what do you say, fighter. How about we fuck and I show you a really good time.”
From out of the blue, a thought came to him, like a paper airplane sailing into his line of sight.