Widow - Anne Stuart [98]
He stopped her, covering her hand with his. He was fully erect beneath his jeans, and she wanted, needed him.
“Hold on, girly,” he said with a muffled laugh. “We’ll have plenty of time for that later.”
“We’re going to die, Maguire,” she wailed. “And I want to have sex with you.”
“Yes, love, and we will. For days on end, but not here among the dead bodies with a crazy woman likely to walk in on us. Pull yourself together, Charlie.” He brought her hands to his mouth, kissing her. “I’ve unleashed a terror.”
“That’s what I was trying to do.” She reached for his zipper again, but he stopped her.
“Enough of that,” he said sternly. “Give a girl a couple of orgasms and she gets all mouthy.”
“I was thinking I might like to try that, too,” she murmured, trying to move closer.
He let out a low, heartfelt groan. “Stop it, Charlie. A man could get distracted. We need to find our way out of this place before the damned thing collapses around us.”
“And preferably before Madame Antonella comes back to finish us off,” Charlie added.
“Hush!” he said fiercely. In the sudden silence they could hear someone moving around in the distance, making no effort to cover the noise of their approach.
“Then again,” Charlie whispered, “it may be too late.”
“Get back on the bed and pretend to be unconscious. I’m going to look for something I can use as a weapon.”
“I can help…” she began, but he simply shoved her up onto the cot again, cursing as he banged his arm.
“Be quiet!” he said, rising to his feet and moving away from her, the tiny flame disappearing into the inky blackness.
He barely made a sound, but she was intensely aware of every muffled curse, every swallowed groan, just as she listened to the footsteps getting closer and closer. No voices, though—if it was only one person, between the two of them they should have at least a fighting chance.
Maguire appeared out of the gloom once more, an old broomstick in his hand. He saw her doubtful glance and he shrugged. “It was the best I could come up with.”
“Let me look…” she started to get up but he pushed her back.
“You don’t want to go back there, Charlie. Trust me,” he said in a gruff voice.
Charlie swallowed. “I already saw the paintings.”
“There’s…something else besides.”
“Whatever’s causing the smell?”
“Yes.”
“And I don’t want to know?”
“You don’t want to know. But they’ve been there a very long time—it’s probably no one you ever knew.”
“They?” It came out in a whispered shriek.
“Don’t think about it,” he said.
They could see the light now, spearing through cracks around a rectangle in the nearby wall. It was some sort of door, though Charlie couldn’t tell if it was stone, wood or metal.
“What about the Swiss Army knife?” Charlie whispered.
“I think the broom will be more effective,” he said. “Hush.”
Someone was trying to open the door. Both of them held their breath, and Maguire had the broomstick raised like a weapon, ready to bring it down on the head of whoever walked through that door.
It creaked open, slowly, noisily, and the light from beyond was momentarily blinding.
“Charlie? Are you in there?”
It was Olivia. Maguire dropped the broomstick and grabbed her flashlight. “Jesus Christ, what are you doing here?” he demanded.
He’d trained the full power of the light on her, and she glared up at him, affronted. “Looking for my missing daughter, thank you very much. I got back to the villa and the place was deserted. I saw lights up here and I decided to come and see.”
“You decided to come and see?” Charlie echoed in astonishment. “It’s a steep climb, not a casual stroll.”
“Don’t I know it,” Olivia said languidly. “I’ve destroyed my Ferragamos, my fingernails are ruined, I’ve lost a contact lens and I’m in a thoroughly bad mood. I prefer being the center of attention, not running around trying to rescue my daughter. What the hell is going on here?”
“Where’s Henry? Gia?”
“I left them in Geppi. They’re flying back to the States tomorrow