by Mia Dymond
Another quick breath. “He’s got his hand beneath her blouse.”
“Snap it.” He moved his hand higher until he brushed his index finger across the top of the fabric covering her left breast. Her nipple protested against the soft restraint.
“What now?” he prompted.
“She’s sitting with one leg over his.”
He released a low chuckle while he slipped his fingers inside her bra and caressed the peaked nipple. “I’m sure he’s got his fingers inside her. Is she moving her hips?”
“I don’t know,” she said breathlessly.
“Zoom in.”
He moved his second hand from her hips, slipped it under her skirt, and traced the right edge of her panties between her legs. “Tell me, Grace.”
“Yes, she’s moving her hips.”
“Fast or slow?”
“Fast.”
“Click it.”
He pushed her panties to one side and rubbed his fingers over the soft, wet flesh he found there. His cock began a dull ache as he drew light, tiny circles over her slick clit, slowly applying more pressure.
“Does she have her hands on him?”
“I don’t know,” she spat as she thrust against his hand. “Probably.”
He smiled against her shoulder. His woman was thoroughly aroused – warm, wet and on the verge of wild.
“Figure it out,” he told her, “or I’ll stop.”
“No!” she whimpered.
He pressed harder against her clit with his thumb while he entered her with two fingers. “She isn’t touching him?”
“No,” she groaned. “I meant, don’t stop. Yes, she’s got him in a death grip.”
“What part of him?”
He moved his fingers quickly in and out of her while the swollen muscles squeezed tight. He felt a thud on the toe of his boot but analysis was pushed to the side when Grace reached between them, unzipped his jeans, and wrapped his dick with her hand.
“His cock,” she moaned. “She’s stroking his cock, just like this.”
Harvard’s eyes crossed and nearly rolled back in his head at the insane pleasure of Grace stroking and pulling his cock. The savage beast rolled over with all four paws in the air, purring in contentment as she continued her assault.
“Harvard,” she whimpered, “I’m going to come.”
An electric tingle shocked the base of his spine and although nothing would please him more than blowing his load into the warmth of her grip, logic dictated that couldn’t happen here. But, he could put her out of misery.
“Do it,” he hissed. “Come on my fingers, baby.”
He quickened his pace, arching his fingers upward to rub the one spot that would send her flying, and squeezed her nipple with the hand still inside her bra.
“Oh, yes,” she murmured, “right there.”
Her hand tightened around him and just about the time he thought he may need to call time-out, she whimpered again while her inner muscles clamped down hard and gave his fingers a good suck.
He gently removed his hand from underneath her top and moved it to stroke her hair while her body continued to pulse with the aftershocks of her orgasm. Finally, he removed his hand from her body and smoothed down her skirt.
“We can get out of here as soon as you replace my phone,” he said against her hair.
“Uh, I can’t.”
“Why? You need me to bend down some more?”
“No, I dropped the phone.” She lifted her head. “But I got the pictures.”
He grinned as he bent to retrieve the device. That explained the earlier thump on his boot.
“So, that’s it? We’re done?”
“No way.” He straightened, tucked his phone back into his pocket, grabbed her hand, and then pulled her toward the exit. “We’re not even close to being done.”
***
His hands shook as he reached into the kitchen cabinet for a mug. Since nothing else seemed to calm him, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to try warm milk. He opened the refrigerator, grabbed the carton, and then carefully poured while he reflected on his current yet ongoing frustration. One woman should not cause this big of a problem.
He had to admit, when he’d been forced to participate in the operation, he expected to complete it without difficult. At the time, he thought he knew the precise location of the jewelry and that his role was a simple one. Snatch the piece, pass it to his associate, and then wash his hands of the whole thing. Instead, he was being dragged further down a winding road that had no end in sight.
He placed the mug into the microwave, closed the door, and then pressed buttons to bring it to a lukewarm temperature. Time was running short and he feared he may have to accept defeat and the consequences that went along with it.
Ironically, the microwave beeped at exactly the same time his cell phone chirped to signal an incoming call. He didn’t need to read the screen to know the grim reaper called. Resigned to the fact that he would receive bad news, he allowed the device to chirp until he retrieved his mug and set it on the counter.
With an amazingly steady hand, he slid his finger across the screen to connect the call.
“I have nothing to report,” he said.
“You’ve been granted a reprieve. There has been a new development.”
Shock almost rendered him speechless but curiosity pushed him to find out how he had gotten so lucky.
“You located the jewelry?”
“In a matter of speaking. She has advertised the piece for auction.”
“What? With all due respect, are you sure your information is accurate?”
Although the event would provide closure to the problem, he had a sneaking suspicion that the information was bogus. In fact, he would’ve been the first to know if the object was for sale.
“Absolutely. My source is an insider.”
Still skeptical, he allowed himself a cautious breath of relief. “Are you going to bid?”
“No, I will use a representative.”
“So, you won’t require my services any longer?”
An evil chuckle crossed the line and strangled his hopefulness. “You will act as my representative.”
Realization nearly took him to his knees. He never stood a chance; from the beginning, the plan had been intended to set him up. He grasped the edge of the counter to keep himself upright.
“I will contact you with further direction,” the caller continued. “Make yourself available.”
CHAPTER NINE
Braced on one hip against a back wall in the auction room at the Hummingbird Bay Convention Center, Harvard watched people file through the front entrance in anticipation of winning the bid for ownership of the purple peacock. Eager participants filed through the doorway, headed to a long, rectangular table where attendants sat to register them and provide a numbered paddle.
The area selected for the auction consisted of a large room with a capacity limit of one hundred people and another attendant stood at the entrance and counted bidders with the click of a small, metal tally counter. Although he wished differently, it appeared one hundred people would participate.
He shifted to his opposite hip and his weapon rubbed his ribcage, reminding him of the opportunity for dangerous confrontation. The mission was cut and dry. Once the auction began, the perp would outbid the other participants and the team would close in quietly and take him down without incident.
That was the plan anyway.
He and the team had taken precautions for anything they might anticipate. The exits had been wired to seal immediately with the touch of a cell phone app, the exchange of merchandise and money would be made in a nearby, private office, away from the crowd, and Hummingbird Bay PD was on full alert. Still, he knew better than to let down his guard.
He ran his hand through his hair while he second-guessed himself for the thousandth time. Were they truly prepared for this mission? Had they anticipated every single angle the perp might take? And worse, what if somethi
ng went wrong? He quickly shook that thought from his mind. Normally confident in any mission, this scenario was different. Grace was involved. Grace, the one woman who knew him inside and out; Grace, who showed him the light when things looked dark; Grace, the woman he loved.
No bullshit. He loved that woman and if this dickhead, whoever he was, even thought about endangering her, he’d kill him. He’d point his weapon and engage without one conscious thought.
Diesel crossed the room and stopped next to him. “Where’s our mark?”
“Grace is in the office with the auctioneer and Ice.”
Diesel raised an eyebrow. “Ice is with her?”
“Yes, he volunteered to bring her in as soon as the auction begins.”
“Any particular reason why?”
“He expects Bailey to show up.”
The captain didn’t appear surprised by his statement. “Everything’s in place. Did you run a test on the doors?”
“Several times. Any one of our cell phones will seal them and they won’t open for an additional thirty minutes.” He swallowed hard; he had mixed emotions about that. Although he wasn’t crazy about being trapped behind a locked door, he figured the alternative was worse. He’d much rather be stuck in this room with the perp rather than allow him to escape.
Diesel glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes and counting.”
***
Ice stood outside the small office in which Grace and the auction coordinator sat and gave himself a mental pat on the back when he caught sight of the visitor who entered the building. Right on time. Dressed in a bright blue sleeveless dress with a skirt that ended mid-thigh, Bailey removed her sunglasses, batted her long – and natural, he recently discovered – eyelashes at a man behind the table, and then sauntered toward him.
He released a hard sigh, both out of annoyance that she attended and out of frustration that he’d have to restrain himself from shoving her against the nearest wall and kissing her senseless until she agreed to leave. Yeah, like that would ever happen.
The smile she gave him when she approached only made him more edgy. Damn those pouty, pink lips.
“Hello, Ice.”
“Short Stuff.” He nodded behind his bottled desire. “You in the market for jewelry?”
“Hardly. I came to keep Grace company.”
He gestured with his head at the office. “She’s inside.”
“Will you tell her I’ll get two seats for us?”
“No.”
She frowned, obviously not expecting his quick denial. “No?”
“No,” he repeated.
“Okay, I’ll play along. Why won’t you relay the message?”
“Because you won’t be attending the auction alone.”
“And I suppose you’re going to stop me?”
He nodded.
“I can get around you, Ice.”
He looked down at her black stilettos – the ones, in his mind, that begged him to wrap them around his hips. “Not in those you can’t.”
“Care to take that bet?”
He forced his gaze off the shoes and back into hers. “Absolutely.”
“I could take them off.”
“Go ahead.”
Her narrowed, deep blue gaze held him captive for a full three seconds before she finally blinked and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Where should I wait?”
“Right here.” He slapped the wall next to him. “Where I can keep a close eye on you.”
“You think I’ll make a run for it?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation, “but you won’t get far.”
***
Grace left the office and stepped out into the hallway, anxious to get the auction started so she could put this whole nightmare behind her. She totally supported Harvard’s belief that as soon as the bidding of the peacock began, the suspect would step forward and hang himself in the process. Now all they had to do was give him the opportunity.
She paused next to Bailey while Henry Davis left the area to take his place behind the auctioning podium. “Are you okay?”
“Of course. Why?”
“Your cheeks are flushed.”
When Bailey hesitated to explain, Grace moved her gaze to Ice who smirked and pushed himself of the wall. She bit back a grin – obviously, the two of them shared something they didn’t want anyone else to know.
“I’m fine,” her friend mumbled. “Just ready to get this over with.”
“Ladies.” Ice gestured at the auction room with one hand. “They’re getting ready to close the doors.”
With Ice following behind, she and Bailey walked the distance to the designated room and stood against the wall next to the door. Filled to capacity, the room reeked of money and Grace recognized quite a few of the participants. She grinned when her gaze landed on Martha Peters. Obviously, Harvard had provided her the pictures from the stakeout; what better way to exact revenge than to spend a couple million dollars? Too bad she wouldn’t really get to spend it.
She continued to gaze around the room until she finally settled it on Harvard in the back. Although he wasn’t dressed in a suit and tie like the majority of the men present, his crisp, white, buttoned-up dress shirt made him look just as dignified. She dragged her tongue across her bottom lip while she appreciated the ripple of muscle beneath the cotton barrier and allowed herself to forget the purpose of the auction, if only for a minute. His black denim jeans that squeezed his magnificently trimmed hips and his black combat boots completed his look of professionalism. Even though she knew why he attended, the only evidence of danger was the slight bulge beneath the right side of his ribcage. She hoped to high Heaven that he wouldn’t need to expose the weapon.
“Anything unusual about these people?” Ice spoke low under his breath.
She gave the crowd one more quick perusal, ready to issue a definite no when she focused on an individual she hadn’t noticed previously.
“Well, maybe,” she answered.
“Maybe?”
She nodded. “Richard Worthington is seated in the front row.”
“He’s probably here to outbid anyone who attempts to win the brooch.” Bailey said as she looked around the mountain of male between them. “You know how protective he is of Mr. and Mrs. McGuire.”
Ice issued his response with his usual calm, cool tone. “We’re about to get answers. You know the drill, ladies.” He glanced at her and then Bailey. No one leaves this room without me.”
Henry banged the gavel and then proceeded to begin the auction. Paddles swished the air around the room as bidders raised them like a cop who directed traffic, hoping the paddle would stop someone else from having a chance to own the peacock. True to Harvard’s prediction, the paddles diminished in number as the bids neared the amount of the appraisal, until only one bid was cast for one million dollars.
And then Martha Peters raised her paddle. “Four million dollars.”
Silence enveloped the room and Grace’s heart skipped a beat. Martha Peters was the suspect? Shock moved her gaze back onto Harvard. Still propped against the back wall seemingly relaxed and uninterested to the untrained eye, he gave her a wink and a very slight side-to-side shake of his head. She took a deep breath and then released it, relieved that Mr. Wonderful had added insurance that someone would inflate the bid.
God, she loved him.
Still, the suspect remained at large.
She folded her arms across her chest in an effort to keep from fidgeting and leaned back against the wall.
“Relax,” Ice whispered. “We’ve got him right where we want him.”
She restrained herself from giving his shin a good, hard kick. Relax? Not possible.
“Easier said than done, Mr. Roboto,” Bailey drawled from his left side.
Mr. Davis continued to advance the action. “I’ve got four million, do I hear four million, one hundred?”
Again, silence deafened the room. Under her skin, nerves screamed. Sweat dampened her forehead and th
e back of her neck. Her throat was suddenly very, very dry.
And then, when she was sure she would pass out from the sheer anticipation of it all, a lone bidder raised his paddle.
“Five million dollars.”
She blinked her eyes to clear the spots that clouded her vision and her brain fought to process what she had just witnessed while she heard the final bang of the gavel to end the auction. Without a second thought, she placed one hand over her mouth and rushed out of the room. Intent on locking herself in the office, she was stopped in mid-flight when she felt a sharp tug on her arm just before she was pulled away from the crowd.
***
Wading through the crowd, Harvard and Diesel made their way to the front of the room where Richard Worthington stood at the podium, waiting to take possession of the peacock.
“Sonuvabitch,” he growled while they plowed through people, “the butler did do it.”
Diesel’s agreement was immediate. “Looks like it. Ice and I will meet you in the office with your prisoner.”
Diesel left the room as soon as they approached the podium. Harvard stepped next to Worthington and nodded at the auction coordinator.
“Please meet me in the office,” the auctioneer told Worthington, “and we’ll complete the paperwork.”
Worthington frowned as he turned to look at Harvard. “May I help you?”
Harvard shook his head. Why was it that a perp always played dumb?
“You know who I am, Worthington.” He clamped a hand on the butler’s shoulder. “We’ll discuss it away from the crowd.”
The other man attempted to shake free of his hold. “I have no idea what you need to discuss.”
“Fine. We’ll play it your way.” He tightened his hold. “Either you come peacefully, or I make things extremely difficult for you.”
Worthington’s muscles relaxed and he walked silently beside him. Harvard approached the doorway with a weird, nagging sense of suspicion. This was too easy. Worthington turned up a little too conveniently, in his opinion.
