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    The Real Mrs. Price

    Page 26
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      Marlowe frowned. “What the hell does that mean? Why can’t you talk normal?”

      “Like you?” He smiled seductively.

      Her heart pounded being this close to him again, resurrecting feelings it had no business bringing to the surface. She’d dismissed him from her mind, body, and soul, and he’d turned into nothing more than a somewhat pleasant nightmare.

      “I’m through with you.” Marlowe was angry, and she let him see it. “I don’t want you anymore. Maybe I never did.”

      The warmth emanating from him wafted over to her, caressed her.

      “There’s no place for you in my life,” he said. “There’s a part of me that I can never share with you, that I never want you to see, Marlowe.”

      “Too late. I’ve seen it already.”

      He shook his head. “No, you haven’t,” he said patiently. “You won’t. Not if I can help it.”

      “And what do you think I’m supposed to do with the part of you that’s left?”

      “You can let me in, Marlowe.”

      The devil was asking for permission to come in?

      She eyed him suspiciously. Why did he say it like that? Why was he looking at her like that? His voice resonated through her in ways that weren’t natural, warming her, arousing her.

      “I am not always a monster. You showed me that. I don’t have to be. I can be the man that I was when it was just us, me and you.” Emotion—not sarcasm or deceit, but real emotion filled his eyes, genuine, inviting, pleading. “I’ve resolved myself to the fact that my life will never be what you need, baby, but I do love the idea of us. And I’d like to wallow in it a while longer.”

      He was saying all the right things, putting out the right vibe, and Marlowe could feel herself begin to melt. She wanted him—them together. Your head, Marlowe. Not your heart. Use your head.

      Tears filled her eyes. “But what does that mean for me? I get half of you? A third?”

      He thought before answering. “It means that when I’m here, I’m all the way here. When I’m here, I’ll offer you all that I have, and I’ll be exactly who you need me to be.”

      He was so convincing, so compelling, and she desperately wanted to buy into the beauty of his promise. He seemed to have needed to say it as much as she’d needed to hear it. But a question remained.

      “And when you’re not here, Plato,” she asked shakily, “then what am I supposed to do?” Wait to see him being arrested on the news? Wait to find out that he’s dead?

      “You’re supposed to know that I want to be here, that I’m rushing to get back to you, and that I’m lonely without you. I crave you. I ache for you, and all I want to do is to put my arms around you and hold you close.”

      “That’s supposed to be enough?”

      “God! I hope so.”

      Did he really expect that she was supposed to be satisfied with only a part of him?

      “I can’t,” she said, letting the tears fall. “I can’t love part-time. I can’t be loved part-time. I deserve better than that.”

      He nodded. “I agree. I agree wholeheartedly, baby girl. You most certainly do and you are more than I deserve.”

      Without saying another word, Plato leaned in close, pressed his warm lips against hers, wrapped one strong arm around her waist, and pulled her to him. Marlowe’s body betrayed her, dissolved into his, hungrily mated her tongue with his.

      “Whatever you want,” he whispered after breaking the seal of his kiss. “Whatever you need, Marlowe, if I can give it to you, I will. If I can be it for you, I’ll be it.”

      She wanted to tell him to stop. Stop the killing. Stop working for people who paid him to kill. She wanted to tell him, but Marlowe knew better. He wouldn’t stop. Not until he was good and ready. It was the nature of him. Marlowe could accept it. Or she could let him go.

      “Can I come inside?” he whispered, holding her close.

      She stepped back, stared long and hard at his handsome face, took hold of one of his big old hands, and sighed. Your head, Marlowe. “You hungry?” she asked, leading him inside. “I’ve got some chicken in the refrigerator.”

      ALSO BY J. D. MASON

      And on the Eighth Day She Rested

      One Day I Saw a Black King

      Don’t Want No Sugar

      This Fire Down in My Soul

      You Gotta Sin to Get Saved

      That Devil’s No Friend of Mine

      Take Your Pleasure Where You Find It

      Somebody Pick Up My Pieces

      Beautiful, Dirty, Rich

      Drop Dead, Gorgeous

      Crazy, Sexy, Revenge

      About the Author

      J. D. Mason is the author of Crazy, Sexy, Revenge; Drop Dead, Gorgeous; Beautiful, Dirty, Rich; Somebody Pick Up My Pieces; Take Your Pleasure Where You Find It; That Devil’s No Friend of Mine; You Gotta Sin to Get Saved; This Fire Down in My Soul; Don’t Want No Sugar; And on the Eighth Day She Rested; and One Day I Saw a Black King. She lives in Denver, Colorado, with her two children. You can sign up for email updates here.

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      St. Martin’s Press ebook.

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      For email updates on the author, click here.

      Contents

      Title Page

      Copyright Notice

      Dedication

      Acknowledgments

      Drowning on Dry Land

      Six Months Later …

      Bone Talk

      The Ritual Begins

      Shaking This Tree

      To Be Well

      Sharpen Your Knife

      Never, Ever Break Down

      Hold Back the River

      Black Gypsy

      Where You Hide

      Can’t Buy a Thrill

      Belly of the Whale

      Fresh Poison

      Clear a Space

      Open Your Eyes

      Hungry Work

      It’s Still Burning

      When I’m Alone with You

      Then I’m Cool

      You Go Hard

      Life Got in Between

      In the Stable

      The Faithful

      Taking in the Shape

      Bad Moon

      Tell You My Sins

      Like a Dog

      By Moonlight

      Born Sick

      Worshipped

      Against the Tide

      Wash Out the Pain

      Go Through Hell

      Evil Coming Through

      Creepin’ In

      The One You Need

      You Go Hard

      Keeps Me Awake

      But Your Ghost

      Worship Her

      Poison

      True Face

      To the River

      Another Skin

      Close to Me

      Deathless Death

      Keeps Me Awake

      I Never Learned

      Be Well

      Let Us Wander

      A Sacrifice

      In Another You

      One Month Later …

      Let Me Give You My Life

      Also by J. D. Mason

      About the Author

      Copyright

      This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

      THE REAL MRS. PRICE. Copyright © 2016 by J. D. Mason. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

      www.stmartins.com

      Cover design by David Curtis

      Cover photograph © Netfalls—Remy Musses and JStudio/Shutterstock

      The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

      ISBN 978-1-250-05225-4 (trade paperback)

      ISBN 978-1-4668-5375-1 (e-book)

     
    ; e-ISBN 9781466853751

      Our e-books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by e-mail at MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.

      First Edition: May 2016

     

     

     



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