by Judith Gould
“Something about an explosion,” she replied. “I don’t really remember.”
Honor gasped. “Oh, no!”
“Jesus,” Adrian exclaimed. “Are you certain?”
Niki shrugged and plucked a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. “I think so, but I’m not sure.” She took a sip of the wine and gazed at him, her dark eyes taunting. “What I am sure about is that I want you to get rid of him.” She started back toward Gianni, then turned to face Adrian again. “And now!”
Watching her weave her way among the dancers, stopping to chat and trilling laughter along the way, Honor felt a knot form in her stomach. “What are you going to do?” she asked Adrian, her dark eyes searching his.
“I’m going to call Sokolov and find out what the hell’s going on first,” he said, “then take it from there.” He saw her worried expression. “Don’t fret, Honor. It’ll be okay.”
“I’m not so sure,” she replied.
He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be back in a second,” he said. “I need to hear myself think, so I’m going to make this call from my stateroom.”
Honor nodded. “I’ll be here.” She sat down on an upholstered banquette and picked up the glass of champagne she’d left there. Niki’s behavior concerned her greatly, and she couldn’t throw off the feeling of impending doom that Niki’s outburst had left her with. Nikos had been the only person who could ever control Niki, and even he had admitted defeat more often than victory. He’d admired his daughter’s willfulness and even encouraged it. She was much like him, he’d often said, determined to get her way no matter what. Since his death, Niki had taken advice from no one, although she would sometimes listen to Adrian. Like her father, Adrian had been a constant presence in her life, somewhat like a benevolent uncle. But Honor wondered now whether Adrian would be able to help restrain Niki’s more undesirable impulses. It was such a shame, Honor often thought, that Nikos and Larissa, his beautiful British wife, had divorced all those years ago and that Larissa had been killed in a car accident afterward. Perhaps Larissa might have had a beneficial influence on Niki, Honor idly mused, but somehow she doubted it. The girl had certainly never listened to her. On the contrary, she seemed determined to ignore every piece of advice Honor had ever tried to give her.
“Honor, darling! How are you?” A sleekly groomed and tanned woman near her age plopped down next to Honor, and they exchanged air kisses.
“Consuela,” Honor enthused, “it’s so good to see you. I didn’t know whether you’d make it or not.”
“Barely,” her friend replied. “I’m getting a little old for all this.” She waved a hand dramatically toward the dancing crowd.
“You’ll never get too old,” Honor said with a laugh. “Is Luigi with you?”
Consuela shook her head. “I gave the bastard the boot.”
“What?”
Consuela nodded. “I decided that if he’s going to live with me part of the year, then he’s going to have to contribute something more than his cock to the household, you know?”
Honor laughed mirthfully.
“I discovered that he’s seriously impoverished.”
“But he’s rich as Croesus,” Honor protested.
“Poverty of spirit, darling,” Consuela replied, lighting a cigarette.
Out of the corner of her eye, Honor caught a glimpse of Niki talking to Marella and Justin de Bord. She was standing between the two of them, an arm casually draped across Marella’s shoulders, her lips close to Marella’s ear as she imparted something to her old friend. But Honor also observed that Niki had a hand planted in one of Justin’s rear trouser pockets. Her fingers were obviously very busy. The image was disturbing because Honor suddenly remembered the many spiteful and unkind words Niki had for Marella—behind her back—when she’d learned that her friend was going to be married to Justin. She wouldn’t put it past Niki to try to cause trouble between the newlyweds.
“Men,” Consuela said, interrupting her thoughts, “have been the bane and glory of my existence.”
Honor laughed again. “Most of us could say the same, Consuela.”
“You never seemed to have much trouble with old Jonathan.”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly a marriage made in heaven,” Honor replied.
Adrian emerged from out of the crowd and beckoned with a hand for Honor to join him. “Have to run,” she said to Consuela. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
She rose to her feet and went to Adrian, who led her forward. When they reached a deserted stretch of deck, he stopped and turned to her.
“Is it as bad as that, Adrian?” she asked. “You look very worried.”
“It’s worse than I thought,” he said. “There’s been an explosion at the steel mill, and a lot of people have been killed or injured.” He paused, gritting his teeth. “And as if that’s not horrible enough, there’s a revolt going on at the plant. Relatives storming the gates and so on.”
“Oh, my God,” Honor said. “Those poor people. What are you going to do?”
“I’m leaving for there immediately,” he said.
“But . . . do you have to do it?” she asked. “Can’t you send someone to take care of it? That’s Angelo’s territory, after all.”
He shook his head. “Angelo’s got a bad case of the flu, remember? That’s why he’s not here. Besides, I don’t want anybody else going,” he said. “The situation is too volatile. I don’t trust anybody else to handle it.”
“I understand,” she said. “You always were the best troubleshooter the company had.” She heard the yacht’s helicopter fire up its engines over the music of the band, then felt the downdraft created by the rotors.
“The helicopter’s taking me to the airport,” Adrian said. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
She nodded her acquiescence. “Be careful,” she said.
“I will,” he replied. “I’d better hurry.”
He rushed toward the stairway that took him to the top deck, where the helicopter pad was located. Moments later, Honor watched it rise into the air, then level off and head away from the yacht into the dying light.
In the owner’s luxuriously appointed suite, Niki, with Justin’s powerful arms about her, pressed the button that automatically closed the curtains. Then she pressed another one to dim the lights very low. She turned to him, and they kissed as if they were starved lovers, fueled by carnal desire, copious amounts of champagne, and a couple of lines of cocaine that Justin had provided. Stealing Justin away from Marella made this occasion a triumph. From outside, the music of the Brazilian band intruded, but they paid no attention to it. As they kissed, he pushed her toward the silk-covered bed, finally toppling her onto it.
“Just a sec,” Niki whispered, slipping out of the gold satin shoes she wore and dropping them to the floor. She scooted across the bed and lit two large candles on the built-in bedside cabinet, then pressed the button to turn the lights completely out. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
“You look good enough to eat in any light,” Justin said in his low, raspy baritone. He grinned lasciviously. “And that’s what I’m going to do.”
He kicked off his loafers, then unbuckled his belt and let his trousers fall to the floor. He was wearing no underwear, and his fully engorged penis sprang out in front of him.
“Hmmm,” Niki murmured, her dark eyes bright with lust. “Quick, help me out of this damn dress.” She slid up on her knees with her back to Justin, and he unbuttoned and unzipped the dress. It slipped off her shoulders, and Niki turned to him, her breasts fully exposed. She wore no underwear, either.
Justin sucked in his breath and let it out. “Whew, babe,” he said, putting a hand on each of her ample, rosy-nippled breasts and massaging them gently.
“That feels so good, Justin,” Niki moaned with pleasure. She changed positions and squirmed out of her dress, tossing it carelessly to the floor, all the while enjoying his hands on her, his fingers thrumming her nipples.
She sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at him coyly, and began flicking her tongue at his penis.
Justin groaned and eased himself into her mouth, and Niki laved him with her tongue. Her nipples had grown hard, and she was getting wet between her thighs. “Whoa,” Justin gasped. “God, Niki. You’re going to make me shoot.” He pulled away from her, then lifted her under her arms, sliding her back onto the bed.
Niki spread her legs apart, anxious to feel him inside her, but Justin had other plans first. “I love that Brazilian wax job, babe,” he said, running a finger up and down between her thighs. “That’s so hot.”
Niki mewled like a kitten, excited by the feel of his finger there, and shoved herself toward it.
But Justin quickly got onto his knees and raised her legs, placing one on each of his shoulders, then buried his face in her mound. She thought she would levitate with excitement when she felt his tongue inside her, licking and probing, licking and probing.
“Oh, my God. Justin . . . Justin,” she moaned. “Oh, it feels so good. I can’t stand it. . . . I’m . . . I’m . . .”
He abruptly stopped and eased her legs down onto the bed, spreading them wide. He mounted her, plunging into her with the force of a man possessed. He began driving himself in and out, in and out. All the while his mouth nuzzled her breasts, first one, then the other, his tongue licking, his teeth teasing her hard nipples.
Niki began to thrash from side to side, lost in a world of ecstatic lust. When she started contracting, she let out a cry. “Oh, God. Justin . . . Justin . . . oh, my God . . . I’m . . .” With another loud cry, she let herself go completely and began to spasm, overcome by wave after wave of breathtaking orgasm.
With a mighty thrust Justin drove himself into her and flooded her with his seed. His body tensed and jerked as he drained himself. Then he fell atop her, panting, his chest heaving against hers. “Fuck, Niki,” he rasped. “That was so good.”
“I know,” she gasped, still catching her breath.
He gazed at her with eyes that glittered in the candlelight. “Was that okay?”
Niki laughed. “It was adequate,” she said, running her hands up and down his back, finally bringing them to rest on his shoulders.
She kissed him, then gazed into his eyes. “But what about Marella? Is she going to freak out?”
He stretched out on the bed, pulling Niki alongside him. “What’s Marella going to know?” He shrugged. “Besides, who cares if she does?”
“She’s going to know something’s going on if you’re here all night,” Niki said, “and if I know her, she won’t like it.”
“Yeah, she’s like a nun,” Justin said, laughing. “She doesn’t like anything, including me. So I don’t give a damn.”
Neither do I, Niki thought. Marella was always too self-righteous for her taste. The only reason they’d been friends was that they’d been thrown together at the same schools and social events over the years.
He traced a finger around her nipples, then down her torso, encircling her navel, and letting it rest between her thighs. “I should have married you, babe,” he said, “but then it wouldn’t be as much fun, would it?”
“Hmmm.” Niki brushed her hand across his testicles. “I like it better this way. I’m not ready to settle down like you and Marella.”
“Marella may have settled down,” Justin said, running his fingers up and down her mound, “but I don’t have any intention of living that way. Not when somebody like you comes along.”
Niki smiled. “My sentiments exactly,” she said. “The world’s a big candy store—why have just one piece?”
Justin began licking her neck and ears, his breath hot on her skin. “And you’re the best piece of candy around, Niki,” he whispered.
And you can have all you want, she thought, feeling his engorged manhood against her thigh. The more I get, the less Marella can have.
He mounted her again. “I want you to have a night you’ll never forget,” he said as he pushed himself inside her.
“I’m sure I won’t, Justin,” she cooed, already wet with excitement. “You’re the perfect guest.”
Chapter Two
Ariadne slowly crossed the marble floors of the hushed museum, pausing now and then in front of a painting that especially appealed to her eye. She was familiar with the small but interesting collection of the Williams College museum. The building was a neoclassical structure of elegant proportions, and it contained a wealth of wonderful paintings and sculpture that spanned centuries of art. While she didn’t claim to understand everything she saw—she was, after all, majoring in economics—she was learning how to appreciate beauty for its own sake. Having spent her teenage years buried at a boarding school and summer camp, spending only brief vacations with her foster parents in tiny, rural Roxbury, Connecticut, she hadn’t been exposed to much art.
Through an arched doorway she stepped into another gallery and began a slow turn about the room. She felt the hair on the nape of her neck stand up, and became aware that someone was watching her. Shifting her gaze slightly, she caught sight of a man a few feet behind her at a diagonal. Probably one of the guards, she thought. But when she turned to have a better look, she instantly realized that the man wasn’t a guard and that whoever he was, he was watching her. Quickly averting her eyes, she felt herself blush with embarrassment, and she stared hard at the painting on the wall in front of her. She was so nervous, she didn’t really see it, but she tilted her head this way and that as if studying it closely.
He’s the same guy I’ve caught watching me before. I’m sure of it. Hadn’t she seen him looking at her in the student center dining hall several times? And she was certain that more than once when she’d been walking on campus, she’d seen him trailing along behind her. Why would a guy who’s so good-looking—so hot—be interested in me? I’m not a flashy dresser, and I don’t even wear much makeup. What does he want?
She tried to concentrate on the painting but couldn’t. Her attention was focused on the stranger, whoever he was. He didn’t look like the average student, she thought. For one thing, he was older. A graduate student? Possibly. Also, he looked more . . . what was it? she asked herself. Rugged and experienced. That was it. Somehow, he seemed more worldly than most students, as if he’d done a lot of things that had nothing to do with academics.
Nervously brushing a long strand of blond hair out of her eyes, she moved along a few feet to the next painting, pretending to study it as she had done with the last one. She failed to see more than a blur of colors. She was too agitated by the stranger’s presence. I wish Kurt was with me, she thought. Maybe if he saw my boyfriend, then he’d buzz off. On the other hand, this guy didn’t look like the type to be intimidated by another man. And Kurt, even though tall and athletic, was, she sensed, no match for this guy.
Moving a few more steps along, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. The man was sitting down on one of the long padded benches in the center of the room and appeared to be eyeing one of the paintings. But she knew better. She’d seen him stare at her again. Suddenly Ariadne was angry. I came here for a break, she thought, and this creep has ruined it.
Without thinking about it, she abruptly marched to the bench and sat down a couple of feet from him, facing in the opposite direction. “Have you been following me?” she asked in a low voice.
He looked directly at her, and Ariadne held his gaze. His dark eyes sparkled with interest and humor, she thought, and his sensuous lips spread in a smile. “Following you?” he parroted.
“Yes,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “I keep seeing you everywhere I go, and you’re always staring at me.”
He shook his head, and his dark, slightly long and curly hair shook with it. “I haven’t been following you,” he said, “but I have stared at you.” He smiled again.
What? So he admitted it. Ariadne was momentarily speechless. “But . . . but why?”
“Because you’re beautiful,” he said. “I’m so
rry if I’ve scared you, but I’m only doing what any red-blooded male would do.” He shifted on the bench, and Ariadne sensed that beneath his clothing he was extremely well built. He was tall with broad shoulders and an impressive chest that tapered to a slim waist. She could see now that he was as she’d thought: very good-looking but in a ruggedly handsome way with dark hair and eyes. He wasn’t perfectly groomed, nor did he appear to be a buffed, spray-tanned gym rat like so many of the big men about campus. No, the color in his face was more the result of spending a lot of time in the outdoors.
The man stuck out a hand. “My name’s Matt,” he said congenially. “Please accept my apology.”
Ariadne looked down at the proffered hand, then up at him. His expression was so genuinely warm and inviting. She took his hand. “I’m Ariadne,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be rude, but I’m not used to being stared at. And I have seen you around a lot.”
“I really am sorry,” he said. He glanced about the room. “I guess part of it is that we have some of the same interests. I come to the museum a lot, and I’ve seen you here. Are you an art major?”
Ariadne shook her head. “Oh, no,” she replied. “I’m studying economics.”
He nodded. “But you like the museum?”
“Yes. It’s soothing and peaceful, and a lot of the art is beautiful.” She paused, then said, “What about you? Why do you come here? Are you an art major?”
He shook his head again. “Not exactly. I’m sort of a dabbler. I paint and sculpt. Sculpt mostly.”
“You paint and sculpt, but you’re not an art major?”
“No. I work part-time at the Clark Institute. I do a little restoration work.”
“Oh, I go there a lot, too,” she said, becoming enthusiastic. “I’ve seen the restoration center, but you’re the first person I’ve met who works there.” He doesn’t look like the type I imagined worked at a place like that, she thought. Then she realized that she had no idea what that sort of person might look like. She’d never met an art restorer before. “It’s funny,” she said. “You look outdoorsy. Not like the type who stays cooped up doing whatever it is restorers do.”
