Page 24 of Girl Anonymous

One angry early morning thought woke Maarja and brought her from a prone to sitting position. “You treacherous bastard!”

Beside her in the bed, Dante sat up. “What is it?” He spoke in a low voice, he held a pistol, and he held it pointed toward the door.

Where had he got the gun? Did he sleep with it?

She glared at him. “You keep massage oil in your shower!”

The pistol drooped in his grip. “Yeah?” As if he couldn’t not, he glanced at her boobs, and his gaze lingered.

Even more offended, she pulled the sheet up, tucked it under her armpits. “How many women are you screwing in there?”

His jaw dropped. He rumbled like a volcano getting ready to erupt. “That’s it? That’s why we’re awake at—” he checked the clock “—5:14 a.m.?” He slid the pistol into a pocket hidden in the headboard.

He’d climbed in bed with her while she slept. Fine. He wore a T-shirt and boxers. Fine. It was his bed, and a point might be made that she needed care. But this! Massage oil in the shower! “How many women…?”

His hand hovered over her bare shoulder. “You are the only woman I’ve made love to in my shower. Just you.”

How likely was that? “Pull the other one.”

“Look. I told you.” He flung himself back on the pillows. “It’s been two damned long difficult years of celibacy. I’ve been busy. Stuff has been happening. Business. Family. You can believe me or not. I’m a serial monogamist. Two years! I keep the massage oil in the shower to jack off. With the oil, it’s easier. Glad you wandered in there to discover the conditions of my pitiful love life.”

He was so indignant she had to give up her own indignation and grin. “I’ve heard if a man goes six months without, he’s a virgin again.”

“Who told you that?”

“My sisters and I were drinking with my mother—”

He rose from the bed, fetched one of his button-up shirts, held it so she could slip her arms in, helped her fasten it.

It was almost funny how careful he was not to touch her skin. It was not at all funny how much she wanted him to.

“Your mother?” he asked.

“My foster mother. Octavia. According to her own description, she’s quite a broad.”

“What do you say?”

“She is definitely quite a broad.” She relaxed back on her pillow. “A woman of strength and determination who’s not afraid of doing the right thing.”

“She taught you a lot about doing the right thing.”

“I’ve had many good examples in my life.”Pola, my birth mother.“Even some men.”

“Mr. Caruthers.”

She inclined her head.

“I’ve got a few morals, myself.” He sat up, rested his forearm on his crooked knee. “For instance, nothing could have convinced me to touch you if I’d known you were a virgin.”

Irritation began to scratch at her mind. “But it would have been okay if I hadn’t been?”

“Yes!”

“Because virgins are more valued?”

“Do you want the politically correct answer or the one that for me is the truth?”

Call her a pessimist, but this was not starting out well. “Give me the truth. I can take it.”

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