Cupid: A Dark Erotic Romance Part 9

"Oh no." She backed up. "I'm fine. I just-"

"Yes, emotional wreck, mourning ex-husband, obsessed with Cupid's killings, and only running on coffee. You've listed a lot of problems, but you've forgot your biggest problem."

She looked into his eyes. "What's that?"

"It's been a long time since someone's taken care of Diana."

"I've always been provided for by Neil."

Asher might've stared too long at her, and even licked his lips right before he said, "There are ways that a real man can tell when a woman has not been taken care of properly."

He closed the distance between them, but didn't alarm her, by taking her into his arms, which he'd craved. "There are signs."

He tucked some of her hair behind her ear, just for an excuse to touch her, to feel the silk of her skin for a few seconds. "It's in the way she walks, the way she moves her lips to speak."

He bit his own bottom lip. "It's in her scent." He inhaled her, and Diana's eyes widened. "It's in the subtle sound of her voice, the way she looks away. . ."

She frowned. "Are you trying to say that I need to get laid?"

No, sweet one. You need to be f.u.c.ked, so bad that you walk away from this investigating path. You need some d.i.c.k to keep you busy.

Asher's c.o.c.k grew in his pants. He did a quick check to make sure his jacket would hide it. "You need to be provided for."

"By you?"

"There isn't anyone else offering."

"How do you know?"

Because if anybody else offered to take care of you right now, they would be wearing an arrow in their chest. For now, others can stay away from you, until I've had my fun.

"I know what you're doing, Asher."

"You do?" Curiosity glazed over his eyes. "What am I doing?"

"Distracting me."

"Distracting you from what?"

"From being tired." She removed her hand and backed up. "I must apologize, but I have to go. Too much has happened. Goodnight, Asher." She turned around and walked away.

"Really?"

"Yes, really." She headed to the balcony door. "Maybe we can meet for lunch tomorrow."

"I don't want lunch. I want dinner, now."

She stopped and glanced at him. "Stop pouting like a baby. You'll get lunch tomorrow. I'm out of it tonight. I would be worthless for any more conversation."

"Maybe I'm done with conversation. Perhaps I want something else now."

"I'm definitely too worthless for that. And I'm a bit offended you think I'd give you what you want after one evening of wining and dining."

"Fine, Diana. Leave if you must."

She blew him a half-hearted kiss as if the gesture was only meant as a joke. "Fine."

"Additionally, I will be counting lunch as our second date," he called after her. "And will be hoping to get to second base at least."

"You'll be counting by yourself and holding your own b.a.l.l.s and bat at the end of our second meeting, then. Let's try to remember that I'm a widower. It wouldn't be nice to take advantage of me in this emotional state."

But I will, sweet one, over and over again.

"Wait, Diana." Asher called out before she opened the balcony's doors. "You never answered my question."

She turned. "What question?"

"Why did you name him Cupid?"

"Oh," she sighed. "I figured that would be obvious. He kills with a bow and arrow, and all of his murders deal with some form of broken love."

And then she walked away, left Asher right there, baffled, and even more intrigued.

Seven.

Diana

Later that evening, Diana returned to her empty home, dressed in that elaborate gown, and exhausted from the whole day.

Asher Bishop.

Cupid.

Neil's murder.

There were too many thoughts circling Diana's brain and she couldn't settle on which of them to focus on. She wanted to think about Cupid and the onslaught of facts she'd learned in the last day, but Asher's blonde hair and blue eyes sliced through everything Cupid-related.

Though she would have to dress up in chic black garments, respectable but still fas.h.i.+onable black heels and stand over her late husband's grave in just a few days, Neil did not occupy the s.p.a.ce in her brain as she thought he would.

It was easy to move him lower on the list.

Diana wished she'd listened to her gut a little earlier. Divorced Neil before he could tarnish the Carson name and bring her down with him. All things considered though, Diana knew she was getting a good deal out of his death. Money, attention, and pity. It looked good for her. Gave others something to focus their attention on, while she investigated Cupid.

Cupid, Cupid, Cupid.

He was an elusive little f.u.c.k.

She'd investigated, interviewed, and written about hundreds of murder cases during her news career.

None of them confused her like Cupid had.

She wanted to be disgusted with him.

Fear him.

But, deep down, she regaled him.

Celebrated the fact that he had b.a.l.l.s big enough to do what so many were not willing to admit they wanted to do.

She wasn't even sure what she would do if she ever got a chance to meet him face-to-face. Kiss him? Pat him on the back with a "good going, mate?"

Diana shook her head while she stepped out of her designer gown. The chances of meeting Cupid were slim and would happen only if he was caught and then what could she do for him? Nothing more than help his tarnished reputation in the media.

She stepped toward the shower, letting the nozzle spew and spurt before the steam rose in waves toward the ceiling. The slate grey walls shone with a dewy glaze and it was in that moment, Diana thought the craziest thing.

How many times had Neil f.u.c.ked someone in here? Who else had the pleasure of being in my shower, with my husband?

She stepped into the scalding water. Droplets. .h.i.t her skin like ice picks.

What Neil had done, no longer matters. Get over it. He's dead, and with them, all of his mistakes. He's dead and none of his mistakes carry weight, unless they were related to Cupid.

And there it was again.

All roads lead back to Cupid.

Diana s.h.i.+vered as she remembered the feeling of stepping inside her kitchen. The way the air felt torched with electricity. It had to have been Cupid. There wasn't another explanation for it.

Asher hadn't thought she was crazy. She expected to see it in his eyes, the pity and disdain one feels for recent widows. But not Asher. He seemed to believe her. And she saw nothing like pity in his eyes-she saw fire. Little wisps of blue flames that burned right through her. He smoldered for her.

And she couldn't deny that she liked it.

It'd been a very long time since Diana Carson had felt wanted-in the way a woman should.

She was gorgeous, yes, smart and witty but that was all so surface level.

Men stared at her, wanted her, yearned for her, but none of them craved her. None of the men she'd met, including Neil, had looked at her like they needed to satiate a hunger. She wanted a man to pursue her like it was a primal necessity. To ravage her slowly, surely, and then completely as if they would never have another like her again.

These were the fantasies Diana kept hidden in the furthest reaches of her mind.

Until Asher Bishop spoke and they fluttered to the surface like whispers of long forgotten secrets.

"You haven't been taken care of, Diana."

Water cascaded down her face and as she turned to grab her soap, a noise came from her bedroom. A small, imperceptible swoosh. Like shoes on carpet.

She ripped open the shower curtain but she saw no one. "h.e.l.lo? Is anyone out there?"

No response. She heard no other sounds except the drop, drop, dropping of the water stream.

She shook her head.

I'm losing it. I haven't slept or ate or closed my eyes once and this is the price I pay. And what the h.e.l.l did I expect, if someone was in here? If they were in my home, then it was someone sneaking or planning to hurt me. I doubt they would've screamed back h.e.l.lo. G.o.d, I need to get a grip.

Wrapped in an oversized grey towel, she patted herself dry and the fabric lingered on her skin. There was a sensuality to it that had her stomach doing flip-flops. It was as if Neil's death had flipped a switch in her. The lingering pangs of desire she'd kept quietly at bay were now begging for release.

Tonight, I sleep. Tomorrow, I look for you Cupid.

She crept into her bed, the worn-in Egyptian cotton tickling her bare flesh. She hadn't slept naked in years! Not even when Neil decided to share it with her. She felt like she was newly divorced rather than recently widowed. The death of their marriage made sense.

The absence of Neil's life hadn't quite sunk in.

She clapped her hands and the lights shut off.

Silent minutes flew by.

Restless ones.

In the darkness, she tossed and turned against the coolness of the sheets for what seemed like hours. Her brain filled with images of men with holes in their chests, of Asher Bishop's charming smile and of Cupid's bow and arrow striking Asher in the heart. The image was so visceral, she sat straight up, clutching the s.p.a.ce above her own heart.

And then she saw it.

A flicker of movement outside her window on the balcony. A swoosh of the curtains. A tiny clank of something on metal.

She rushed to the window, but of course, there was no one on her balcony. No man in a suit or one piece. No bow and arrow pointed at her. She moved away from the window just in time to see someone dressed in black turn the corner. She couldn't be certain if it was a man or a woman. A teenager or adult. She didn't even have enough time to see what he was wearing - just that it was black.

She laid back down and wondered if this was the end.

Perhaps it had been Cupid, checking on her. Making sure she was doing fine. But she wasn't sure he was that sentimental.

Wouldn't he be more occupied with his next kill?

Then maybe it was Asher.

Yes, I'm going insane.

She laughed, right there in the darkness, in the middle of her cold, lonely bed. A man like Asher wouldn't hide. He'd make sure she knew it was him.