“Don’t snicker,” he said. “You’re just as bad.”
“But I don’t care.”
As he brushed himself off, I looked around. We were in some kind of laboratory, with microscopes and steel tables and what looked like pots of bones in the middle of being de-fleshed. At any other time, curiosity would have compelled me to take a closer look. Tonight, only one thing caught my attention: the exit door.
As I strode to it, Marsten grabbed my arm.
“You can’t go out like that,” he said.
“Oh, please. My life may be in danger. You really think I care how I look? You stay here and pretty up, if you like, but I’m bolting for the nearest exit.”
His grip tightened as I tried to pull away. I yanked harder. He squeezed harder.
I glared at him. “That—”
“Hurts. Yes, I know. But you’ll hurt a lot worse if Tristan catches you.”
“We don’t know—”
“That he plans to kill you? He wasn’t heading to that closet to congratulate you on a job well done, Hope. He wants me dead, and to do it safely, without risking his own life on the repercussions, he needs to clip off his loose ends. That includes you and, later, those guards.”
“Kill four people because you embarrassed him?”
“There’s more to it than that.”
“What did—?”
“Whatever I did, it came after he retaliated because I turned down his job offer. It doesn’t matter. To a man like Tristan Robard, killing four people to avenge his ego is perfectly reasonable.”
He studied my face, then shook his head. “You don’t believe me? Fine. But at least give me the benefit of the doubt by not strolling out that door and testing my theory. You don’t think he’ll have all the exits covered?”
“Uh…yes, of course, but there are plenty of other exits. I know my way around—”
“Good. But if we start wandering the halls looking like this, we’re going to raise alarms. If not Tristan and his men, then a security guard or a concerned guest—”
“Who will cause a fuss, which will alert Tristan. Okay. Let’s pretty up then.”
Marsten declared his tux jacket a write-off. No big deal. It was nearing midnight, and jackets and ties would be coming off anyway as the party wore down. Under it, his shirt needed only a brisk wipe down. My dress had actually fared quite well, with only a rip under the arm and a smear of blood on the skirt. Take off my nylons, wipe down my dusty shoes and bloody knees with a damp paper towel, and I was fine…below the neck anyway. There were no mirrors, and my distorted reflection in the stainless steel table wasn’t very helpful.
“Here,” Marsten said. “I’ll get your face if you can clean mine.”
He wet a fresh paper towel in the lab sink, and walked over to me. I lifted my face. He raised the cloth to my cheek, then paused to brush cobwebs from my hair. When he finished, he smiled, took a stray strand, and wrapped it around his finger. As he did, I could see, out of the corner of my eye, that it was more than a “stray strand.” It was a huge hunk of hair, which thirty minutes ago had been battened down in an upswept twist.
I groaned. “How bad is it?”
“It’s a bit…tousled. Very sexy.”
I lifted my hand to my hair and swore. At least half of it had come free. Beyond repair without a brush and a mirror…and a half-hour of styling time. I yanked out a handful of bobby pins, and gave my hair a shake, letting it fall down my back.
“Mmmm…very sexy.”
“Down, boy. We’re fleeing for our lives here, remember.” I raked my fingers through my hair. “Any better?”
A wolfish grin. “Much. You look like you just crawled out of bed.”
“Damn it—not the look I’m aiming for.”
He caught my hands as I tried to smooth out the damage. “It’s fine. Tousled, yes, but it looks intentional.”
He put his hand under my chin and lifted the wet cloth again. Then he paused again.
“What now?” I said.
A low chuckle. “I was just thinking I’ve never seen a woman who looked so beautiful in dirt and cobwebs. Trouble suits you.”
“You have no idea,” I muttered.
“No, I’m sure I don’t, but I certainly hope I get the chance to find out.” He brushed his finger over my cheek.
“Fleeing for our lives, remember? Let’s save the flattery and soulful gazing until after we escape.”
“Is that a date?”
“Date!” I jumped so fast I knocked the paper towel from his hand. “Sorry. My date. Douglas. He’ll be looking for me. I need to tell him—”