Read Online Little Black Book of Murder by Nancy Martin - Free Book Online

while you were still asleep. I grabbed it off the dresser. I didn’t want to leave the house without any cash.” I folded the bill into his hand. “It’s our entire fortune at the moment, so hang on to it. Wait—­what’s this?”
    His left thumb was wrapped up in a makeshift bandage. He said, “I hit it trying to fix the furnace. No big deal.”
    I unwrapped his thumb and took a look. His thumb might turn a little blue, but there was no permanent damage. I gave it a kiss. “Thanks for trying. Your friend looked a lot worse.”
    â€œHe’ll recover.” Michael pocketed the money and reached to rearrange a strand of my windblown hair. “We’ll get through this, you know. The bank account won’t stay empty much longer.”
    Being penniless wasn’t much fun, I had to admit. The winter had been one long struggle to make ends meet. It felt as if we were just one household catastrophe away from total fiscal meltdown. And unlike Michael, I didn’t see any relief in sight.
    At least, not from my end. What he was up to, I couldn’t guess. He was keeping secrets again.
    With a glance over his shoulder to make sure Gus was still occupied, Michael pulled me out of the kitchen and into the privacy of the scullery. “Who the hell is this guy, anyway?” he asked when we were alone.
    â€œGus Hardwicke. My new editor.”
    â€œI thought you said your editor was old.”
    â€œI said no such thing.”
    â€œWith a name like Gus, I figured he had a beard and arthritis.”
    â€œWell, he’s not old at all.”
    â€œI can see that. What’d he do? Leave his kangaroo back at the party?” Michael said. “He wants to do more than edit you.”
    â€œDon’t be silly.” I slipped into his arms and gave him a kiss on the mouth.
    He pulled me closer and met my lips with more oomph than before, but when we parted, he said, “He called you enchanting. I don’t like the way he looks at you, either.”
    I touched his cheek. “He’s my boss. He doesn’t look at me.”
    Michael used one hand to tip the scullery door closed and turn the lock. “The hell he doesn’t.”
    I gave Michael a warmer, lingering kiss to prove my point, then said softly, “I suppose I should like it when you get jealous.”
    â€œI get jealous every time you walk out the door.” Smiling, and with a flickering light in his blue eyes, he backed me against the porcelain sink and pinned me there. With both hands, he began easing the folds of the damask Swain Starr skirt up my thighs. “How well do you know him?”
    â€œHardly at all. Usually, he ignores me, but today he showed up and—­are you really feeling jealous?” I smiled up at him.
    â€œAt the moment, I’m feeling something else.”
    I laughed a little, allowing Michael to unfasten the buttons at the back of my dress. In the last couple of months, I’d gotten used to his spontaneous advances. He was frustrated in the house and directed his excess energy into frequent amorous interludes that often left me limp. I had learned that if I indulged in a postcoital nap, though, I was just inviting even more lovemaking. It had become an endless cycle. Nice most of the time—­exhilarating, even—­but exhausting.
    In another moment, Michael was easing the bodice down around my waist. He was quick and sure with the clasp on the front of my bra, too. I leaned back and let him get away with it—­watching his eyes and smiling. “Michael—­what do you think you’re doing?”
    â€œIf you can’t figure it out, I’m doing it wrong.”
    â€œYou’re acting like a caveman. We can’t—­no, hang on a minute.” I tried to fend off his roving hands—­not very firmly. “Stop. Gus will see us through the windows.”
    â€œRalphie will keep him on the porch.”