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

Michael hiked my skirt up higher and started to ease my panties down. His hands were warm, and his voice was barely a whisper in my ear. “I missed you this morning.”
    When Michael thrust his way into my world, a refined part of my upbringing blew away like a leaf borne on a hot summer wind. Up until then, I had been a good girl all my life. Right out of college, I married my husband, Todd, who was the kind of man my family expected me to settle down with. He’d been finishing med school, intending to be a researcher who specialized in transplants, and we thought we’d have a peaceful life together. We went sailing and bought antiques and took trips to Paris, holding hands on the airplane. But cocaine came along. Drugs drove Todd to his eventual death and me beyond what I thought was the limit of my strength.
    Now? Now I knew life was short. And I didn’t want to waste a minute of it.
    Michael and I shared stormy emotions and a lot of laughter and physical cravings that sometimes felt wanton, but our relationship had become anchored in the knowledge that we weren’t going anywhere without each other. Maybe it was strange that I trusted a convicted criminal over any number of yacht-­hopping potential husbands from my own world. I knew he wasn’t going to ruin his life with drugs, though, or take me down with him.
    Even though he’d been the one to initiate a lot of sexual congress lately, I was the one who unsnapped his jeans. The afternoon had been long and trying, and I wanted to be wrapped up in the man I loved.
    He pulled back, laughter in his gaze. “Are we really doing this?”
    â€œYes,” I said. “Yes.”
    Emily Post, forgive me. Other people didn’t understand why we were together. But being with Michael felt like thumbing my nose at all the constraints—­the people of my so-­called social class, the rules, the strangling and antiquated edicts of civility, the tired idea of what a family ought to be. His criminal past worried me sometimes, but he had won my trust. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and held on tight. He knew exactly how to coax me to the brink of life. Even when he turned me around and I braced both hands against the sink, I was laughing, loving. He made me close my eyes and gasp. Made me forget myself. Made me feel as if I had the power to be something strong and willful and complete. He was hot inside me, a life force too strong to doubt.
    It was over in minutes. I came first, barely holding back the cry in my throat as the spasms racked me, and Michael climaxed seconds later. When we could breathe again, he tugged my skirt back down, smoothed it, pulled me around against his chest and kissed me—­gentler this time, one hand in my hair.
    â€œYou like it, don’t you?” he murmured against my mouth. “On the edge with me.”
    â€œYes,” I whispered back. “I love you.”
    He bumped his forehead against mine and looked into my eyes. “Me, I’m feeling kinda enchanted.”
    I laughed. He didn’t have the poetry of a more-­educated man, but he knew when to use the right words.
    We kissed again, long and gently, murmuring the magic words a few more times.
    When he tried to help me put my clothes right again, I pushed his hands away. “Here, let me do that.” I tried to refasten my bra, but it was tight. I rolled my eyes. “I’ve put on a couple pounds. Too much pasta.”
    He smiled. “If there’s one good thing that comes out of being broke, this is it.”
    I let him cup my breasts for a second, then snapped my bra. “You won’t say that if I outgrow all my working clothes. Button me up?”
    I turned around so he could fasten my dress.
    â€œWe won’t be broke forever,” he said, dropping a kiss on my neck. He hugged me from behind, and I leaned against him, eyes closed for another moment to absorb his strength. If all the people