I’m happy.
Meiling thought about whether she could share with Gideon that she did, in fact, have a leopard. She shared everything with him. There was so much joy in her, it felt as if it was overflowing. At the same time, she knew she couldn’t tell Gedeon about Whisper. She would have to be very careful about the questions she asked and how she went about gathering information.
Gedeon was proprietorial over her. She had to admit she liked that trait in him—until now. Now she had to worry about how he would react if he did find out she had a leopard. Like Meiling, he had gotten used to the two of them being together.
“I’m happy too, Whisper. Go to sleep.”
Meiling finished dressing and went to the mirror to make certain the evening’s events hadn’t taken too much of a toll on her and Gedeon wouldn’t know anything different had taken place. She did look a little different. Her skin seemed to glow more. She looked almost radiant. Her eyes were darker, sultry looking. It was as if Whisper enhanced her looks in an exotic, sensual way. She wasn’t wearing makeup, so it wasn’t like she could wash the look away.
Meiling chose to use the stairs rather than the private elevator. Stairs gave her the opportunity to burn off a little energy, although she could feel the same exhaustion that had overtaken Whisper sneaking up on her. Maybe just lying down beside Gedeon would be enough for a while. She could save her questions for Evangeline and then figure out what to do. Her head was all over the place, just like her emotions.
The hall was lit only by the old-fashioned sconces that matched the house so perfectly. Meiling had come to love the house. It fit with the city, the swamp, and even the Mississippi River. The structure seemed to have a personality of its own. Over the years it had taken on the flavor of the city around it, so the beauty and flaws, the music and culture were absorbed into the architecture. The restoration and additions had been done very carefully so that Gedeon’s home, to Meiling, was a beautiful example of New Orleans culture.
Gedeon’s suite was at the very end of the hall, creating a private, separate apartment from the rest of the house. She was used to letting herself into his living quarters and going straight to the master bedroom. She didn’t need the aid of lights to see through the spacious rooms. One wall faced the swamp, just as hers did. She knew that his leopard could easily cross the short distance to reach the thick grove of cypress and gum trees, where it would be extremely difficult to find him. One of the walls in his bedroom also faced the swamp, so his leopard could escape from the bedroom. Gedeon had planned for all contingencies.
He was like that in the way he approached the jobs they took. He studied every possible outcome and had a strategy in place, usually more than one, on the off chance things didn’t go right. His mind was very methodical. He didn’t hurry his work and skip steps in order to get his work done faster. Still, his brain did work at an incredibly fast rate of speed. There were so many things she admired about him.
Meiling was three steps into the bedroom when the scents first hit her. Cloying perfume. Overpowering male sex. The sound of flesh slapping hard against flesh. She froze. Her mind shut down for a moment. Everything shut down while her vision focused on the woman kneeling on all fours on Gedeon’s bed while he was behind her, slamming his cock into her so hard he drove her forward.
“I thought your little partner would be the first one you’d call,” the woman gasped out, gripping the bedcover and pushing back.
“Really? Have you seen her? Do you really think she could stand up to my rough brand of sex?” There was just the right touch of derision in Gedeon’s tone. “Shut the fuck up or get out. I can call the next on my list if you’d rather talk than fuck.”
He lifted his gaze and caught sight of Meiling standing there. He looked nearly as stricken as she felt. She backed out of the room and, once out of the bedroom, turned and fled his apartment.
He’d practiced that tone. They’d written those words together. Early on they’d known someone would eventually ask why he wasn’t using his partner for sex. He didn’t want attention on her. She didn’t want the attention, not when she knew she was hunted. They’d sat together at the Café Du Monde and written the little script for him. He’d practiced saying the lines until he’d gotten that perfect derisive tone down.