Shannon McKenna Bundle: Ultimate Weapon, Extreme Danger, Behind Closed Doors, Hot Night, & Return to Me. Shannon McKenna
an hour in the shower, Tam began to feel ridiculous, cowering in the billows of steam. She was appalled to be feeling this way. Emotions sprawled over her face. Truths she never meant to say, or even knew were true, bursting out with no warning. She couldn’t trust herself to act in her own best interests. And there was the humiliating phenomenon of morphing into a mindless, scratching cat in heat whenever he looked at her with those smoldering eyes.
And she would do it again. Right now. She would just march right out there buck naked and leap on him with all four paws. At the slightest provocation.
She shut off the water, toweled dry. The mirror was obscured by condensation, which was good, because she didn’t want to look at her own face. Not when she was this angry at herself.
Working a comb through her hair killed another twenty or so minutes. It was getting stupidly long, but she hadn’t wanted to bother with dying or styling it for so long, it had evolved into its own new super straight look that suited her austere mood these days. She considered slicking it back with styling gel into a tight, wet braid, and then rejected the idea. Let it dry, and hang wherever the hell it wanted. She was sick and tired of trying to control every last fucking tiny detail. Enough.
Same with her eyes. She stared into her travel-reddened topaz eyes in the mirror, hating the idea of inflicting colored contacts on them again, without even the benefit of a night’s sleep. What did she care if Val knew the real color? He knew every other significant fact about her. Why balk at this?
To hell with useless barriers. They were draining her energy.
She wrapped a huge bath towel around herself and flung open the door. Val sat naked on the bed, waiting for her. Or rather, waiting for his turn in the bathroom. The guy probably had to piss like a racehorse after all their traveling. She had no sympathy in the least. Served the presumptuous fucker right for not booking her a room of her own.
But the bitchy mental chatter faded as she took in that huge, sculpted golden body, his intense, somber face. His thick penis was impressive even when it was soft, dangling against a springy twist of curling hair. Her fingers curled with the urge to grab him and pet it.
He sensed the thought and his penis twitched, lengthened.
She turned away deliberately and went to rummage through the suitcase he’d ordered for her. She dabbed herself with expensive face cream, deodorized her pits with the ridiculously pricey bottle of deodorant. What a blast of naughty, fleeting fun she’d had with that online catalog. The criteria by which she’d chosen each item had been exquisitely simple. She’d just gone for whatever cost most.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t already know that she was a vengeful bitch. She’d made no effort to keep it a secret.
“I will take a shower, and we will get some dinner,” he said.
Right. Like it was a good idea for her peace of mind to have a romantic candlelit dinner with this man in San Vito, of all places. Pound the final nail into her coffin, why didn’t he.
“I’m not hungry,” she said. “You go on. I want to rest.”
“Stronzate.” His voice was curt. “You ate nothing at breakfast at the Huxley, nothing at the Portland airport, nothing on the plane but coffee and water, nothing at the Rome airport, nothing in the Autogrill. The last food that you ate were four bites of pasta at the wedding buffet. I counted them. You cannot continue to function like this. You are acting irresponsibly and unprofessionally. You will come with me, and get some fucking dinner.”
She bristled. “Do not order me.”
He sighed, and tilted his head to the side, as if praying for patience and inspiration. “Tamar. Bellissima,” he said wearily. “Please. Be reasonable. This is Italy. You need have no fear of the food here.”
“That’s not it,” she snapped.
He raised an eyebrow. “Ah. Fear of me, then?”
“Fuck, no!”
“Well, then? An eating disorder? A bid for control over your life? How sad. Let us discuss your feelings now, get to the bottom of this problem, so that you can eat before you collapse, no?”
She laughed at the thought in spite of herself. “Picture it. Thrashing through my emotional issues on the couch with Dr. Val. I can just imagine what you would prescribe as treatment.”
His eyes gleamed. The corners of his lips curled up. His penis lifted eagerly.
Tam rolled her eyes, and threw up her hands. “All right, fine,” she said. “Dinner. If it makes you happy.”
“It makes me ecstatic. Five minutes,” he said.
She yanked on her sweater, the jeans he’d bought for her at a boutique on the main drag of one of the little towns they’d passed through on the winding coastal highway of Amalfi. She slipped on the black suede half-boots from yesterday’s catalog adventure, her default earrings, the ones with the hypodermic and the soporific, and the multiblade ring, the one she had named for Liv Endicott, Sean’s wife.
It wasn’t much in terms of weaponry, but it was better than nothing. She decided not to bother with makeup. She didn’t have the energy to create illusions. Tonight was all about the truth. Being real.
Then she sat down facing the loggia that framed the sunset over the Mar Tirreno and put in a call on her cell phone to Connor and Erin.
Erin picked up. “Hello?”
Tam winced. Rachel was making noise—a lot of noise—in the background. “Hey, Erin, it’s me. We just arrived. How’s it going?”
Erin sounded resigned. “It’s going,” she said. “She’s a tough cookie, but she has to give in sometime.”
Hmmph. Tam had her doubts about that, knowing Rachel the way she did, but there was no point in saying so. Let Erin hope for the best. “Did she sleep? Or eat, at all?”
“No, and no. She’s on strike. Hold on, let me see if she’ll talk to you. She’s on a speech strike, too. Hey, sweetheart, calm down. You want to talk to Mamma?”
Rachel was startled into silence, and then gave a cry of heartbreaking rage and abandonment.
Aw, shit. Tam slumped, and put her face into her hands. She felt sorry for Rachel, for herself, and mostly for Erin and Con and Sveti, who had to be bug-eyed by now. No one knew better than Tam how stressful a wigged-out Rachel could be.
Erin came back on the line. “Looks like she’s not up for a chat.” She sounded exhausted. “We have had some good moments, though. She’s a sweet kid. But she misses you.”
“Erin, I’m sorry.” Tam felt helpless and guilty. She missed Rachel like crazy. It was hitting her hard.
“It’s not your fault. I understand, and we will all live.”
Conversation was impossible under the circumstances, so they signed off. Tam rested her face in her hands and wondered how long this depraved drama was going to take. And if Rachel could weather it.
She had to, she told herself. She had to.
Val touched her shoulder. She jumped. “Shit, you startled me!”
“Perdonami,” he murmured. “Bad news?”
She shrugged, feeling overwhelmed. “Rachel’s miserable,” she said bluntly. “So’s everyone around her. Big surprise.”
He was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry.”
She got up, and turned her back to him. “And thrilled to be thousands of miles away from it, right?”
He wisely left her alone to think and got dressed. She did not watch him clothe his spectacular nakedness. The bathed, shaved, combed, scented, designer-clothing-draped, mind-blowing finished product was enough for her nerves to take. Naked, he blew her circuits.
He took her to a restaurant that he knew well,