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Jason drew back just enough to look at my face, our faces still pressed to the same pillow. “That—was—amazing.”

I smiled. “Yes, it was.” I focused a little past his face and saw marks on his shoulders. I lifted my head enough to see better, and found nail marks on his back. “Jesus, Jason, I’m sorry.”

“It’s a compliment,” he said, giving that lazy smile.

I laid my head back down on the pillow, because it still seemed too much effort to move much. “That’s why you pinned my wrists.”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning, “I love that you lose control with me like that, but I wasn’t really in the mood to bleed too much tonight.”

I rose up again, to see the marks more clearly, bending from the shoulders this time and not just the neck. There weren’t many marks, but what there were had dried blood in them. I made a face. “Sorry.”

He shook his head and cuddled closer to me on the pillow, so that our faces touched when my shoulders relaxed. “Never apologize for enjoying being with me, Anita. I love that you enjoy me.”

I kissed his forehead because it was closest. “I know a lot of women enjoy you.”

“They have,” he admitted, “but not lately.”

I stroked my hand down his shoulder. “She really screwed with your head, didn’t she?”

“You mean, Perdy?” he asked. He’d gone very still beside me.

“Yeah.”

“She said she loved me, but she told me what I wanted to do with her was wrong, perverted.”

“Did she actually say perverted?” I asked, and put another kiss on his forehead.

“No,” he said.

“See, you’re projecting.”

“She said evil.”

That made me go still beside him, with my lips against his face. “Evil?” I made it a question.

“Yep.”

“What the hell could you have asked for that she would have called evil?”

He tensed beside me and looked toward the door. “There are people at our door. One of them has been drinking, a lot.”

“You can smell it,” I said.

He nodded, still looking at the door. I didn’t immediately go for my gun on the bedside table. I mean, they could just be a bunch of partiers going to their own room.

Then someone pounded on our door, and a woman’s voice said, “Keith, I know you’re in there, you bastard! Open this door, you cheating bastard!”

Jason looked at me. “Don’t look at me,” I said, “this is so not my kind of problem.”

“So you don’t know what to do either?”

“Not a clue,” I said.

“Great,” he said, “me either.”

She hit the door so hard it shook. Where she was hitting the door said she wasn’t that tall, but she was giving it all she had, and drunk she was using more strength than she would have used sober. She’d be bruised in the morning, and probably not remember why.

Jason went for one of the thick robes that were always in the nicer hotel rooms. He tossed me the second robe.

“We’re not going to open the door, are we?” I asked, and let my voice sound suitably horrified.

“She’s not going away.”

“She’s also drunk enough that one look at us in this room like this is going to convince her she’s right.”

“I can’t help that I look that much like him.”

“Keith, you son of a bitch, open this door!”

“Mr. Summerland, do you really want the eleven o’clock news to show you leaving your fiancée outside your door while you have sex with another woman?”

I sat up, suddenly very serious about the robe. “Oh my God, there are reporters with her.”

He started looking for Chuck’s business card. “You call Chuck, tell him what’s happening.” I didn’t argue, I just took the card and started punching buttons.

Jason went to the door but didn’t open it. He yelled through it, “My name is Jason Schuyler, I am not Keith Summerland.”

“You tried that in high school, Keith, pretending to be Jason when you were screwing Nan Brandweiss.”

I had Chuck on the phone. “This is Chuck.”

“Anita Blake. We have reporters outside our door with Keith Summerland’s very drunk fiancée, demanding to know why he’s cheating on her.”

“Oh, shit.” He said it with real feeling.

“My sentiments exactly. What do we do?”

“I thought you weren’t going to call, I