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Date Posted: 17:56:53 09/03/03 Wed
Author: Slally
Subject: "Blood Seduction" - Chapter 16 (R)
In reply to: Slally 's message, ""Blood Seduction"" on 17:27:29 09/03/03 Wed

This chapter is less racy and more story-driven. So enjoy and please let me know that you're reading!

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Sara came awake slowly. She quickly realized that the bed she was in was a lot more comfortable than her borrowed futon. Her thought processes lagged behind the vivid sense memory of a warm, hard body curved around her protectively. “Ah yes,” she thought, “Ian.” Since she’d seduced him in the hot tub night before last, she’d spent more time in his bed than her own. “Not to mention the kitchen counter, the floor of the library, and the elevator,” a wicked little voice whispered inside her head. Sara winced, wanting to shy away from such thoughts in the bright light of a Sunday morning.

Suddenly wondering whether the morning was, in fact, bright, Sara opened one eye cautiously. It was. Sunlight streamed in through the skylight above her. Eyes closed again, she stretched carefully in the comfortable bed. Although he was no longer draped against her like a second skin, she sensed another presence in the big bed. She hated morning afters – and they had had one hell of a night before. She felt heat rise in her cheeks as she remembered Ian pounding into her up against the wall of the elevator. The embarrassment was swiftly followed by a hot flush of arousal. She shook her head. “What’s wrong with me?” she thought.

Sara took a deep breath. This was pointless. She couldn’t avoid the inevitable. Cautiously, eyes still shut, she stretched her left hand out on the bed beside her and touched fur. Fur? Opening her eyes, she turned her head to look beside her. Clarice lounged full length on the bed, languidly licking a paw. Ian was gone. She gave a soft snort of laughter, sitting up. The cat paused mid-lick to fix her with enormous blue eyes. “You lookin’ at me? You lookin’ at me?” Sara said, doing an awful imitation of Robert DeNiro in ‘Taxi Driver,’ “Well, I’m the only one here.” Clarice yawned, clearly unimpressed. “I’m looking at you,” Ian said. Sara jumped, letting out a little shriek. Clarice flew off the bed like she’d been launched from a cannon. He was standing at the base of the sleeping loft looking up at her, a tray in his hands.

Sara put a hand on her heaving chest as she studied him sourly. “Jeez,” she gasped, “How do you do that? Between one second and the next, you’re just there. What do you do? Teleport?” Ian put the tray on the loft platform. It held a carafe, two mugs, and a big plate of toast. “Sorry,” he apologized, climbing the ladder to the sleeping loft. “Yeah, well,” she grumbled, “I might have to put a bell on you anyway.” She sulked another moment as he picked up the tray, moving it to the nightstand. “Is that coffee?” she asked. He nodded as he filled a mug from the carafe. He stopped just short of handing it to her. “Can I still have the bell?” he asked. She snorted. “We’ll get you some for your toes since you’ve already got the ring for your finger,” she replied, “Now give me my coffee, sport, or you won’t have the digits left to wear either rings or bells.”

Ian gave Sara the mug. She sighed, taking a careful sip of steaming coffee. Shutting her eyes, she moaned, “Oh man, that’s so good.” Ian sat cross-legged on the bed facing her, holding a mug of tea. He was wearing a pair of loose, black silk workout pants and nothing else. His hair fell in shining waves that he’d tucked behind his ears. Sara noticed a flash and realized that he’d forgotten to remove the diamond stud from his left ear. She suddenly recalled Vicki’s description of him as a pirate and smiled. Ian’s lips curved in response. “What’s so amusing?” he asked. Her smile faded. “Nothing,” she said, “What’s on the plate?” He took the plate from the nightstand, offering it to her with some napkins. “Cinnamon toast and French toast,” he said, “I didn’t know which you’d like. I figured both was a safe bet.”

Sara took a napkin and grabbed a piece of each. She took a few bites and had some more coffee before she said, “I should be going soon.” His face fell. Ian turned away to cover his disappointment. “I thought you might like a swim,” he murmured, face still averted, “It’s a beautiful day. Sunny. Perfect for a picnic in the country.” Sara frowned. “Ian,” she said. He turned back to her, under control again. “I think we need a little break,” she said, “We’ve been together almost constantly since Friday night. We need to slow down. I go back to work tomorrow and there’s stuff I need to do today – errands like laundry, food shopping. Stuff like that.” He nodded slowly. “Alright,” he agreed, “Whatever you want.”

Ian cleared his throat. Her eyes narrowed. “What?” Sara said, annoyed. He dropped his eyes. “Would you like me to build your closet today?” he asked. She bit her lip. She was really sick of digging around in that cardboard box to find something to wear and everything she owned was always wrinkled. She weighed having a closet against having some time to herself to regroup. It was a near thing but the closet won. “Okay,” she said. He managed a weak grin. “If it’s any consolation, you wouldn’t have been rid of me anyway,” he said. Her eyes narrowed again. “Why is that?” she wanted to know. “Laundry,” he replied, “I have the washer and dryer. Remember?” Sara tilted her head, studying him. “Don’t try to box me in too tight, Nottingham,” she warned, “I fight when I’m cornered.” As she’d intended, he winced at her use of his surname.

This time, Ian’s whole head dropped. “It was not my intention to ‘box you in,’ Sara,” he said softly, “I enjoy being with you. Your company gives me great pleasure. It was only my desire to spend time with you while I could. I’m sorry if it seemed as if I was stalking you again.” Shit. Now she felt bad. “Nah,” she said, “I’m just not very good at this clingy, touchy-feely stuff. Don’t take it too personal. I even get sick of myself once in a while.” He lifted his head and gave her a dazzling smile. “From all that I’ve read, building a relationship is quite difficult,” Ian declared, “I imagine that it will take us a while to become truly comfortable with each other.” Sara’s mouth dropped open. She thought about reminding him that they didn’t have a “relationship” but decided that would not just dampen his enthusiasm, it would hurt him again.

Instead, she hid behind her most reliable coping mechanism – sarcasm. “Where did you read that?” she sniped, “’Cosmopolitan’?” He nodded. Her mouth dropped open again. “You read ‘Cosmopolitan’?” she asked. He smiled and said, “I read everything.” She shook her head, studying him, eyes softening. “What the hell,” she thought, “He’s so cute and he smells so good.” She put her coffee on the nightstand. Sara reached out to grasp the back of his neck with her hand, pulling him toward her. “C’mere, big boy,” she whispered, “Give us a kiss.” Startled and off balance, he fell toward her, just catching himself before his full weight landed on her. He barely managed to keep his tea from spilling all over the sheets. Not moving from her embrace, he edged his mug on to the nightstand. Leveraging his weight on his arms, Ian lowered his body to rest gently against hers. He dropped his head to nuzzle her neck, giving her a soft bite. She felt his hot tongue soothe the nip and then slide slowly up her neck, leaving a wet, tingling trail in its wake. Sara shivered.

At his destination, Ian licked the outline of her lips. “I thought you were all kissed out,” he purred. A soft, strangled gasp escaped her. “I guess not,” Sara whispered, “Surprise.” She grabbed a handful of curls at the back of his head and pulled his face to hers, kissing him hard. She felt his tongue stroke her lips again and she opened her mouth to let him in. Ian explored the inside of her mouth, his arms tightening around her, pulling her closer. Her body arched as his tongue drew subtle, sensual circles on the roof of her mouth. By the time they separated to gulp in air, Sara’s whole body was on fire for him. Sensing it, Ian pressed his advantage, wanting her just as badly. Panting, she stopped him with a shaking hand to his chest. “We can’t keep doing this,” she breathed. Eyes half open, amber dark with passion, Ian whispered, “Why?”

“Because it’s unnatural,” Sara said, pulling away from him, trying to create some distance between them, “We’re going at each other like a couple of horny rabbits. Normal people don’t fuck this much.” Ian sucked in a pained breath, staring at her back, which she’d presented to him. “How about people in love, Sara?” he growled, “Maybe people in love have a hard time keeping their hands off each other. Maybe it’s natural for them to make love all the time. Maybe it’s perfectly normal.” She gave a ragged laugh that almost sounded like a sob. Her back was still to him so he couldn’t see her face. The sound of it made his body tense. “Maybe you’re full of shit,” she said flatly. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of one hand. “Yeah, maybe I am,” he agreed. After a long pause, he added, “I’m going to get a shower. Your dress from last night is a mess. If you want to borrow some shorts and a tee shirt, feel free. You know where they are.”

Without another word, Ian disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. In a couple of minutes, Sara heard the sound of the shower. She looked at the closed door and sighed. “Damn it, Pezzini,” she said aloud, “You didn’t have to be that harsh. He’s too open, too vulnerable.” She sighed again and got up to dig some shorts and a tee out of his bureau. Pulling them on, she decided that she should leave now for both their sakes. Sara found some paper and a pen in the kitchen by the phone. In her tight scrawl, she wrote: “Sorry I was such a bitch. Just woke up in a mood today, I guess. I promise to be nicer when you come down to do the closet. Whenever you’re ready is fine. Later, Sara.” She left the note in the middle of the bed and, picking up her rumpled clothes from the night before, headed to the front door. Hannibal followed her, whining softly.

With her hand on the doorknob, Sara stopped and gazed down at the Rottie. Hannibal gave her “the look.” She pointed her finger at the big dog and said, “Don’t you dare try to make me feel guilty too. Go bug your master. That won’t work with me.” He tilted his huge head to the side and fixed her with his shining, mournful orbs. Sara sighed, defeated. She dropped to her haunches and scratched Hannibal behind his ear. He gave her a low rumble of ecstasy. “Okay, Okay,” she mumbled, “I’ll be more careful what I say to him and how I say it. Alright?” He acknowledged her surrender with a muted bark. “Are we cool?” she asked, then added, “What am I doing? Like you have a clue what I’m talking about.” Hannibal responded with another soft woof. Shaking her head, Sara made her exit, closing the door firmly behind her.

When Ian came out of the bathroom, he wasn’t surprised to find her gone. He’d expected it. Sighing, he plucked the note off the bed and read it. Ian sat, still holding the paper in his hand, staring off into space. Upset with himself, he crumbled the note and tossed it toward the basket next to the bureau. “You keep pushing your feelings at her,” he thought disgustedly, “You’ll drive her away.” Before he saw her again, he had to find some emotional distance, get his needs back under control. He stood, dropping his damp towel on the bed. Moving to the center of the sleeping loft, Ian settled his mind and pushed his body through a slow kata series. Half an hour later, his naked body glistening with a light sheen of perspiration, Ian was calmer, more collected. He ran the towel back over him before tossing it in the bathroom hamper.

While he dressed, Ian made a mental list of what he’d need to build Sara her closet. He’d have to take measurements and get the lumber before he could even start. He frowned as he realized that he should probably go to the mansion to pick up the small truck. He’d need it to transport the lumber. Ian had no desire to face his master today – tomorrow was soon enough. He would only go to the mansion if he were sure that he could get in and out unscathed. On his way out of the loft, Ian picked up a pad and pen, the measuring tape, and his Mets cap to keep his hair out of his eyes while he worked. He passed the hall mirror quickly, not wanting to give Irons the chance to corner him. A grim smile touched his lips as he was transported back to his childhood. Here he was avoiding mirrors again, disquiet coiled in his gut.

Just as Ian lifted his fist to knock on Sara’s door, she opened it. They suddenly faced each other, both looking startled. “Hey,” she said. Ian dropped his fisted hand. “Hey, Sara,” he responded, “Going out?” She cleared her throat. “I was just coming to see you,” she said, “C’mon in.” He followed her back into her place, shutting the door behind him. “What’s up?” he asked, automatically scanning the loft. She had straightened up, he thought. The place looked good. “I have another favor to ask,” she said. He smiled. “Sure,” he agreed. She frowned. “Don’t be so quick,” she replied, “You don’t have to do this. I can find another way.” For a moment, they just stood there looking at each other. Then, Ian said, “Do what?” Sara flushed, realizing that she hadn’t even told him what she needed him for now. She was becoming entirely too dependent on Ian Nottingham and she didn’t like it one bit.

Fidgeting, Sara said, “When I got in, there were all these messages from Danny on my machine. He wanted to get the bed that he’s giving me to me today but his plans to borrow a truck fell through. He asked if I might be able to lay hands on one. I also talked with Vicki and I can pick up her spare T.V. on the same trip. Is there any chance at all that you could borrow the truck we used for our estate sale jaunt?” After that verbal burst, she wrung her hands nervously. She hated to ask favors, much preferring to rely on herself to get things done. Ian grinned rakishly. “No problem,” he said easily, “I needed to get the truck anyway to pick up the lumber for the closet.” She studied him carefully. “Really?” she asked. Still grinning, he nodded. “Really,” he confirmed. Not wanting to blindside him, she continued, “Think about this, Ian. Danny will have to help you move the box spring and mattress. And Jake is at Vicki’s today. Are you ready for this?” His golden eyes widened as the implications hit him.

Sara was right. The actual mechanics of her request had been overshadowed by his desire to help her. Still, she needed his help and he couldn’t back out now. “Wonderful,” Ian thought unhappily, “She’s already wanting to distance herself from me and now she’s going to see me through the disapproving eyes of her friends.” He sighed softly and said, “I’ll manage. When is he expecting us?” She gave Ian a quick smile, admiring his bravado. “Just let me give Danny a call to let him know that we’re on our way,” she replied. He nodded, now dreading the whole enterprise. While Sara picked up her cell to call Danny, Ian detoured into the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. He looked in the mirror over the sink, trying to see himself as her friends would see him. After a moment, Ian shut his eyes, thinking that he was fucked.

“Ian?” Sara called. Taking a deep breath, he dried his face and hung up the towel. “Coming,” he called back. As she watched him glide toward her from the bathroom with that panther prowl of his, Sara thought that at least he looked normal. Planning to spend the day as a carpenter, Ian had dressed in jeans, a short-sleeved, black tee shirt, and boots. The back-turned Mets cap rested atop hair pulled back in a tight tail. Although it was unintentional, the clothes showed off his magnificent body to advantage. Ian was watching Sara’s mobile face change, trying to gauge her thoughts, when her expression suddenly went blank with shock. “Oh my god,” she gasped. Ian tensed and swung around, checking the loft. Nothing. “What is it?” he asked, confused. Her eyes were round as saucers. “Your neck,” she whispered. His hand flew to his neck, his own eyes wide, wondering what was wrong. He winced when his fingertips brushed against the bite that she’d given him in the elevator. He shrugged. “What?” he asked again.

The bite on his mouth could barely be seen, Sara thought, and the scratches on his cheek had healed to faint, red lines. She knew that the scratches on his chest were much deeper, but the tee shirt covered them. The bite at the base of his neck, though, was livid and swollen. You couldn’t miss it. Danny and Jake – not to mention, Vicki – certainly wouldn’t. As soon as they saw it, they’d know exactly what was going on between she and Ian. “I can’t let that happen!” she thought frantically. She frowned, lost in thought, while Ian watched her. Her eyes widened. Ian could almost see the light bulb flash above her head. “Have you got any bandannas?” she asked. His dark brows knit. “Bandannas?” he asked, not following. She moved a little closer, studying the telltale mark. “Yeah, you know,” she explained, “Cotton scarves. Like cowboys wear.” Ian shook his head. “What’s the problem, Sara?” he asked.

Sara lifted her hand as if to touch him, but dropped it again before she did. “We’ve got to cover where I bit you,” she said. Ian suddenly got it. She didn’t want her friends to know what was going on between them. He felt a quick stab of pain and it flared in his golden eyes. “Don’t worry,” he said, an edge to his voice, “If anyone’s rude enough to ask, I’ll tell them that I got it in a bar fight.” Sara’s mouth curved in a weak smile. “Good try,” she said, “But it’s not that kind of bite. It’s known as a ‘hickey’ and you’re sporting the most spectacular one I’ve ever seen.” A completely absurd flash of pride swept through him. “There’s no way to mistake what it is or how you got it,” she added worriedly, “And since we’re showing up together, it’s going to be pretty obvious who gave it to you.” Ian couldn’t help it. He grinned. Sara’s eyes narrowed. “I’m glad you’re enjoying this,” she noted sarcastically.

“I’m not ashamed to be your lover,” Ian replied, “I don’t care who knows it.” Sara’s mouth opened to reply, but closed again before she did. There was a pause before she said, “I’m just not ready to deal with their reaction right now. Okay? Please help me with this.” Ian sighed. “What do you want me to do?” he said. She tried, unsuccessfully, to hide her relief. “Do you have a turtleneck sweater?” she asked. He studied her face briefly. “I think so,” he said softly, “I’ll go get changed. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” She flashed him a quick, grateful smile. “Yes,” she said, “Thanks.” Ian shrugged listlessly, feeling like Sara’s dirty secret. He headed back upstairs, returning ten minutes later wearing a long-sleeved, black turtleneck sweater over his jeans. She caught his hand in hers and squeezed his fingers. “Are you angry with me?” she asked. He looked directly in her hooded green eyes. He shook his head and said, “But I am hurt that what’s between us embarrasses you.” Her eyes dropped and she pulled back her hand. “It doesn’t exactly,” she waffled, “I’m just not ready to go public with it yet.”

Ian wasn’t mollified by her explanation but he didn’t feel that he could press it. The change in their relationship was still too new and he was afraid that if he pushed too hard too fast, he would lose her entirely. So he just nodded and gave her a guarded smile before saying, “We should get going.” Sara nodded back and headed toward the door. They took Ian’s car, driving to the mansion with the radio drowning out all possibility of conversation. In the mansion’s spacious, well-provisioned garage, they switched to the truck that they’d used to get Sara’s furniture. They managed to get in and out without raising any alarms or seeing another soul. Sara gave Ian directions to Danny’s place. He listened carefully, deciding it was best not to reveal that he knew the route to Danny Woo’s home very well. Ian always did his homework. If someone was important to Sara, they were important to him. They were almost there before she spoke again.

As they sat at a red light, Sara cleared her throat and Ian spared her a quick glance. She was nervously wringing her hands again. “Danny tends to be really protective of me,” she mumbled, “If he seems kind of hostile, don’t take it personally. He just…” Ian interrupted her preemptive apology. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, “I can handle it. I won’t rip off his fingers and tuck them in his ears.” She snorted. “Vivid image,” she said, “And you’d try. My partner’s no pushover.” He lifted one hand off the wheel and sighed. “I wasn’t suggesting that he was,” he replied, “Relax, Sara. I’ll try not to embarrass you too much.” Now, she sighed. “I didn’t mean…” she started. After a pause, she added, “Maybe I should just shut up for a while.” They drove the next five minutes in silence, until Ian asked, “Is this it?” She looked up, surprised. She hadn’t even recognized the street that she had driven down a hundred times. “Yeah,” she said, “Just back into the driveway.”

Sara climbed out of the truck as soon as Ian parked and turned off the ignition. She took a couple of steps toward the house and turned, realizing that he was still sitting in the truck. She walked back and rested her arms on the window frame, looking across at his handsome profile. He sat still as a statue. “You going to get out of the truck?” she asked. “I thought you might want me to stay here until you needed some muscle,” he said, “Might be safer.” He was still staring out through the windshield. “You’re starting to piss me off, Nottingham,” she growled. Now, he did turn to look at her, his sensual lips drawn into a hard line. “Then we’re even,” he replied. Sara fought to rein in her temper. He was doing her a favor, after all. She bit down the nasty retort that she was aching to fling at him. “I’d like you to come in the house with me,” she gritted past clenched teeth, adding, “Please.” His lips twitched. God, he loved her. “How could I resist such a heartfelt request?” he wondered aloud. Her eyes narrowed alarmingly but she held her tongue.

Ian got out of the truck and they walked together to the front door. Sara rang the doorbell, murmuring, “Let the games begin.” Danny’s niece, Mija, opened the door and immediately launched herself into Sara’s arms for a hug. Startled by the teenager’s exuberance, Ian took a step back, eyes wide. “Hey, Sara,” Mija cried, “It’s been forever. How’s it going?” She grinned as, over Sara’s shoulder, her eyes took in Ian from tip to toe. “Who’s the eye candy?” Mija asked. Ian blinked. Sara gave the girl a quick, loving hug and then held her back at arm’s length. She looked into Mija’s dark, dancing eyes. “Behave,” Sara said, “This is Ian. Where are your aunt and uncle?” Mija licked her lips as she still scoped out Ian. “Mija,” Sara said sharply, trying to recapture the girl’s attention.

Mija finally turned back to Sara. Ian had dropped his eyes, his cheeks a little flushed. “Aunt Lee is in the kitchen making coffee,” Mija replied, “Uncle Danny is in the basement getting your bed.” Sara nodded. “Where’s the rug rat?” she asked. Mija’s eyes flicked back over Ian and Sara put a finger on her collarbone. When Mija’s eyes fixed on the finger, Sara zipped it up to land on her nose. Mija laughed and said, “Next door with the neighbor’s kids.” Sara grinned and said, “Stop ogling my friend. You’re making him nervous. We’re going out to the kitchen to have coffee with your aunt. Come see me in my new place. Okay?” Mija grinned back at her. “Okay,” she said, heading back toward her bedroom and its CD player, “He’s really hot,” she threw over her shoulder. “Yeah, I know,” Sara agreed. Ian cleared his throat, the color high in his cheeks. She shook her head at his discomfort. “Sorry,” she said, “Brace yourself for the next Woo.”

Taking Ian’s hand, Sara led him toward the kitchen. When they entered the kitchen, Lee turned from the coffeemaker, a smile on her face. As she walked to Sara, arms open, her sharp eyes appraised Ian. Lee hugged Sara and then turned to Ian, hand outstretched. “I’m Lee Woo,” she said, her small hand swallowed in his. “Ian Nottingham,” he replied softly. Her dark eyes shifted briefly back to Sara. They silently transmitted, “Wow.” Sara smiled. Lee indicated the kitchen table and said, “Please. Sit down while Danny digs out the bed. Would you like some coffee? Or, would you prefer tea?” They sat at the table while Sara said, “I’d love some coffee. Ian takes tea.” Lee moved about the kitchen, pouring and fussing. Her pregnancy was just starting to show.

Ian, perched on the edge of a kitchen chair, looked poised for flight. “Perhaps I should assist Detective Woo in the basement?” he asked hesitantly. Lee turned, waving a hand at him to stay seated. “He’s clearing the general mess out of the way so that he can get to the mattress,” she said, “He’ll call if he needs help. Drink your tea.” Ian dropped his eyes and lifted his cup as Lee sat with them at the table. Sara watched him covertly, smile hidden by her mug. “So,” Lee said, “How do you know Sara?” Huge, startled, golden eyes shifted to Sara, who was reminded of a deer caught in the headlights of a semi. She could sympathize. How could either of them begin to answer that question? “I met Ian while I was working on a case,” Sara said, “He was able to provide some expert information that I needed.”

Lee zoomed back in on her target. “What kind of expert are you, Ian?” she asked. His eyes shifted to Sara again but this time no help was forthcoming. Ian cleared his throat nervously. “I, uh, specialize in security systems,” he replied. Lee studied him over her mug. “You work for that millionaire, Kenneth Irons, don’t you?” she asked. Ian nodded, not trusting his voice. Lee smiled at Sara. “You’ve certainly been keeping him well hidden,” she observed. Sara arched her brow. “I have no idea what you mean,” Sara said, her tone contradicting her words. Lee returned to the weaker link. “How long have you two been dating?” she asked Ian. He blinked twice. “Dating?” he said, eyes frantically signaling Sara for help. Sara grinned. “C’mon, Lee,” she drawled, “Give the poor guy a break. He volunteered to help me move my stuff. That’s all. Put away the rubber hoses. Okay?” Lee’s eyes went wide and innocent. “Why, detective,” she said, “I have no idea what you mean.” Turning back to Ian, she asked, “More tea?”

In the nick of time, Danny called from the basement, “Is that you, Pez?” Sara stood and crossed the kitchen to stand at the basement door. “Yeah, it’s me, partner,” she called down, “Do you need help?” There was a pause before he called back, “Did you bring help?” Sara took a deep breath and called, “Ian’s with me. Do we have to keep shouting back and forth like this?” She tilted her head closer to the door, hearing what might have been laughter. “Bring him down,” Danny called, “I won’t bite. I can’t speak for the mattress though.” Sara snorted, crooking her finger at Ian to join her. “If anything in that mattress bites,” she mumbled, “I don’t want it.” Ian smiled at Lee and said, “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Woo. It was very good.” As Sara watched, Lee melted. “You’re very welcome,” she said, “And please call me Lee.” His pleasant smile turned devastating. For a moment, both women were caught in its spell. Then, Sara shook her head and said, “Get over here, hot shot.”

Ian followed Sara into the Woo basement. Danny looked up as he finished moving a large box marked “tree ornaments” to the side. It had obviously taken him a while to clear a path to the plastic-wrapped mattress and box spring. The men stood silent, eyes locked on each other. Sara had a brief mental flash to one of those National Geographic specials where two male moose stood heads lowered, poised to crash together in a fight for dominance. She cleared her throat and tense, golden eyes flicked back to her. Danny’s dark eyes stayed fixed on Ian. Gesturing with her hand, Sara performed the introductions. “Danny Woo,” she said, “Ian Nottingham.” Danny stiffly inclined his head, his smile slightly predatory. “I’ve seen you around,” Danny said. Sara’s lips twitched at Danny’s veiled allusion to her stalker. Ian nodded back, mumbling, “Detective.” Caught in the ambient tension, Sara started wringing her hands nervously again only to stop herself when she realized what she was doing. “Enough!” she thought.

“Jeez, guys. Get a grip,” she said, “We’re moving a mattress not filming ‘Yojimbo.’ Lighten up. Okay?” Ian and Danny both turned to Sara. “You’ve seen ‘Yojimbo’?” they said together with identical inflections of surprise, like it was rehearsed. It was enough to make all three of them laugh and break the escalating tension. Sara looked sheepish. “Vicki,” she said, “I owed her a big favor. Payback was spending most of one weekend at a Kurosawa festival at some cheesy art theater in the East Village. Yes, I’ve seen ‘Yojimbo.’” Still smiling, Danny turned to Ian to say, “I’ll get behind and push it out. Can you grab the front?” Ian nodded. Ten minutes later, they had the mattress and box spring in the truck and ready to go. In spite of their shaky start, the men had worked well together, instinctively anticipating each other’s moves.

As they once again stood by the truck, Danny dropped the pleasant demeanor and started to grill Ian about his ownership of her new loft. Sara stepped in. “Sorry to interrupt, partner,” she said, “But Vicki’s expecting us to pick up the T.V. and we’re running late. You’ll have to finish this interrogation another time.” Not missing a beat, Danny responded, “Alright. Why don’t you bring Ian to dinner next Friday night and I will?” Now, Sara looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a semi. “Uh,” she stalled, “You better ask Lee about that first.” Danny’s smile was smug. “Lee suggested it,” he replied. “Shit,” Sara thought. She’d seen the couple’s heads together after they had gotten the mattress up out the basement. She should have guessed what was coming. She felt Ian’s eyes on her. He was as interested as Danny in her response to this challenge. Her eyes shifted to Ian. There was the tiniest touch of malicious glee in his golden gaze. “Ian might have plans,” she tried, mutely begging him to rescue her from this predicament. Ian grinned innocently. “No. I’m free,” he said.

Sara narrowed her eyes. “Okay, pal,” she thought, “You asked for it.” But Ian had already come to the conclusion that Sara would never accept him as part of her life unless her friends also grew to accept him. That prize was worth dinner with the Woos and finding a way to quell Danny’s distrust of his motives. Ian sensed that he had already gained a potential ally in Lee. Sara eyed him before she shrugged, giving in gracelessly. “You got it,” she told Danny, “I’ll bring the suspect back in for questioning on Friday. What time?” Danny rubbed his hands together, already beginning to enjoy the confrontation. “Seven thirty?” he suggested. Sara glanced back at Ian, who nodded quickly. “Seven thirty it is,” she agreed, “We’ll run his prints and hook him up to the ol’ lie detector then.” Ian’s startled response made both detectives laugh. Danny shrugged. “Cop humor,” he told Ian. Sara inclined her head to Ian as she got back into the passenger seat of the truck. “Let’s get going,” she said, “Vicki hates it when I’m late. I’m not up for one of her punctuality lectures right now.” His shoulders tight with tension, Ian got behind the wheel.

They pulled out of the driveway, Ian already beginning to steel himself for the next encounter with Sara’s Scoobies while she waved to Danny through the rear window. Danny watched the truck until it was out of sight. Then, he turned, frowning, and headed toward the kitchen to learn his wife’s impression of Sara’s new landlord. Danny was no fool and he knew Sara almost as well as she knew herself. He had seen small signs, subtle body language between the couple that had set his teeth on edge. He hoped he was wrong, that Sara hadn’t already taken Nottingham to her bed. He shook his head, fearing disaster. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Deadly was so her type. When he entered the kitchen and saw Lee’s face, his worst fears were realized. “I think our Sara’s finally found herself a lover who will last,” Lee trilled, “Want some tea?”

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