A Touch of Minx

by Suzanne Enoch

  He parted her knees with his and slowly buried his cock inside her. She gave a shuddering sigh that nearly made him come right then. Holding his breath, he fought to gain back some control before he started moving on her and in her.

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, meeting his gaze squarely as he pumped his hips against hers. “God, you feel good,” she panted.

  “So do you.”

  “Mm. Try this.” With a quick, hard twist she rolled them both, putting him on his back with her on top.

  “This is nice, too,” he grunted, as she lifted up and down on him, arching her back and putting her palms flat on his chest for leverage. He tightened his grip on her hips, thrusting up to meet her downward strokes. Sex with a woman who knew what she wanted and who had excellent muscular toning and control. Yes, he’d been a very good lad.

  She moved faster, harder, deeper, until she squealed, spasming. With a last push he joined her, pulling her face down for a kiss as he surged up into her.

  “Holy smokes.” Breathing hard, Samantha settled in against his shoulder, curving her arm across his chest and tangling her legs with his. “And welcome back, in case I forgot to tell you,” she murmured.

  So there she was, Miss Slip Into the Night Without Regrets, smiling happily and relaxed enough to doze off in her fella’s embrace. Times had definitely changed, and nothing pointed out that fact more than the way she felt just touching this tall, lean Brit who ate lesser beings for lunch on a regular basis.

  “Thank you,” he returned. “That was almost enough to convince me to leave and return more often.”

  “‘Almost’?”

  “The only thing holding me back was the realization that I’d be dead after a week.”

  She laughed. “You and me both.”

  Rick shifted a little, moving his hand to entwine his fingers with hers. “I love you, you know.”

  “I know. I love you, too.” For a minute she debated telling him about her little spat with Donner earlier, but that would just spoil the mood. Besides, she was pretty sure she’d be the one to come out looking evil for taking Katie Donner to the scene of a break-in. “Did you like the building?”

  “I did. My people are putting together a bid.”

  “If you don’t watch it, you’re going to have all of downtown Metropolis under your control. I’ll have to start calling you Lex Luthor or something.”

  “Oh, please. Luthor was bald. Trump can be Luthor.” He kissed her hair. “How goes the search for Anatomy Man?”

  “There’s somebody I want to talk to, but that probably won’t happen until the weekend.” With Mike’s sports and homework schedule, he was nearly as hard to get to as a piece of artwork she was trying to steal.

  “It’s good that you have a lead. By the way, Tom called me this afternoon.”

  Fuck. “Did you fire him?”

  “No. He was actually concerned that he might have said something to you that he shouldn’t have.”

  She started to give him a flip answer, but his tone was a little off. Whatever this was, it was serious. She lifted her head to look him in the face, at the same time running her earlier bout with the lawyer through her mind. Nearly photographic memory or not, nothing had particularly stuck in her craw at the time. Except…“He fumbled around about you giving me something,” she said. “If you’re going to give me a present, I’ll pretend I don’t know anything about it.”

  “Ah. So you wouldn’t mind another present?”

  Samantha pushed herself up onto one elbow. “The diamond necklace and the earrings were very nice. And the garden. And Godzilla totally freaked out Reinaldo. It was great.” She grinned. “I never would have guessed that Reinaldo screams like a girl. But you never have to give me anything,” she continued, figuring he wanted a serious answer. “You know that. I’m here for you, not because of the decor.”

  “One of these days very soon I’m going to ask you to marry me, Samantha.”

  She chuckled. “Oh, you talk big, mister. How was New York? Did you see anybody famous? Relatively speaking of course, since you’ve been on the cover of Time and nearly everybody else pales in comparison.”

  For a second he didn’t say anything. “I saw Detective Gorstein, as a matter of fact,” he finally contributed.

  “Gorstein? What did he want?”

  “Actually, I approached him.”

  “Oh, really? And why is that?” She sat up to look down at him.

  “I wanted to know if the NYPD had any useful information about Toombs or the Picaults.”

  So he was stepping into her gig again. “You figured I needed the help, I suppose?”

  “I thought that since I was there, I would ask. You did mention getting in touch with him. I’m assuming you have a problem with that?”

  “You know I have a problem with that.” She slid off the bed and grabbed her robe. “Dammit, Rick, you can’t keep riding in and mowing over everything in sight.”

  “Actually, I probably can.” He stood and made his way, naked and very sexy, into his walk-in closet. “Do you want to know what he said?”

  If she said no, he probably wouldn’t tell her. She hated the way he manipulated everything so that now she had to ask him for information that technically belonged to her. “Fuck you.” She grabbed her bra and green T-shirt and panties from the chest where she’d left them and pulled them back on.

  Snatching up her jeans, she stalked into the sitting area of the master suite. Jamming her feet into the legs, she hopped to the balcony door and went outside. Down below in the pool area the lights flickered on, bathing the pool and patio in a soft white glow.

  Dangerous or not to stay ignorant, she wasn’t going to play that game. He was the one who’d stepped out of line this time, not her. She sat in one of the patio chairs facing away from the house and folded her arms across her chest. And to think, ten minutes ago she’d been completely satisfied.

  A couple of minutes later she heard him come down the stairs and take a seat beside her. A cold can of soda touched her elbow, and she reached back to pick it up and pop the top. “Jerk,” she said.

  “Perhaps I should have unbuttoned immediately,” he drawled, from his tone more than a little pissed off, himself, “but I took into consideration the fact that I had to make an appointment and walked into the police station at eight o’clock this morning. I imagine there will be some speculation about that on E.T. tonight.”

  “Did you tell Gorstein why you were asking questions? Because I don’t think the Met wants to spread around the news that their security from time to time apparently sucks.” Resolutely she kept turned away from him, her gaze on the area she was supposed to be re-landscaping. At least he hadn’t brought that up again. Yet.

  “Don’t you think I know how to ask questions by now?”

  “I think you’re a billionaire whose conversations people tend to remember and repeat because they’re going to end up in a book someday—The Wit and Wisdom of Richard Addison.”

  “The only thing I mentioned to Gorstein is that his failure to cooperate with me could cause the museum to lose out on a prestigious exhibit.”

  Not bad. “Okay. What did he say?”

  “First turn around and face me. Your back is lovely, but I prefer gazing into your eyes.”

  “And you still have to be in charge,” she retorted, even though she did twist her chair around to face him. She preferred seeing the face of the person she was arguing with, herself. “Happy?”

  “Indescribably so.” Rick reached over, brushing her fingers as they clenched around the soda can. “Toombs showed up on two watch lists after items went missing elsewhere, but nothing more than that. One of those items was an antique samurai war bridle, by the way. That nearly gave me a stroke.”

  She ignored his commentary in favor of the facts. “What was the other?”

  “A fifteenth-century shogun battle flag.”

  “That follows. I’ll keep an eye out for bridles and battle flags tomor
row. How about the Picaults?” Just because she hadn’t found anything during her piecemeal run through their upstairs didn’t mean they weren’t guilty of something. And from what she’d been seeing and hearing, nobody had a more extensive collection of Japanese antiques outside of Japan—with the possible exception of Toombs.

  “They had a break-in at their Manhattan townhouse about three years ago. Apparently most of their Japanese items are here, and only some cash and jewelry went missing.” Blue eyes gazed at her, one eyebrow lifting in question.

  “What? It wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re implying.” She hadn’t broken in to any of the Picaults’ houses until yesterday. And she hadn’t taken anything, then.

  “Just mild curiosity.” He took a drink of the beer he’d brought out for himself. “Care to share whether you’ve come up with anything?”

  “Not really.” She took a breath. “From what I’ve been able to find and figure out, it’s Toombs. Or the Picaults. Palm Beach must be a vortex of evil, since they’re all in town right now so I can’t just stroll in and take a look around. But what do I know? I can’t even find Stoney.”

  Rick sat forward. “Beg pardon?”

  “His cell phone’s turned off, and there’s no sign of him at his house. His girlfriend doesn’t know where he is, either.”

  “This isn’t typical, I assume?”

  She shook her head. “Even when we had to lie low, we still could get hold of each other. If he doesn’t call me in the next day or two I’ll place an ad in the New York Times to clue him in that I’m looking for him.”

  “Why would he disappear?”

  Even though she knew Rick didn’t like Stoney, she could hear the genuine concern in his voice—for her, if not for the missing fence. “Could be anything. Somebody we’ve riled in the past showed up, or he got a job offer, or—”

  “He’s retired.”

  She shrugged. “I thought so, but who knows? And he did warn me to be careful.”

  He took her fingers again, this time squeezing and not letting go. “He’ll show up.”

  “Right now I’m more annoyed than worried. If he hasn’t at least called me by the end of the week, that’ll switch around.”

  “What about Walter’s files?”

  “I have no idea where he keeps them.”

  Rick blinked. “You have no idea. You.”

  “It’s a fence thing. He had other guys who’d contract with him or bring him stuff to fence. Just like every once in a while I’d go through another broker. Everybody protects their own sources. Even cops do that.”

  “It appears that even after a year I’m still learning things about the dark side.”

  She shot him a smile. “That’s me, Darth Sam.”

  “But you’re not worried. Really.”

  “Not yet. Really.” Okay, maybe she was a little worried, but in the big, bad world that she and Stoney inhabited—used to inhabit—vanishing for two or three days was nothing. She’d give him more time before she started turning things over—but then he’d better show up.

  Reinaldo appeared at the side of the patio. “Dinner is ready,” he announced.

  “Thank you.” Rick stood and walked around the table to hold her chair for her as she stood, still being Sir Galahad even when they were fighting. “Your primary suspect for the samurai thefts is definitely Toombs, yes?” he murmured, taking her hand as they followed Reinaldo into the house.

  “He fits. And he’s kind of weird.”

  “Don’t go to his house tomorrow, then.”

  She took a breath. “I’m going to his house, Rick. If he’s guilty I need to know, and soon. If not, I need to know that, too. And if he is innocent I don’t want to hear the rumors that you didn’t let me go see his collection. We travel in the same circles now, remember?”

  His grip tightened. “Aubrey is going with you, yes?”

  She nodded. “Aubrey is coming with me.” She needed somebody to distract Toombs while she snooped, after all.

  “If it’s not Gabriel Toombs, what do you do?” Rick pursued. He always wanted to know the answer to everything, which made him a good and shrewd businessman, but could really annoy somebody who lived by her wits and instincts like she did.

  “I’ll look at the Picaults more closely and re-review the Met security disk to see if there’s anything I missed the first three times I went over it, even though after ten years it’s not good for much more than a laugh at the hair styles. I’ve got five days, or this case gets closed for the second time.”

  Rick looked at her for a minute. Neither of them said it, but they both knew that this was the second job Viscanti had sent her way. If she couldn’t find the armor and swords this time, she probably wouldn’t be getting any more work from the Met. Or from any other museum, if they had any sense. And then it would be back to straight security setups. Rick might prefer that for her, but she didn’t. Not at all.

  Chapter 13

  Thursday, 10:12 a.m.

  “What the devil happened to client-lawyer confidentiality, Tom?” Richard asked, setting his folder on the conference room table.

  “Uh oh. You didn’t say anything to her, did you?” Tom Donner reached into the small refrigerator under the credenza for a chilled bottle of water.

  “Me? I’m not the problem. For God’s sake, she remembers everything. So what do you do? You go and tell her that I have a present for her?”

  “That was not exactly what I said. And besides, she didn’t know what I meant.”

  Clearly she hadn’t, Richard agreed, since when he’d told her that he meant to propose she’d made it into a joke. Not a good sign in itself, but probably better than her screaming and locking herself in a closet or stabbing him or something. “Very well. Don’t mention it to her again.”

  “Okay, okay. Just keep me out of it.”

  “I am fucking attempting to.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.” He knew what he intended to do, and his only hesitation was that he didn’t know what her answer would be. As a businessman he saw that as a problem—one he badly wanted to resolve.

  Tom cleared his throat. “What about a prenup?”

  “Dammit, Donner, shut—”

  “I know you said she doesn’t care about your money,” the attorney pushed, “but you’ve got a shitload of it. Two or three shitloads. And U.S. laws are—”

  “I haven’t even asked her yet. A prenup is not my concern at the moment.” He drew a breath. The last thing he needed right now was this kind of distraction with a four-continent meeting about to begin. “Where’s Beeling?” he asked. “The conference starts in fifteen minutes. It would be nice if we knew for certain we could log in.”

  Tom checked his watch. “He’ll be here in two minutes. Or I can do it—I had Mike go over it step by step with me last night.”

  Richard eyed his friend. “Your fifteen-year-old.”

  “Yeah. Scary, huh? And at the risk of getting yelled at again, Jellicoe seems pretty happy. Why push things at all?”

  He’d thought about that, about just letting things stay as they were until before they’d realized it, he and Samantha had grown old together. But there were parts of their current arrangement that he didn’t like—the way he had that fear in the back of his mind that one day she would just leave, that something would either catch up to her or she would decide she’d find more excitement elsewhere and vanish.

  He’d also considered this life from her point of view, or as closely as he could; a marriage to him could offer her a lifetime of safety and security, could let her relax as she’d begun to do over the past months. She’d have a place that was hers.

  And then there was the third reason. He wanted children. Because of the old British inheritance laws, and because of the fact that deep down he was in fact a rather traditional fellow, he wanted to be married to their mother. And he wanted their mother to be Samantha.

  His desk phone buzzed, making him jump. He hit the speaker. “Addison.”
>
  “Mr. Rick, Jim Beeling is here,” Reinaldo said.

  “Send him up to the conference room, please. And we could use some coffee.”

  “Right away.”

  Resolutely he put his dilemma about Samantha out of his head. This conference, if it went well, would set him up in partnerships with three burgeoning not-for-profit organizations working toward providing tools, materials, and education over four continents. It would cost him millions, but in the long run could work toward improving world economy—which could make him millions more. And it felt good, which was a nice change from some of his other, more profitable, ventures.

  As he took a seat at the conference table, he checked his own watch. Samantha was at the Jellicoe Security office, where she’d be for the next hour or so. After that, she and Aubrey would be visiting Gabriel Toombs, and he would still be in this seat.

  “Rick?”

  “What?”

  Tom frowned at him. “I asked whether you want me to see if Katie’ll do the lunch thing with Jellicoe again.”

  “That might be a good idea.” He fiddled with the pad of paper in front of him. “Am I mistaken, or are you offering to help me resolve something regarding Samantha?”

  The attorney shifted. “You made it pretty clear that I could put up or shut up where you and she are concerned.”

  “So I did.” Even with that in mind, Tom’s offer seemed out of character. “You’re ‘putting up,’ then.”

  “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “Did Katie say anything to you about how Tuesday went? Or did she say whether she had anything she’d be willing to tell me about?”

  Tom’s face actually reddened. “All she said is that she likes Sam, and that she had the impression that Sam likes you. A lot. I don’t know whether she’d tell you more than that or not. Those two are kind of cagey.”

  Their liking each other wasn’t the problem. There were other issues that were a great deal more complicated and troubling that needed resolution. The bitch of all this was that if he took a step to change the dynamic of his and Samantha’s relationship, he was forcing her to take a step as well, and he didn’t know whether it would be toward him or away. And that worried him more than setting up a twenty-million-dollar charity program. It worried him more than anything else he could imagine.