Seduction and Surrender (Reckless #2)

by C. C. Gibbs

  She grinned. “Things?”

  “Feelings.” His mouth twitched. “I don’t do feelings.”

  “You do with me,” she said with cheerful certainty.

  His eyes narrowed a little. “I don’t know. I’m not as sure as you. Spell it out for me. Give me a beginner course in love. I’ll see if anything rings a bell.”

  Her eyebrows lifted in a fast tic. “Hey, it’s not a contest. I just know I’m in love. You don’t have to be, that’s okay. There’s no way I want you to love me because you have to.”

  He smiled. “I don’t do have to either.”

  She smiled back because he was enjoying himself now. “Fuck you.”

  He laughed. “That I do.”

  She glanced at the clock.

  “There’s time,” he said smoothly, on solid ground when it came to fucking. “As for the other stuff”—a quick breath through his nose, an infinitesimal flinch. “I’m pretty much on board along with you.”

  She grinned. “Really—on board?”

  A real flinch this time, visible from space. “You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t think I do.” But her heart was beginning to rev up.

  “Oh fuck. You want me to say it?”

  “Not if you’re gonna start bleeding from your eyes or something.”

  A nanosecond later, she was lying beneath him with her Wonder Woman shirt pushed up, her legs spread, his large body resting lightly between her thighs, his dark hair brushing her cheeks, his smile very, very close. “For what it’s worth, I love you.”

  “Drop the preface.” Her smile touched his lips. “That would be super.”

  He lifted his head a little, blew out a breath. “You want everything.”

  Wide blue eyes, her gaze intense, watching him. “I do.”

  Silence. Then a straightforward look. “Okay,” he said, nodding, as though making it certifiable. “I love you.” There was probably a whole lot more he had to figure out, but if he said too much he might fuck things up. “Remember that happy virus line from Hafiz?” he said though, because it was buzzing in his head. “That’s me.”

  Her smile was a woman-in-love smile. “I remember. But why do you?”

  “Bought a copy for myself. He’s damned modern for a fourteenth-century poet. Now kiss me.”

  “That’s it? We’re done with the poetry?”

  “Don’t push your luck, Tiger. This is a big deal for me. You want poetry, I’ll think about it later. Right now”—he glanced downward, then up—“you can probably tell I have other things on my mind.”

  “Okay.”

  His brows shot up at her ready compliance. “Okay then,” he said real quickly because he wasn’t stupid. Although his voice held a rare tenderness when he said, “No more one-day-at-a time, yeah?”

  “Nope. I found you and I’m keeping you. I want to be part of your life and you part of mine. I want the Hallmark card stuff, the passion, you holding me close twenty-four/seven, the getting up in the morning.” She stopped because his smile had dimmed slightly and she knew she was here with him because of enormous effort on his part. “I’m talking too much.”

  “No,” he said, wishing it were all possible. “I’m listening.”

  “My friend Sarah called while you were gone and she reminded me of where we’d first met, that’s all. So I’m feeling sentimental.”

  “I wish I could remember meeting you that time. I’m sorry. My focus was in all the wrong places then. But we’ve been given a second chance and if there’s some grand schemer somewhere pulling the strings, I’m grateful. Although I’m not so sure anyone’s minding the store with the world blowing up all to shit.”

  His gaze had gone shuttered like it did when the troubles he was dealing with surfaced. She understood and her voice turned playful. “You’re being real polite.” She glanced down like he had, then up, his arousal hard and explicit against her stomach. “Do you need an invitation?”

  A second later, his hips were resting against her thighs, his erection was buried deep inside her, and his mouth was warm on hers. “Better?” he whispered.

  A blissful, melting sigh.

  Shifting his weight from one forearm to the other, he lifted her hands to his shoulders, said very softly, “Hold on,” and pushed deeper.

  They both caught their breaths.

  Then he withdrew marginally, slowly, with a smooth upward drag over her G-spot, and she gasped, trembled, clamped her hands over his stellar butt, and dragged him back. “Freight train,” she said, low and hushed.

  “Sure? Last chance.” She wasn’t the only one in a covetous mood.

  Eyes shut, breathless, she nodded.

  Maybe it was love that made it better, or that their caring for each other was out in the open, but sex and sensation seemed to blend into one brilliant, tempestuous, dream-come-true cosmic bliss.

  And Rafe answered her need, giving her what she wanted, a wild frenzy of orgasms, one after another, his penetration deep, his withdrawal swift, his hands spread wide over her ass to hold her hard against his next plunging downstroke.

  Soon, their bodies were slick with sweat, their hearts pounding, both panting and impatient as they raced full speed ahead to another fast and furious orgasm.

  There, there…there.

  Fuuuck.

  She screamed; he exploded so effing hard the world abruptly went quiet like the silence in the eye of a tornado. Then his heart started beating again, and he sucked air into his lungs, dropped his head, covered her mouth with his, and tasted her sweet, breathless wonder.

  “You okay?” he whispered, lifting his head. “You’re on fire.”

  “Obsessed,” she panted, her eyes slits.

  “Take a little break?”

  Her eyes shut for a second, then her gaze swiveled up. “If you want.”

  She didn’t mean “if you want.” He smiled. “I might cut you off after a while if you start shaking.”

  “I might not shake.”

  A grin creased his bronzed cheek. “Someday I’ll teach you how to wait.” He laughed at her pretty pout. “But not today, okay?”

  “Thank you,” she said softly. “I happen to be in love, you know.”

  “I think it’s contagious,” he murmured, echoing Hafiz’s words. “And fucking arousing,” he added with a smile, smoothly rolling over on his back and taking her with him, steadying her briefly when she sat up still gorged with his cock. He ran his fingertip over her clit, which was jammed against his dick, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Your pussy is so fucking tight.” He flexed his thighs, forced himself deeper, and watched her eyes shut. “Last word,” he said, splaying his fingers over her hips, curling them, securing his grip. “You want me to stop, tell me. You hear?”

  He waited, or thought he waited.

  She nodded, or thought she nodded.

  They were a matched pair that afternoon—in hot-blooded passion, in wildness, and in breathtaking need, both caught up in a mindless flood of ravenous desire, selfish and unguarded, their endorphins spinning out of control.

  They were stoked.

  Happy.

  Filled with unimaginable joy.

  Rafe didn’t think once about the deep-shit trouble coming his way.

  Nicole forgot about the small army forming on the island.

  They were ungrounded, deep in love, distant from reality.

  For however brief a time.

  Chapter 17

  Dinner in the dining room of the palazzo was a raucous affair. Everyone knew everyone, and Henny, in his larger than life fashion, orchestrated the arrival of the many courses, he and Teresa having come to a workable détente thanks to Rafe’s intervention. The young male staff, as casually dressed as the dinner guests in shorts and T-shirts, carried in large trays of seafood of every description, roast lamb with herbs, kebabs, polenta, pasta with white truffles, paprika stuffed peppers, grilled summer vegetables and flatbreads, a variety of local cheeses, and a dozen different desserts, includin
g baklava, strudel, caramel flan, and the pièce de résistance—a huge platter of snenokli, meringues in custard cream, the Croatian version of floating islands. Magnums of champagne from the Contini family vineyards near Reims, along with regional coastal wines, accompanied the food, the informality of the servers reminding Nicole of their meal in the kitchen at Monte Carlo.

  Although the spacious, vaulted room was far from informal, the classic Palladian design was executed in muted shades of marble, the various pastel hues employed to subtly distinguish pillar from pilaster from cornice or floor. Even the ceiling mural was tempered in contrast to the usual semi-erotic mythological scenes favored by the nobility, the overhead scene portraying fully clothed Athenian maidens moving in a measured procession toward a temple.

  The single nod to tempestuous nature was the long wall of glass doors that were open to the night air and the sound of waves crashing against the rocky shore.

  Rafe sat at the head of the large, candlelit table, comfortable in his role as host. He was equally at ease with Nicole on his lap, although she’d initially resisted such a public display. “Hush,” he’d whispered at her quiet protest. “Or I might embarrass you.”

  “More than you already are?”

  “Would you like to find out?” he’d murmured, one eyebrow raised.

  She’d decided not to push her luck and in return had received a smile of such effortless beauty she’d concluded that there were times when losing wasn’t really losing.

  No one had noticed their brief existential tussle, the buzz of conversation and laughter flowing around them undiminished. With a brushing kiss and a whispered, “Love you, Tiger,” Rafe turned to answer a question from Teresa, who’d come up beside him.

  Her heart went into overdrive when it shouldn’t, when he might have meant the words in the most casual way. But she couldn’t deny how she felt: all warm and glowy. Caught up in the magic.

  Rafe dealt with Teresa’s question, hitched Nicole closer, and whispered, “Glad you’re my girl. You want anything, just ask.” Then he turned his attention to his dinner guests. He was friendly and amicable, conversing easily in any number of languages, directing the servers with a discreet nod or glance if something needed doing, making sure everyone was enjoying themselves. He was particularly friendly to Nicole, kissing her repeatedly, speaking to her softly, feeding her tidbits from his plate like a cosseted pet, and making her blush from time to time when he whispered in her ear.

  She’d given up trying to restrain him. As if she wanted to anyway, she thought with a smile and opened her mouth for another forkful of sweet, flaky baklava.

  “Like that, pussycat?” His voice was softly cajoling, his eyebrows pulled together slightly.

  Her mouth full, she nodded.

  His face cleared, as if he were responsible for her nutritional content. “There’s my girl.” Bending his head, he licked a trickle of syrup from her bottom lip and whispered, “I’ll take care of you. Okay?”

  Rich with the sweet warmth of him, fighting back tears, she nodded again.

  “Hey, hey…none of that,” he whispered as she blinked like crazy. “We’ve got each other.” Dropping the fork, he bent his head, caught the single tear sliding down her cheek with the tip of his tongue, then raised his head and smiled. “You and me, Tiger. Life’s good. Now gimme a smile.”

  Rafe’s friends were fascinated by his behavior. Rafe was only vaguely attentive to a woman unless he was actually fucking her. Not tonight. He was affectionate, gentle, his attention fully engaged. All they could figure was that he was operating on the principle live life to the fullest before you die. A classic impulse prior to battle.

  Simon leaned toward Carlos and lifted his chin in Rafe’s direction. “Christ, how bad is it? Should I say good-bye to my mum?”

  “Too soon to tell,” Carlos said. “Zou’s holed up, not moving. As for him”—Carlos gave an eye roll toward Rafe—“he’s just randy as hell.”

  “No shit. I hope he doesn’t spread her out on the table and go for it.”

  Carlos shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time. If you’re worried about Angelina, you can always hustle her out before the view gets too explicit.”

  “I might. She teaches music to little kids for Christ’s sake. If Rafe gets out of hand”—Simon jerked his thumb toward the terrace doors—“we’re outta here.”

  Both men were speaking in undertones while Simon’s girlfriend was talking to the dinner guest on her right.

  “You can’t begrudge him his happiness,” Carlos murmured. “I use the word advisedly. He may not know what the fuck that is, but he’s enjoying himself.”

  Simon glanced at Rafe, then chuckled. “Ya think?”

  The men had no more than finished their conversation when Rafe picked up a spoon and tapped his crystal goblet until silence finally settled over the table. “I have an announcement.” He smiled at Nicole. “We have an announcement. What?”

  She was shaking her head vehemently.

  Holding up a finger to his guests, he turned to Nicole and dipped his head until their eyes were level. “It’s not a damned secret. Come on, I’ve never been in love before.”

  “Don’t—please, you’re drunk. You’ll be sorry you said it tomorrow.”

  “I don’t get drunk. I’m feeling good, that’s all—about us.” He patted her cheek, kissed her lightly. “Relax. It’s all good, pussycat. They’re friends. They’ll be happy for us.” Lifting his head, he turned back to his guests with a grin. “Nicole worries. Nothing to worry about I told her.” He paused for a second, taking in the breath-held silence, and his grin widened. “Apparently, I don’t make announcements very often.”

  “Try never, dude!” Henny bellowed.

  Rafe laughed. “In that case I should have ordered up a fanfare of trumpets for this rare occasion. Since I didn’t, I’ll just lay it out nice and clear. We’re in love,” he said proudly. “It’s an amazing feeling. Right, Tiger?” Turning to a red-faced Nicole, he gave her a warm grin.

  For a stunned moment, the room was still as a tomb.

  Then Henny yelled, “Way to go, Contini!”

  And cheers erupted.

  Nicole’s blush deepened, although her eyes were glowing. Rafe was cool and under control as usual, but he was holding her close as though guarding his happiness.

  Then his jaw clamped shut as he saw the man running in from the loggia.

  And just like that, his happiness vanished.

  A moment later, the man spoke quietly near Rafe’s ear, the news so shitty, it qualified for worst-case scenario in any terms, tactical or strategic. After asking two hushed questions, each answered with a no, Rafe spoke loud enough to be heard. “Thanks, Jorge. We’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  His arms tightened around Nicole for a fraction of a second, then he whispered, “Gotta go. I might be late tonight.” Looking up, he scanned the table. “Trouble in paradise, guys. See you all in the operations room in five.”

  He escorted Nicole as far as the main staircase. “I apologize for the interruption,” he said with a faint grimace. “Shit happens.”

  “I understand. I’ll see you when I see you,” she answered smoothly. Fake as fuck. “Good luck.”

  “Yeah,” he grunted, leaned down, kissed her once, hard, then straightened and walked away.

  A few minutes later, the dinner guests, minus Nicole and Simon’s girlfriend, were assembled before a bank of monitors with the images frozen on the screens.

  Rafe nodded at Zander. “Start from the beginning.”

  “Zou’s sister and another woman entered the building early morning their time. About two hours ago. They were wearing the traditional trouser suits. Not unusual. Here.” Zander pointed and clicked to restart the action. “The driver is waiting outside the main entrance, the car’s running.” He fast-forwarded the sequence until the two women reemerged from the building. He stopped the camera again.

  “Two observations in hindsight. The electricity went off f
or ten seconds. The entire building. A brief outage, everyone figured just a glitch. But it wasn’t. The cameras were dark for a few seconds. And—two.” He aimed a laser pointer at one of the women’s shoes, returned to the original shot, and indicated the shoes again. “Notice. Same color, same style, bigger size. We missed that too.”

  “Anyone would,” Rafe said. “The presentation is meticulous. The makeup and costume are professional. Pure theater. Where did we lose him?”

  Another man answered. His team had had Zou’s sister under surveillance for weeks; they’d tailed her from the cyber intelligence unit. “Although we didn’t know it at the time, it was Zou with his sister. They were driven into the private underground garage at her high-rise. We’ve had key cards made, but it has several levels and before we entered we lost her phone signal. Zou must have dumped his cell at his office. We never did pick that up.”

  “No surprise. He had to have had this plan in place—fuck—probably for years. Politics is a dangerous business there. He had every angle covered. Not your fault, Andy. Now Jorge said four cars came out of the parking ramp minutes after Zou entered, right?”

  “Yeah. Identical. Even the plates. We had enough manpower for three of them, but not the fourth. My guess is that they were all decoys anyway. At least the three we stopped were. The drivers were useless. Hired for the day. Nada.”

  Rafe exhaled softly. “Any ideas on Zou’s destination? Other than Brisbane?”

  “When our crews backtracked, they interviewed a doorman in a high-rise down the block who saw a helicopter take off from the roof of his building ten, fifteen minutes after we lost Zou. There had to have been some underground tunnels he accessed ’cause Zou never exited the building. We had eyes on every exit. We’re in the process of pulling building blueprints now. Not that it matters at this point, but”—Andy grimaced. “Sorry about that.”

  “If the tunnels were private, they might not appear on the prints. I’m guessing they won’t. We’ll just move on. Are we monitoring radar? Flight plans?”

  “We’re on it,” Carlos said.

  Rafe surveyed the assembled group. “Check in with your contacts. Explain what happened. What we’re looking for. Zou couldn’t have gotten very far yet. A helicopter’s too slow for any long-range flight and I expect he’s getting out of the country. So scour the docks, see if a private yacht sailed recently; he wouldn’t attempt the major airports—although maybe the small ones should be considered. It’s not out of the question to drive to any of the Southeast Asian countries. That means the search area is going to continue to expand. Meanwhile, we haven’t a clue what Zou’s using for a disguise or passport.” Rafe smiled tightly. “That’s it. Thanks everyone. I’m going to call Webster and give him the bad news.”