“Interesting.” Detective Monroe rocked back on his heels, surveying the small room. “Did he have anything to eat or drink while he was here?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “No. We told you what happened. He knocked on my door, said some crazy shit, and then fell dead on the floor. I didn’t serve him food or beverages. There wasn’t time.”

  “I had to ask, Mr. Winston,” Detective Monroe said. “You two were the last people to see him alive.”

  “Okay, fair enough,” I said tersely. “But we didn’t know him and we didn’t do anything to him. If he was poisoned, it had to be someone else who did that. Maybe the person who he thought was chasing him.”

  The detective grunted. “Do you know anyone named Sableth?”

  “No, I do not.” I was starting to worry Detective Monroe was one of those cops who liked to make the crime fit the person, rather than the other way around.

  Detective Monroe glanced at Ian. “How about you? You know anyone by that name? Could be the last name of one of your patients?”

  “The name doesn’t ring a bell.” Ian shrugged.

  “Did the old man have any ID on him?” I asked.

  “Apparently not.” Detective Monroe tucked his pad and pen into the pocket of his suit coat. “We’ll figure out who he is.”

  “I hope so.” I was praying the detective was wrapping things up.

  “One thing’s for sure,” Ian said, “Whether he was talking gibberish or not, he was legitimately terrified, and he definitely believed his own story.”

  “Hmmm. Well, once we identify him, we’ll look into his phone records and texts to see if there was anyone threatening him.”

  I froze as I suddenly remembered the phone call I’d received in the hospital. Were the police going to see that he’d called my cell and think I was lying about knowing him? I didn’t know him. But that phone call could make me look guilty. Was it better to bring it up and get ahead of it or not mention it, hoping they didn’t even see that he’d called me? Was it wrong of me to hope the Fox Harbor Police Department did shoddy work so that they’d miss that phone call to me?

  I focused on Detective Monroe, wishing I could get a sense of where his head was at. Did he really suspect I was involved, or was he just sniffing around because that was his job?

  Unfortunately, Detective Monroe wasn’t someone I could read easily. Nothing about me and this case came to me. All I could get was a vague sense that his feet hurt because his shoes were too small, and he was looking forward to taking a hot shower when he got home after his shift ended.

  “I’ll undoubtedly have more questions for you two,” Detective Monroe said.

  “That’s fine.” Ian nodded agreeably.

  Not feeling nearly as affable as Ian, I didn’t respond.

  “We’re releasing the scene to you, Mr. Winston.” Detective Monroe knitted his salt and pepper brows. “If you remember anything else, call me.” He handed me a card as he spoke. “If I don’t get back to you immediately, be patient. Our little city has had more than its share of violent crime lately, and our department is small.”

  Detective Monroe stepped out onto the porch. Moths dive bombed him as they circled the yellow bug light above his head. He tugged the collar of his peacoat tighter around his neck and met my gaze. His eyes reflected the light oddly, appearing to almost glow like a cat’s. But then he looked away, and I assumed I’d imagined it. “I advise you to lock your doors.”

  “Okay.” I shivered, glancing around uneasily.

  Ian and I watched the detective drive away, and we went back inside. I gave the spot near the door where the old man had died a wide berth and headed into the kitchen. Ian joined me.

  “Do you want me to go?” he asked.

  Since I hadn’t invited him to begin with, I should have wanted him to leave. But after what had happened, I really didn’t want to be alone. I found his calm presence reassuring. “Why don’t you stay for a bit? We can have a drink.”

  Ian smiled, appearing happy that I wanted him to stay. “Shall I pour more wine?”

  “How about something stronger than wine?” I suggested.

  Ian’s eyes brightened. “Sure.”

  I went to the small pantry and found the bottle of single malt twelve-year-old whiskey Claire had given me for my birthday. I set the bottle on the table and went to grab two crystal tumblers. “I was saving this for a special occasion, but I don’t think I’ve ever needed a good strong drink more.”

  Ian winced. “It’s been a weird evening. Not what I expected when I came here tonight.”

  “No.” I sat down, grabbing the bottle and uncorking it. “I’m still in shock.”

  “Me too.” Ian watched me, his expression thoughtful.

  I poured us each a generous serving of the amber liquid. I held my glass up and said, “Cin, cin.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It’s Italian for cheers.”

  He bumped his glass gently with mine. “I’ll drink to that.” He sipped his whiskey and nodded. “That’s nice.”

  “It is,” I agreed.

  He studied me. “You look like you have Italian heritage, but your last name is English.”

  “Yeah, my mother is of Italian descent. Dad is English.”

  “But you mentioned before you’re not close to them?”

  I dropped my gaze. “Nope.”

  He took another drink and set the tumbler down. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you mention the phone call?”

  My stomach tensed. “Phone call?” I’d assumed he was going to ask me more personal questions about my family, so I was thrown.

  “Yeah, the call from the old man. I overheard you and the old man talking about him calling you before. Why didn’t you mention the phone call to Detective Monroe?”

  I avoided his gaze. “It didn’t seem important.”

  “Seriously?” He narrowed his eyes.

  Stalling, I tasted my drink, letting the notes of brown sugar and oaky vanilla bathe my tongue. Once I’d swallowed, I said, “I didn’t need Detective Monroe any more interested in me than he already was.”

  “But that call could be an important clue.”

  “How?” I frowned. “I didn’t know him, Ian. I have no idea why he called me.”

  “Sure, but the fact remains that he did call you.”

  “He did. Yes. But I’m still not convinced he actually knew me. I certainly didn’t recognize him. Maybe it was a case of mistaken identity. Or maybe he was a crazy stalker.”

  “You really think he was stalking you?” His tone said he didn’t necessarily agree.

  “All I know is I have no idea who he was. All that nonsense about Sableth bringing anguish and despair. The guy was obviously not right in the head.”

  “He did sound demented,” murmured Ian, rolling his whiskey around in his glass.

  Trying to change the subject I glanced at the long-forgotten crockpot on the counter. “I’m sorry you went to all the trouble of making dinner and then we never ate. It’s been sitting out for hours at room temperature. I’d be afraid to eat it.”

  “No. Death by crock pot is definitely not how I want to go. Besides, it wasn’t much trouble really. It was just some simple chicken casserole kind of thing I found on the internet.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “Awww, you looked up a recipe for me?”

  He shrugged. “I needed an excuse to come see you.”

  His willingness to be open about his interest in me intrigued me. In the past, when I’d bothered to date, I’d gravitated to game player types. He was very different. Warmer. That familiar attraction I felt for him fluttered through me. While I didn’t want to have a relationship with him, or anyone for that matter, sometimes I was tempted to just start something sexual with him. He’d be a fun distraction. I had no doubt he’d be good in bed. His confidence was too high for someone who sucked at sex.

  “What did the old man say to you on the phone?” Ian asked quietly.

  “We’re back to that again?”

  “Yes.”

  I sighed. “I really wish you’d let it go.”

  “A man died in your home, Lorenzo. I don’t see how either of us can let that go. Something is going on, and I worry you’re at the center of it.”

  “If that’s true, Detective Monroe will probably come knocking on my door again. Until then, I’d love to put it behind me.”

  He ignored me and said, “Could all of this be connected to . . . your work?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He grimaced. “I guess I wonder if maybe you poked your nose into the wrong psychic coffee clutch. Maybe you ruffled some ethereal feathers.”

  I squinted at him. “Are you asking if I accidentally unleashed the hellhounds or something?”

  He laughed sheepishly. “Dabbling in the occult is rumored to be dangerous.”

  “It’s never been dangerous before.” I avoided his gaze as memories of that strange entity from the other day came back to me. I’d definitely felt threatened that day.

  “What about your session with Aunt Agatha?” He frowned.

  “That wasn’t really dangerous,” I lied. “It was more annoying than anything.”

  “You sure about that?” He looked unconvinced.

  “Yes.” I stood because it was easier to avoid his gaze that way. I instead went to look out the window over the sink. The night felt especially dark and oppressive tonight. There was only a sliver of a moon, and it was more humid than usual.

  I was surprised when Ian joined me. He stood beside me, his shoulder lightly brushing mine. My pulse stuttered as the heat of his body reached me. It had been a long time since I’d been with a man. My senses were hyperaware of everything about him—his clean male scent, the raspy sound of his whiskey-infused breaths. It was impossible not to think about the kiss we’d shared.

  He gulped the rest of his drink and set the glass down on the counter. Turning to me, he said breathlessly, “What would you think about me spending the night?”

  Chapter Nine

  “What?” I asked in strangled voice.

  He smiled confidently. “You heard me. I’d like to stay the night.”

  I blinked at him. “Just like that?”

  He lifted one shoulder nonchalantly. “You already know I’m attracted to you. It can’t be that much of a surprise I’d like to sleep with you.”

  “Still . . . ” I frowned. He wasn’t wrong. I did know he was attracted to me. I was attracted to him too. But I wasn’t sure I should take him up on his breathless suggestion, although I was tempted. While it would be nice to lose myself in meaningless sex and just put all the awfulness of the evening to bed, so to speak, did I want to risk getting romantically entangled with Ian?

  “You don’t think that a man dying here tonight ruins the mood?” I arched one brow.

  He sighed. “On the contrary. It reminds me how happy I am to be alive.”

  “I see.” While my outlook on life wasn’t nearly as rosy as Ian’s, it was true witnessing the old man take his last breaths had rattled me. I felt more vulnerable than I liked. I didn’t want to be alone tonight, and Ian’s warm, buzzing life force was seductive. I’d had every intention of sending Ian home earlier, but now, I wanted his living energy around me.

  His inched closer. “Life is precious. It should be enjoyed while we have it in our grasp.”

  “Is that right?” I faced him. “Pretty sure I saw that on a coffee mug once.”

  “Ouch.” He laughed. “Here I thought it was hitting just the right note—interested, but also philosophical.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I smirked. “I’ve never had sex with a philosopher before.”

  His gaze settled on my mouth, sending heat through me. “May it be enlightening?”

  I said softly, “You’re very confident. Almost irritatingly so.”

  “Playing coy has never been my thing.”

  “Finally, we have something in common.”

  He murmured, “That sounds promising.”

  I stepped into him, and he smiled. I slipped my arms around his waist, taking note he was already hard through his jeans. “Did you think I was a sure thing?”

  He huffed a laugh. “Nothing about you is a sure thing, Lorenzo.” His eyes glittered with arousal and he put his hands on my hips. “But if I didn’t ask, I’d never get what I want.”

  “It’s confirmed. You definitely missed your calling. Instead of that pesky doctor gig, you should have opened a gift shop with corny mugs and T-shirts.”

  “That’s not nice. I’m putting myself out there, and you’re being mean.”

  I squeezed his ass through his jeans. “I’m called ‘The Great’ Lorenzo, not ‘The Nice’ Lorenzo.”

  “Even more promising.” He leaned into me. “So what do you say? Shall I stay?”

  “No strings or expectations?” I narrowed my eyes.

  “Not a one.”

  I nodded approvingly and then kissed him in a slow hungry slide of lips and tongue. He responded, his hands gripping tighter to my body. It was surprising how much I wanted him. Especially after the grim events of the night. But Ian was a welcome distraction. I didn’t want to think about old men dying in my house or bills that needed paying. Ian’s mouth on mine helped the real world fade into the background as desired.

  He gave a needy little groan, and pulling my mouth from his, I whispered, “How about we take this into the bedroom?”

  “Yes, please.” His pupils were dilated, and he looked happy. “I’m glad you didn’t send me home.”

  “Me too.” I pulled him toward my room. The orange and yellow beads clacked as we passed through the beaded curtain. I was glad I’d burned some incense earlier in the day, otherwise my room might have smelled of dirty socks.

  He stood in the middle of the small bedroom, taking in the barren décor. “What is that—a full-sized bed?”

  I grimaced. “The room’s too small for much else. You’re lucky it’s not a futon. That’s what I used to sleep on.” I pulled my T-shirt off over my head and tossed it over the small chair near the tiny desk in the corner where my laptop was.

  “I guess I expected The Great Lorenzo to have stone lions guarding a king-sized canopy bed and astrology charts and crystal balls everywhere,” Ian murmured. “This is surprisingly. . . sterile.”

  “Is it that bad?” I looked around the room trying to see it through Ian’s eyes. A brass lamp on the nightstand cast a stark light over the small space. The headboard-less bed was admittedly lackluster with a plain white comforter and pillows. The oak floorboards were worn and a bit creaky. The walls were a boring gray, adorned with a series of storm-swept seascapes where a local artist had done his best to capture the tumultuous dance of sea and sky off the coast of Fox Harbor. The paintings were the best thing about the room. It was definitely an uninspiring space, but I didn’t spend a lot of time in here. “It gets the job done.”

  “I suppose it does.”

  I frowned. “Is my bedroom décor a deal breaker?”

  He laughed. “Hell, no.”

  “Then why are you still wearing clothes?” As I spoke, I pushed my jeans down to my ankles, along with my underwear. I stepped out of them, giving him a challenging look.

  Unbuttoning his shirt, he scanned my naked body. “You probably think I’m a snob.”

  “I know you’re a snob. I knew that the first day I met you.” I grabbed the lube and a condom from the small black nightstand next to the bed. “But I don’t care about that because this is just sex.”

  “And you don’t have to like me to fuck me?”

  I shrugged and got on the bed. “I have to like your body.” I skimmed my gaze over his lean, muscular torso. “So far, so good.”

  His smile was a cross between flattered and bewildered. He didn’t respond, he simply finished undressing.

  There was no denying he had a beautiful body. Of the two of us, he was more defined and well-developed. My body was lean, and I naturally had muscle, but I could tell he hit the gym regularly. Looking at his tanned perfection, I had a momentary twinge of insecurity. Then the lust glittering in his eyes reassured me he liked what he saw. His gaze paused briefly on the simplistic black tattoo of a butterfly I had on my left pec. But he didn’t ask about it, and I didn’t volunteer anything.

  Apparently he’d gotten over the pitiful décor because he moved onto the bed and immediately began kissing me. I once more admired his choice of cologne, pleased it wasn’t heavy or cloyingly sweet. His touch was gentle but confident. Our kisses were those of two people who didn’t know what the other liked yet. But we were both eager to please, and I liked kissing Ian a whole heck of a lot. His lips were full and soft against mine, and his tongue teasing. Playful.

  I broke the kiss, panting. “I want you to fuck me.”

  “Your wish is my command,” he whispered.

  Before we’d come into the bedroom, I’d wondered if he was the type of lover who just jumped on top and went for it. He wasn’t. He was more exploratory and patient than I’d have guessed. His hands were smooth and practiced as they stroked and sought the tender spots that made me respond the best. He seemed eager to taste every inch of my skin. He licked at the small star-shaped birthmark on my left shoulder and nibbled at my nipples until they hardened against his seeking tongue.

  Slowly the hunger we’d held in check gave way, and the kisses became more demanding. A fire burned in my belly as he settled between my thighs and took my dick into his hot mouth. Arching my back, I tangled my fingers in his silky wheat-colored hair. He seemed to enjoy sucking me as much as I enjoyed receiving his attention. His fingers caressed my swollen nut sack as he stroked and licked my aching length.

  “S’good,” I mumbled, trying my best not to thrust too deep into his throat. Maybe if we did this again sometime, and I knew him better, I’d be a little more aggressive. For now, I’d be on my best behavior.

  By the time he pulled his mouth off of me and kissed his way up my body, I was more than ready. He tore open the condom with his teeth, eyes never leaving me. Once he was sheathed, he lay on top of me. I gave a happy groan at the feel of his warm flesh against mine. He used his knee to nudge my thighs wider and then he slipped a slick finger inside me.