Widow - Anne Stuart [71]
He moved fast, shielding her body with his, hiding her from prying eyes as he turned to face the door. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded in absolute fury.
“The police are here.” It was Olivia’s voice, cool, detached. “No one’s seen Charlie since last night, and I’m starting to get worried.”
“The police are looking for Charlie?” Maguire demanded, keeping her hidden beneath him.
“No, actually the police are here to question people about Pompasse. Turns out they think there’s a possibility that he was murdered, after all. They’re with Henry right now, but they were very interested to hear about you. I imagine you’ll be next.” Even from her cramped position Charlie could hear her mother move closer. “You’re sure you haven’t seen Charlie?”
“I’m sure Charlie’s fine. And now if you’d get the hell out of here I’ll get dressed and come and talk to the polizia. But I don’t fancy having an audience around.”
“You don’t strike me as a shy man, Maguire,” Olivia said archly.
“Get the hell out!”
“I’m going. But it might be a good idea if Charlie made an appearance fairly soon. We wouldn’t want the police to get the wrong idea.”
The door closed behind her, plunging the room back into darkness, and Charlie slid out of bed so fast her knees slammed against the rough stone floor. The pain was welcome, and she scrambled out of the way, trying to cover herself with her arms.
Maguire was sitting up in bed. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said irritably. “I didn’t start it.”
“You were about to finish it,” she said, her voice not much more than a whisper.
“And you were about to like it,” he shot back.
“Get out!” she said.
“Here we go again.” His voice was infinitely weary, and if she had anything close to hand she would have thrown it at him. Unfortunately there was nothing in the room but the bed. The damned soft, cozy, comforting bed.
He got out of bed and she closed her eyes, wanting to blot out everything that had happened. A minute later something came flying, and she realized he’d tossed her shirt and bra in her face. He was already dressed, pulling his denim shirt back on, and in the shadowy light his face was grim.
She still hadn’t moved from her place in the corner, though she held the T-shirt against her chest to provide more protection. He opened the door, and bright daylight flooded the room once more. It must be midday, she thought miserably.
And then he strode back across the room, reached down and hauled her up against him. “Remember one thing, Charlie,” he snarled. “You liked it.” He put his hand behind her neck and kissed her, hard and full and deep. And then he pulled away, looking down at her.
“Nice knowing you,” he said. And then he was gone, leaving her trembling, her clothes clutched to her chest.
He had every intention of heading straight to the car. He’d already stashed his laptop in there, ready for a quick getaway, but there were three police cars blocking his way, not to mention a handful of armed gentlemen on the terrace. He could have slipped out the back, made it up to the old church and headed out over open terrain, but he’d be screwed without his material. Not to mention that Gregory would cut his throat. Besides, either way, the jig was undoubtedly up. He hadn’t broken any laws—he’d just be kicked out of the villa, but he had been running out of time, anyway. And a part of him was glad. He needed to get away from Charlie before he got sucked in too deep. She had a bad effect on him—turning him into a sentimental sap when he couldn’t afford to let sentiment get in his way.
It was just as well that bitch Olivia had interrupted them when she had. He’d given Charlie a taste of pleasure, and now that she knew what it was like she could go enjoy it with someone else. Though preferably not with a jerk like Henry.
He could still barely believe what had just happened. She’d come when he’d kissed her, he’d felt her whole body convulse. She had so much bottled-up sexuality simmering inside her she was past