Page 70 of Backwoods
47
I’m having such a great time with this man, Amiya thought.
That was the idea that Amiya kept balanced at the uppermost surface of her mind. She hoped it translated to the expression on her face, the shine in her eyes, the ripple in her laughter, the roll of her hips. She needed Westbrook to believe he was winning her over, that his conquest was advancing successfully toward a long night of sexual decadence in his private quarters.
Secretly, she intended to kill him before such a thing could happen. Her success in that endeavor would hinge on timing and opportunity.
He led her on a tour through the estate, and she oohed and ahhed at all of the appropriate moments, and she took small sips of her wine. In between such things, she studied the musculature of Westbrook’s pale neck and contemplated the knife resting deep in her pocket.
She could have slit his throat in the dining room, but it would have been the wrong place. She needed somewhere more private.
What surprised her was that she felt no compunctions about the idea of killing him. She realized that his very existence was an affront against nature; he had no business walking the earth and was long overdue for a permanent grave. That made the prospect of murdering him infinitely easier, from a moral perspective.
She kept those ideas mostly suppressed as he showed off his possessions, and Westbrook seemed fooled by her act. Like many men with narcissistic tendencies, he believed he was irresistible to women anyway. Her growing acquiescence to his supposed charms meant she was merely falling in line as he expected she would.
After he had shown off his art collection in the parlor, she smiled, and in a voice she hoped made her sound slightly tipsy (and perhaps she was), she said: “How about taking me to the wine cellar and showing me your fabulous collection of Bordeaux?”
“A lady after my own heart,” Westbrook said and paid her a crooked grin.
He led her to another wing of the mansion. As they traveled along the gleaming hardwood corridors, he let his hand trail to the small of her back. When she offered no resistance by swaying out of his reach, he got bolder: he smoothed his palm across her undulating hips, teeth exposed in his shark’s grin.
Just you wait, Amiya thought.I’ve got something for you, mister eager hands.
Westbrook brought her to a carved oak door at the end of the long corridor. A brass handheld lantern stood on a small table near the door, the flame already flickering. Westbrook removed a silver loop of keys from his pocket.
“The good stuff is kept under lock and key, hmm?” Amiya asked. She paid close attention to the key he used to disengage the padlock on the hasp.
“The best of my collection, yes.” Westbrook unlocked the door and drew it open. Blackness yawned beyond the doorway. The cool air carried the rich scents of oak and raw earth.
Westbrook picked up the lantern, clasping his wineglass in his other hand.
“Stay close behind me, lady,” he said. “You could trip on the steps down here without a light.”
They started through the doorway, but were stopped by a voice.
“Master Westbrook?” Miss Lula said.
The house manager hurried toward them along the hallway, long arms swinging, pearls bouncing on her heavy bosom.
Shit, Amiya thought, and tried to conceal her frustration.What does she want now?
“Yes?” Westbrook paused on the threshold, eyebrows raised. “I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment, Miss Lula.”
“Sir, I saw you coming this way. Is there something you need the staff to retrieve from the wine cellar?”
“I’m taking the lady on a tour,” Westbrook said. He winked at Amiya. “She requested to see my Bordeaux.”
“Did she now?” Miss Lula’s gaze slid over to Amiya. A scowl settled over her features. There was no mistaking it: she suspected Amiya was up to no good.
Amiya offered up her best innocent smile. Miss Lula’s scowl deepened.
“The lady has an appreciation for the finer things,” Westbrook said. “What is your concern, Miss Lula?”
Miss Lula blinked. “If it pleases you, sir, I’ll wait here at the open doorway. In case you need anything.”
“I’ve already got everything I need for the evening.” Westbrook scanned Amiya from head to toe, openly undressing her with his gaze. “But suit yourself, my dear.”
Westbrook turned away. Amiya started to turn but Miss Lula tapped her shoulder.
