Eighteen.

Cupid

An hour later, footsteps sounded on the stairs. On the first level of his mansion, Asher stood in the shadows, in an area close to the bottom of the steps.

The whole time, he held onto the rose, he'd wanted to give to Diana.

There you go. Now it's time to escape from the bad man.

He'd been waiting for her to run, and figured the front or back door would be her only rational solution. The windows were hard to climb out of. He'd done it a few times, constantly sc.r.a.ping himself and pulling a muscle.

For Diana, climbing down three flights on his mansion, would be suicide.

I'm guessing Diana no longer is interested in taking a shower. You figured now was a good time to run away?

In front of him, Diana walked down the steps. She glanced behind her, every few feet, probably a.s.suming that Asher still lay in his bedroom.

What's going through your mind? Are you scared?

He relished in the hallway's darkness, leaned back, and let the shade blanket him.

Do you know I'm Cupid? Or are there doubts? Do you think I'm capable of murder, My Love?

Diana arrived at the first floor, hugged herself, and headed toward his direction. He'd guessed right. Diana hadn't remembered the back exits, when he'd done his tour of the house.

Now. How do I talk to her, without scaring her.

Diana's heavy breathing sounded out as she sped-walked toward him, not having any idea he was there.

Poor Diana.

Hope glittered in her eyes. Could she see the door in her mind? Did she imagine herself placing her hands on the k.n.o.b, turning it, and running away from him?

No. Boy meets girl. Boy falls in love. The girl too. And then they have a small spat, nothing more. But. . .girl does not flee from the boy in fear. Not his girl.

"Okay, Diana," she whispered to herself.

She was only five feet away, and would past him in seconds. She'd only need several more feet to hit the door. Although, unbeknownst to her, none of that mattered. His security would keep her here.

Tonight, Diana was trapped.

Tomorrow, he'd think of another way, to keep her in his cage.

Love truly is difficult.

"Y-you've got it." Diana picked up her pace and formed her fingers into fists. "Almost there."

"Almost where?" Asher flipped the hallway's switch. A bright lamp lit up the hallway.

Gasping, Diana stared at him and didn't move.

Smart. It's best to say nothing. Focus on the escape. Don't show too much fear. Trick me. Make me believe you're still here for me.

She relaxed her arms as best as she could and held her hands, twisting each finger a little. "Asher? Did you forget something?"

"No." He turned the rose around. Those petals glowed in the light as they spiraled down over and over around the th.o.r.n.y stem. "Where were you going, Diana?"

"I went to the bedroom, but you weren't in there."

Good save, Diana. This is why I like you. You're so smart.

"Sorry, I left. I was wondering about something." He raised the rose in the light. "I just had to check it out, and now I know."

"Know what?"

"I'm not sure."

"Then you don't know."

"Maybe, you're right." He turned the rose around again. "Maybe, I don't know."

A few silent seconds pa.s.sed. The whole time Asher studied the flower.

Diana wiped the sweat off of her forehead and gave him a weak smile. "That is such a captivating rose."

"It is." He gazed at Diana and with his hands, pulled away one petal. "She loves me?"

The crimson petal floated down to the floor. It reminded him of the first drop of blood in a kill. That was always his favorite part, anytime his arrow hit a target.

That first drop of blood was like a flame to a cigarette or the addict's act of lighting a spoon and sucking up the bubbling liquid with a rusty needle.

The first drop of blood triggered the beginning of the fun, the start of all the madness.

Asher gazed at the petal as it lay on the floor between Diana and him.

In some ways, this petal is like the first drop of blood for our relationship. But let's see, if I'll have to shed more blood in the days to come. What will I do with you, Sweet Diana?

"She loves me not?" He snapped another petal off and flung it in the air.

Diana backed up. "Is. . .is everything okay?"

He formed his lips to a grim line. "Do you know where that came from?"

"Where what came from?" She made a fist with one hand and put it behind her.

"That whole little phrase." He picked a petal. "She loves me?"

He s.n.a.t.c.hed another and flung it in the air. "She loves me not?"

"Do I know where, she loves me, she loves me not came from?"

"Yeah."

"No." She shook her head. "I have no idea."

"It was a French game. A curious boy would pick a petal off a flower for each phrase." Asher stalked toward her in a slow motion, almost like a wolf would creep toward an innocent doe as it lapped at a stream. "The object of his affection represented the flower. The phrase is repeated until all of the petals are discarded.

"I've played the game." She tensed as he stopped right in front of her.

"The final petal is plucked and represents the true statement of whether the object of his affection really loves him or not."

"Do you believe that?" he asked with barely a foot of distance between them.

Her bottom lip quivered. "What?"

"Do you believe that the flower could predict the truth of a man's love?"

"No. Why would I?"

Step by step, he circled her. It was wrong of him. He knew how scared she was, but he couldn't help it. The terror radiating from her skin made him even more hungrier for her.

It was wrong, but his d.i.c.k grew hard in his pants as she tensed her shoulders up.

He walked around her again, that time, talking to her with each step. "Flowers are believed to have this symbolic tie to humanity. Roses have always been connected with love. They've been known to phrophesize great things."

"What do you think this rose would say about us?" He got right in front of her, his bare chest touching her shaking one.

But something odd happened with their closeness.

She didn't step back, and her shivering decreased to almost nothing.

Within the quiet, she breathed in and out, then stared up at him. "I don't know what that rose would say about us."

"No?" He inhaled the lushness of her fragrance.

Was he angry that she found the bow and arrow? No. Scared a little. Determined to keep her around. Maybe even a bit tinkering off into the dark side of how much he'd planned to keep her near him.

But he wasn't angry.

He wouldn't hurt her.

Keep her?

Yes.

Somehow.

But he wouldn't hurt her, Or he would do his best.

Did she realize that same truth in that moment? Or was she simply trying to calm herself down?

She lifted her chin and gazed at him. "I don't think our love would be represented by a regular rose."

"No?"

She turned around and headed back up the stairs. "No. Our love started with blood. Wouldn't you say?"

What's your plan now, Diana? And how do I stop you? How do I show you that I'm not as bad?

He didn't move. She headed upstairs.

For now, there would be no need to worry about her leaving the house.

"Blood?" he asked.

"Yes." She paused on the stairs and stared down at him. "Our love. . .or really. . .whatever we have. It started with blood."

"Neil's blood?"

She flinched. "Yes."

"I'm sorry. I always forget that you're mourning."

"I am, and I'm not." She went up another stair and stopped.

"Maybe, that's a good thing."

"Maybe."

"But I'm wondering something." She targeted him with her gaze. "Why do you think Cupid picked Neil?"

Asher grinned. "How would I know?"

"I'm just wondering what your opinion is."

"I only know the few things that I heard about Neil. I'm not sure what Cupid found out, but I'm sure Cupid probably figured that Neil didn't deserve you, that this beast of a man was sticking his d.i.c.k in every female on the island, and not even using any protection. Cupid probably guessed that no woman had earned the right to receive a lifetime of s.e.xually transmitted diseases or even worse, AIDS from her own husband. A man that was supposed to protect and love his woman."

She gripped the rail on the staircase as if she was about to lose the strength in her legs. "Do you think Cupid knew that I was Neil's wife? Do you think Cupid saw me before he killed Neil?"

Asher let his gaze travel down to the curve of her hips that pressed against her jeans, and then he drank in those supple b.r.e.a.s.t.s that were tucked under her shirt. She'd dressed fast, but not fast enough.