Cupid (11 page)

“I’m just saying,” she continued. “This is a huge place and there’s a lot of food being made. You’re only one man.”

He ceased with walking and spun on his heels. The rest of the words came out in a careful tone, but Diana could tell that she’d definitely hit a nerve. “Unlike the other people on this island, I'm not that selfish or crazy with my spending. Whatever’s cooked in this kitchen feeds all of the staff. They’re never denied a meal. Never."

“Hmmm.”

He didn’t move. “Hmm?”

“That’s good.”

“But not good enough?”

“Look.” She raised her hands in front of her. “We’re off topic, and supposed to be doing a tour of your home.”

“I feel like your questioning my contributions to society.”

“Really? All I said was that your kitchen staff is making a ton of food.”

“Yes, but it came off as something more. So let’s deal with this now, so there isn’t any confusion.” He placed his hands into his pockets. “Last year in Miami, the homeless shelters had begun charging people to stay and eat there. For each person, it cost ten dollars a day to sleep on a tiny cot surrounded by a hundred strangers—old and young women, mothers fleeing from domestic violence just hoping to keep their kids safe, addicts lost in their own reality. Ten dollars a day to stay there.”

“That’s madness.”

“That’s not all. In order to eat in the soup kitchen, it cost a dollar with every meal.”

“To our associates on this island, that’s a humble deal.” Asher stepped close to her. “But to you and I, that’s wrong. We know damn well that if a person’s only choice is to sleep in the streets, to walk around homeless, then there’s a huge possibility that the person doesn’t even have the money to pay the shelter.”

“You’re right.”

“So I changed that. I paid everyone’s bills, took over ownership of each shelter, built another one focused solely on mothers and kids that for whatever reason were forced to live out on the streets.”

She gulped. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because, you saw the wealth around me, and figured I was just like every other man on this island.”

“And you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.”

"Sorry," Diana mumbled.

“That’s fine.” He took her hand again, but she pulled away.

“I have another question.”

He raised one eyebrow. “And what is that?”

“Why the focus on mothers and their kids?”

“Why not?” He captured her hand, but she refused to walk forward. “What?”

“Answer the question.”

“I did.”

“No, you gave me another question.” She twisted her lips. “Why the focus on mothers and their kids?”

He smirked. “I believe the children are our future—”

“Really?” She interrupted him. “You’re going to quote a Whitney Houston song?”

“Fine. I have a special passion for helping mothers and children out.”

“Especially ones dealing with domestic violence?” she asked.

“Why would you say that?”

“You were the one who mentioned it, Asher.”

“Did I?”

“Yes. You brought up that there’s a lot of abused women in homeless shelters.”

“I also mentioned drug addicts.”

“Yeah, but that’s a typical stereotype. But, most people wouldn’t think to bring up the fact that a lot of shelters are filled with broken families.”

“I’m sure that’s common knowledge.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’m sure of it.” He pulled her away, and she decided to leave the topic alone and follow him. In her head, more questions rose.

The best way to know a rich man’s insides, is to see how they spend their money. Buying up all the shelters in Miami and even building his own for mothers and kids trying to escape domestic abuse? That’s not some passion that you happen to pick up. That’s an ache that came from. . .unfortunate things. Did he see someone being hurt in his childhood? Was it all around him? Where did he grow up? What was his childhood like?

For the remainder of the tour, Diana barely heard half of the things Asher said, as she swam around the thoughts in her head.

Minutes flew by with each step. Asher guided Diana down hallway after hallway filled with polished walls that led to room after room of stunning furniture and exquisite art. A haunting magic thickened in the air. She half expected the candlesticks and clocks to come alive.

Each space held its own scent. The kitchen radiated savory aromas. The bathrooms emitted flowery fragrances. The bedrooms roared with herbal perfumes that tantalized the senses.

Yet, for some reason, the whole mansion made her feel like she was walking through a high-end hotel, instead of someone’s home. The place had the right scents, look, and sounds, but no warmth flowed through the air, just this stiff, coldness.

Is he really alone here? I would be.

There were other odd things that set Diana on edge.

In every room, a large oil painting of what she guessed to be his mother hung on each wall. On every one of her portraits, clear, blue eyes stared back beneath a bundle of blonde curls that were usually stacked high on top of her head. She was an attractive woman, and there was no doubt that Asher had gained his gorgeous looks from her.

Maybe, in these two days of staying with him, I can get a closer look into who he is. I still never figured out what he would gain out of funding this investigation. Sure, he would be safe from a serial killer, but what else? And what’s up with all of these paintings of his mother?

When Diana had researched Asher, there hadn’t been any pictures of his mother. Which was surprising. Most affluent women relished in flashing cameras all around them. Additionally, the few articles Diana discovered had been difficult to find. She’d called in more favors than she should have.

For that first meeting at The Cove, she’d wanted to prepare herself for Asher, surprise him with the depth of her knowledge on him. So she’d delved deep into his history. Though there was no indication of murder, malice, or wrongdoing in his life, Diana found some details hard to swallow. Her research revealed all of Mrs. Bishop’s marriages. Something that Diana didn’t think most of Asher’s society friends were aware of. She’d bribed too many just to get that tiny bit of data. Someone had paid even more to keep the woman’s history buried.

Who wanted to keep her marriages a secret, Asher or her?

Mrs. Bishop had been an unlucky wife. Each husband died a few years after the wedding, leaving Mrs. Bishop in a pile of wealth.

To most that would’ve seemed odd. For the rich, it was pretty normal for a beautiful young woman to marry a rich man, and he die later. Most of the ambitious women wedded the old and sickly, then once their husband died, they married again. For the wicked female, wedding the rich was a career.

And besides her first marriage, Asher’s mother had been at least twenty years younger than all her ex-husbands after.

There was also absolutely no information on Asher’s father. That concerned her. In a few interviews that Asher had done, he’d discussed the fact that his father had left him and his mother.

With all of his wealth, why hadn’t Asher sought his father’s identity out? Or had he searched for him and just didn’t want to confess such a private thing to Diana or the world?

Throughout the whole tour, Diana tried to keep her questions to herself. But after the tenth room with a huge portrait of his mother, Diana could no longer stifle her urge to bring the woman up. “So these are paintings of your mother?”

“Yes.” He guided them out of the study. “She likes seeing herself in every room.”

Still, I don’t think I would have kept them up after she died.

The last article on Asher’s mother was her obituary. She’d died in a huge fire on the Bishop grounds. There’d been no police investigation or anything further.

Maybe Asher will tell me more about what happened. Well, that’s if he was comfortable enough to reveal it to me. God, listen to me. I’m always on the story. Leave this alone, Diana. Cupid is the one I’m supposed to be focused on, not Asher Bishop. Who cares about his past?

Diana followed Asher as they walked down the hallway. “And now that your mother’s gone, you keep the paintings up in her memory.”

He captured Diana’s hand and led her up the stairs. “She’s never really gone.”

She’s never really gone? Even though it’s been years, it must still be too difficult to heal from.

An hour later, Asher showed her the last room.

Hers.

It was spacious with a king bed, a luscious armoire, walk-in closet, and big windows that looked out onto a field of pink roses. The bathroom was connected and the deep slate cream marbling on the floor stunned her.

"This is captivating," Diana said under her breath.

"Would you expect anything less from such a captivating man?" He asked her.

“I guess not.”

“Everything is here for you, and more.”

“More?”

“Whatever you need?”

“I don’t need much.”

“Then, whatever you want.” He licked his lips.

“I don’t want much.”

“You should.”

“You’re a woman that deserves to be taken care of.”

“That’s right.” She tapped her forehead. “I forgot about that.”

“One should never forget the fact that they are desperately in need of getting laid.”

She laughed then.

It was unexpected.

She hadn't laughed in months. And the timing? Terrible. But there she was, staring at Asher with a
feeling
. An emotion she couldn't quite put her finger on. She didn't want to find out what it was either. She had more important things to focus on.

"Well. . .I'm exhausted. Thank you for the tour and the accommodations though I still believe I don't need them."

Asher looked at her—no, that's wrong—he looked
through
her. Like he was trying to find all the secrets she locked up tight. His gaze moved up and down her body, a laser of appreciation that she couldn’t ignore.

Diana swore if he spent one more second looking at her, she'd burst into flames.

She'd crumble like ashes at his feet.

But, he looked away and edged back. “It’s getting late. I'll see you in the morning.”

"Right. See you in the morning."

Asher closed the door behind him and Diana flew to the bathroom to cool off the heat rushing through her skin.

There’s no way I can do more than two days. I’m glad I decided not to stay longer.

She turned the nozzle to frigid. She needed to shock herself out of whatever was coursing through her. She stuck a hand out and the water was paralyzing. It did the trick, for a few seconds.

Asher. Asher.

She stuck a foot under the stream and every burning thought of Asher slipped away. All she could focus on was the shock of frozen droplets pricking her flesh over and over again.

"Finally," she said aloud, shutting the nozzle off and walked into the bedroom.

Sometime during the bathroom break, all of her bags had been stacked in the corner, but she was too exhausted to deal with them. Diana wanted to close her eyes and float away into slumber. She undressed and slipped under the duvet and moaned when her skin met with silk sheets.

"Damn you, Asher." The silk caressed her flesh like a lover's fingertips. She shivered against the cool fabric, imagining how she must look in the big bed by herself.

And that thinking, brought her back to thoughts of Asher.

What does he look like in a matching bed with similar glorious sheets? What would he look like in this bed, with me, naked?

Heat pooled between her thighs.

No, no, no. I will not masturbate to this man, while lying in his bed.

Asher was not part of her plan to solve the case of Cupid. He was her funding, yes, but he needed to stay out of her way. She couldn't have him invading her space or her every thought. She needed to be clear-headed and focused.

Maybe, I can think about this more. . .after the investigation. . .after Neil’s funeral, and all the problems that have come from his death.

She shut off the lamp on the bedside table. Darkness spilled around her. There wasn't a sliver of light anywhere and for a moment, Diana was frightened.

What if Cupid came to kill Asher and he believed she'd done something wrong? What if Asher was right and Cupid was set on revenge? Had Asher really taken all the proper precautions to protect them from this madman who was set on destroying the rich men of Ovid Island?

Stop it right now. You are Diana fucking Carson, not some scared little girl.

The rising tension in her shoulders evaporated into nothing. She believed in her voice of reason. Relished it. She
was
Diana Carson, a great reporter and the person who would blow Cupid's identity right open.

And as Diana fell asleep with images of bows and arrows and gaping holes in chests, a visceral thought came to the forefront.

She was going to lure Cupid out of hiding.

Her plan could be a simple one.

Not too complex.

She just had to talk it over with Asher.

What if we got an actor or someone to be Cupid’s bait? What if we got an actor to pretend to be this rich guy on the island that harmed females? But then who would volunteer for that? No way. Cupid was smart. He wouldn’t believe that.

Another thought hit her.

Asher could pretend to be the bait, but then that would put him in harm’s way.

Would he agree to that? Probably not. But it could be something that worked.

Scenarios littered her mind. Tons of possibilities kept her awake. With Asher’s money and willingness to help, somehow, she would catch Cupid red-handed.

I
said more
than I should have.

In his secret security room within the mansion, Asher leaned back in his chair and stared at the monitors in front of him. Every room had a hidden camera in the ceiling. The bedroom that he’d put Diana in, held four.

On the television screen in front of him, Diana slept in her bed. Shadows and moonlight bathed her. Due to the night vision cameras, the images glowed in a green hue.

Something is on her mind? What is it? Cupid or me? She didn’t seem like she was scared at all, when she argued about only being with me for two days. But, something is clearly bothering her.

For several more hours, he watched Diana toss and turn in the big bed, whispering something out loud whenever she woke out of her sleep for a few seconds.

“What’s bothering you, Diana? Did I say too much?”

Diana rolled over and placed her back to that camera.

Annoyed, Asher directed his attention to the other tv screen on the right, that now showed her sleeping face.

“Two days. That’s all.” His hard cock ached at the thought. He’d been erect since Diana arrived, and wasn’t sure his length would ever go down. Clearly, watching her on the monitors wasn’t helping.

Every cell in his body screamed to go fuck her.

“Fine. Two days. That’s all I need.” He gripped his cock, but refused to rub or stroke it.

It’s bad enough that I’ve been watching her in her home, and now mine. I won’t start jacking off to her like a complete sexual deviant.

For the rest of the night, he held himself, but didn’t do anymore. Diana rolled over a few more times, and even whispered his name on her tongue.

And, like an active volcano, violent flames lapped at his core.

Hours passed.

He didn’t sleep.

He just watched her like a mad man, heating up even more until he could’ve sworn that sweat beaded along his forehead.

This isn’t enough. I want to smell her too. I want that scent in my nose for the rest of the night.

So he rose from his chair, left his hidden room, shut the door, and headed upstairs to smell Diana.

She can’t catch me doing this. She’ll think I’m a creep. . .as she should.