Page 59 of The Playboy Meets His Match
“Oh, hell, Merry,” Jason said.
“What? I just told him he would get caught.”
“Then he knows you think he’s the murderer. There’s nothing concerning Holly to get caught about.”
“Of course there is—taking her money.”
“That’s old stuff now and it’s her word against his unless you or Holly come up with some solid proof. Merry, don’t goad him.”
“I was so angry—”
“Just cool it. This man could be incredibly dangerous. He doesn’t know what or how much you know. I’m staying here tonight.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I swear, I’ll sit in the living room. I’m worried about you.”
She thought about the night the bomb exploded and nodded. “All right. Tonight you stay. Tomorrow night you go home. But you stay in the living room and I sleep on the patio.”
“Nope. Not tonight. You sleep in your bedroom where he can’t scale a wall and get to you.”
She shivered and rubbed her arms. “You’re worrying me.”
“Good. I’m glad something is finally worrying you about Dorian.”
She leaned back against the wall and stretched her legs in front of her while they talked about the murder and their suspicions, and conversation gradually changed to other times and places. She glanced at her watch and then stared hard in amazement. “Jason, it’s after four in the morning! I’m going to bed.”
“I thought you’d never ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you,” she said pushing against his chest. “I’ll sleep in my bedroom, and I don’t have a spare air mattress.”
“I’m not going to sleep anyway.”
She didn’t think it was necessary because security was good at the apartment complex, but she didn’t argue, going to the patio to retrieve her mattress and then carrying it to her tiny bedroom.
She fell asleep thinking about Jason making love to her, holding her, showering her with attention and kisses.
The next morning when she awakened, he was gone. He’d left a note, and she read his large scrawl.
I think you’re safe now, so I’m heading home. See you tonight.
With a smile she held his note against her heart. In a few minutes she would get up, but right now, she just wanted to remember the night and Jason.
That morning, Merry called Keith Owens to accept his job offer, and then she began to make arrangements to have her things moved from her apartment in Dallas to her new apartment in Royal.
Merry was no closer to feeling certain about Jason’s declarations of love, but she knew she was miserable seeing less of him. Even so, she kissed him good night at the door Friday after their date and went inside to spend another evening alone.
She closed shutters and switched on a small lamp she’d bought, moving through the empty apartment, her steps echoing faintly as her heels clicked on the bare hardwood floor. She changed to a frilly red teddy, switched off the lamp and lay down on the air mattress. She had washed the new sheets and had them draped on the mattress, but it wasn’t the same as being in Jason’s arms in his big bed, held close against him.
She woke to a terrible racket. Disoriented, she opened her eyes, trying to get her bearings, and remembering the empty apartment.
A band was playing, and someone was singing loudly and off-key. And she recognized the voice.
Twelve
Shocked, she jumped up. As she looked around for clothing, her phone rang. She yanked up the receiver while she grabbed her cutoffs.
“Miss Silver,” came the distraught voice of Willard Smythe, her landlord. “Jason Windover is in front singing—I think to you. Get him to stop immediately.”
