by Rebecca York
She took a step forward, looking around anxiously for Cole but didn’t spot him. The atmosphere in the room made her nerves jangle. She sensed arousal. Anticipation. Excitement.
Oh Lord, suppose she and Cole were really separated for the day? Had he been sent to some other party by mistake—or on purpose. Or did his absence signify something worse?
She wanted to exit the room, but that wasn’t an option.
While she was debating what to do, a waiter, also in Mayan dress came around with a tray of ceramic cups.
To give herself something to do, she took one and murmured a thanks. One sip told her she wouldn’t be drinking much. It was potent, perhaps a rum punch that was mostly liquor. Or did it have something else in it—like what they’d given to Cole last night? She shuddered, hoping that wasn’t going to happen to her.
An uncomfortable feeling made her glance up to find a man eyeing her, his gaze lingering on her breasts and her hips before gliding upward to her face. He was tall, over six feet, and looked to be in his early fifties, with salt and pepper hair cut short. Smiling, he came toward her.
“Hello. I’m Dane.”
“Emma,” she answered.
“Your first time here?”
She moistened her lips before answering and knew he followed the movement of her tongue. “Yes.”
When he stepped closer, she took a small step back.
“Are you alone?”
She looked around. “My boyfriend is supposed to be here.”
“Maybe he changed his mind.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” she answered, praying she’d see him soon.
The drumming and flute music swirled around her. The man stepped closer, putting a hand on her arm, stroking.
“I’m spoken for,” she said.
“We’ll see.”
She could coldcock him, but then she would be stepping completely out of character.
“That tunic looks wonderful on you,” he said, reaching out to stroke a hand against her breast.
She caught her breath, trying to back away and found that he was crowding her into a corner.
“Don’t.”
“You’ll find me a very good lover. If you accept my discipline.”
She tensed, caught between her need to escape and her need to maintain her cover. What if Del Conte was watching to see what she’d do?
She was saved from making a decision when a harsh voice said, “Sorry I’m late, sweetie,”
Relief washed over Emma. It was Cole.
“It’s all right. I just got here,” she said, knowing that if she told him what had happened, this guy was dog meat.
Dane must have come to a similar conclusion because he moved quickly away.
“What took you so long?” she asked, struggling to hold her voice steady.
“The first set of clothing Sidney brought me was too tight.”
She nodded, wondering if that had been on purpose so she’d have to start out here alone.
“Then when I didn’t see you, I went looking and found that guy had pushed you into a corner.”
“Yes.”
The drums and flutes suddenly stopped, and the whole room went silent.
Everybody was turning expectantly toward Emma’s right, and she looked to see two men dressed in feathered, flowing robes and huge headdresses step into the room. Between them was a slender blond young woman, her face a mixture of panic and excitement.
She was dressed in a white gown, a bit like one of those hotel bathrobes only much thinner so that her naked body showed through the fabric.
The priests led her across the room, through the crowd toward a narrow stone table Emma hadn’t seen earlier.
Everybody followed, making a circle around the table. Emma and Cole hung a little back. Whatever was going to happen, she didn’t want to see much of it.
“We are here to worship the ancient gods in the ways that have been handed down through the ages.”
“Yes,” the crowd answered.
“And one among us with grace and strength will be our offering.”
The priest looked at the woman. “We thank you for surrendering to the ancient gods. Do you give yourself freely?”
“Yes,” she murmured.
One of the priests handed her a cup, and she drank from it, grimacing a little before handing it back.
“We will begin. Take off your gown,” he said.
Her hands weren’t quite steady as she fumbled with the belt at her waist, untying it, then pulling the gown open and shrugging it off her shoulders so that it pooled around her ankles. She had narrow hips and big breasts, and her pubic hair had been shaved.
As she stood naked for a moment before the assembled men and women, a buzz of anticipation rose around the room.
“Climb onto the table and submit.”
She mounted a short set of steps to the horizontal surface and lay down with her arms at her sides. One of the priests pulled her hands above her head and fastened them to a metal ring. Her hips were near the end of the table, and the other priest spread her legs so that they were hanging over the sides, where small platforms supported her feet. When she was secured to the table, one of the priests stepped back, and the other began to murmur low, sensual words in a foreign language as he started to stroke her with a wand made of long feathers. He stroked her arms, her ribs, the sides of her breasts, and she stirred on the table, obviously aroused by the feathery touch.
He slid the feathers along the insides of her thighs, then came back to her breasts, drawing wide then increasingly narrow circles around her nipples, until the feathers were rubbing against the raised crests. Emma could hear her harsh breathing.
From the side of the table he picked up two metal clips, opening and closing them, clacking them together.
Then he took one of her nipples between his fingers, pulling and tugging on it before opening the metal and clipping it onto her breast, behind the nipple so that it stood up higher.
Lord, didn’t that hurt? Or was she accustomed to this kind of treatment?
She cried out as he played with the crest of the nipple before repeating the procedure with her other breast.
Both nipples stood up now, held by the clips, The first priest stepped back and the other moved to the end of the table, dipping his fingers in scented oil before playing with her genitals, pulling on her labia, making brief passes at her clit, thrusting one finger inside her and stroking slowly in and out of her vagina, making the woman on the table writhe.
Emma was horrified at the scene, yet she couldn’t stop herself from reacting. Watching the priests turn this woman on was turning her on, too.
The woman raised and lowered her hips in a frantic motion.
“Do you need sexual satisfaction?” the priest asked.
“Yes,” she gasped.
“It’s much too soon. Your satisfaction will be your offering to the gods. But you must be worthy to give it.” His partner played with her nipples again, brushing over the stiffened tips above the clips.
“Please,” she gasped. When she tried to rock her hips, he placed a hand on her thigh, holding her still as he played with the entrance to her vagina, circling his finger just inside the rim.
She moaned.
He picked up a curved ivory-colored rod from the side of the table, oiled it and held it up for the crowd to see. Turning back to the woman, he slipped it into her anus, stroking in and out.
“Jesus,” Cole swore.
He put his hand on Emma’s arm, pulling her away from the scene, leading her toward one of the stone walls.
She hadn’t noticed that there were wooden plank doors in the wall, but he opened one, leading her into a small bedroom.
He slammed the door behind them and gathered her into his arms, lowering his mouth to hers for a savage kiss.
After the tension of the night before, it was a release of all the emotions they’d been holding in check.
She clung to him, giving and taking.
Kissing wasn’t enough. She was ravenous for more. When one of his hands slid down to her hips, pulling her lower body against his enormous erection, she moved against him, frustrated that he was hitting her middle and not where she needed him.
With undisguised greed, he slipped his other hand between them and cupped one breast, taking the weight of it in his palm, and she knew she had been wanting him to touch her like that since the last time they’d made love.
As he stroked his thumb over the hardened tip, she heard herself make a low, pleading sound. When he tugged at her tunic, she helped him get it over her head. He tossed it away, then lowered his head, circling her nipple with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth and pulling on her strongly.
The sensations made her drunk with need. And she tried to tell him by arching into the caress.
His kiss turned frantic as his hands moved over her body, pulling off her short shirt, stroking her hips, her arms, and back to her breasts.
Her hands were no less frantic as they worked at his tunic, dispatching it as he had dispatched hers until he was naked in her arms.
The feel of his skin against hers drove her almost to madness.
His hands slid down her back, over the curve of her bottom, pulling her against himself.
Reaching up, she pulled his head down to hers, kissing him with a passion born of need—and fear for the future. They were in a horrible place where anything could happen. They had an assignment to complete. And for a moment their mission intruded.
“We have work to do.”
“We can’t do it now.”
When he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, she wondered if he was afraid that she’d try to break away from him.
Never!
He laid her down gently, then came down on top of her, panting as he trailed kisses down her throat, then her collarbones, working his way to her breasts, turning his head one way and then the other, kissing and licking at her, driving her wild with need.
His hand slid down her body, then into the triangle of blond hair at the top of her legs before reaching lower to glide into her sex. She was swollen and slick for him, and he murmured his appreciation as he stroked her from vagina to clit and back again.
“Please. I want you inside me.”
“My finger?”
“Are you teasing me—the way the priests were teasing that woman?”
“Did that turn you on. Watching her?”
“You know it did. And you know it’s more than that. It’s us. Together.”
He moved over her, angling his body so that his penis slid against her wet heat.
Unable to wait, she took his firm, full cock in her hand and guided him to her vagina.
And then, finally, finally, he was inside her, filling her.
She kept her hands on his back as he bent to kiss her, then began to move his hips, drawing almost all the way out of her, before gliding back in, the measured rhythm teasing and inciting her.
“Please . . .” she moaned, like the woman on the table, her hips raising and lowering, begging him to speed up his strokes.
As the pace became frantic, she climbed toward the top of a high mountain, where the thin air made her head spin. And as she toppled over the edge, she felt him follow her into space.
He clasped her to him, calling out her name as his body jerked with his climax.
He lay on top of her, breathing hard, then shifted to his side, taking her with him, clasping her sweat-slick body.
She belonged to him in ways she had never imagined. Maybe she had belonged to him since the day they’d met. And he belonged to her.
“We have to talk,” he said in a voice that sent a shiver down her spine.
“About us?”
“Yeah. I have to tell you things about me.”
“Something I’m not going to like?”
“I wish I knew.”
At that moment, the door burst open and armed men spilled into the room.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Emma cried out.
Cole leaped off the bed, putting himself between the men and Emma, but he knew that if he attacked, they’d kill him, and do God knew what to her.
“Don’t move, or you’re dead.” It was the guy named Greg who had served them drinks on the hovercraft. He looked a lot less friendly now.
“Hands behind your backs.”
“Let her put some clothes on,” Cole growled, keeping his voice steady when he wanted to scream in rage. How dare these bastards burst into a private bedroom.
But he knew they wouldn’t have done it unless they’d found out something about him and Emma. Had he said something last night, and they’d been waiting to pounce.? Or was there some other source of information? The question was, how much did they know?
He saw the men ogling Emma’s naked body as she cringed away and tried to cover herself. Their smirking faces made him want to crash their heads together, but somehow he kept from going berserk.
After an eternity of silence, Greg picked the tunic up off the floor and threw it at Emma. She snatched it up and pulled it over her head. It covered her from shoulders to just under her breasts, leaving most of her exposed. She was less than half dressed, and that looked like that was all she was going to get.
“Hands behind your back,” Greg said again.
Still buck naked, Cole complied, and the security man clamped metal cuffs around his wrists.
Another man did the same for Emma. Her eyes met Cole’s, and he saw the panic that she was struggling to hold down.
He wanted to say something reassuring, but it would only be a lie. They were in bad trouble.
“We are going through the party room to the exit. Walk straight ahead. Keep your eyes down. Don’t try anything funny.”
They exited the bedroom to find everyone craning their necks to get a look at them. Cole was still naked, and he knew that was an intimidation tactic. On the other hand, it probably wasn’t all that unusual on this damn ship.
The security men had told them to look down, but Cole kept his head up, his gaze raking the crowd as the armed men marched them through the fantasy setting and out the door.
They formed a parade down the hallway with a guard in front, Emma next, then Cole and two more security men.
He kept trying to figure out how to get away, but he couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t get them shot. Or worse.
They all took the elevator to Deck Five and then to Del Conte’s office.
The Windward’s master was sitting behind his desk his face impassive. But Cole saw emotions churning below the surface of his calm. Although he looked the captives up and down appraisingly, Cole refused to be intimidated.
“What’s this about?” he demanded.
“Your background doesn’t check out.”
“I don’t believe that.”
Ignoring the protest, Del Conte continued, “Why are you really here?”
“To have a good time.”
“What’s your real name?”
“Cole Mason.”
“I don’t think so.”
Cole wanted to ask if he’d given Big Ben the wrong answers, but then he’d be admitting that there were wrong ones.
Del Conte kept his gaze steady. “Did you kill one of my security officers, a man named Tom Dalhasi.”
Emma sucked in a sharp breath, her gaze going to Cole.
He kept his voice even. “No.”
“He went missing last night. There’s a bloodstain on the carpet in one of the staterooms.”
Remembering the injured woman from last night, Cole snapped, “Maybe one of your guests got too rough with a slave.”
Del Conte glared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
No point in challenging him on that. “You have any evidence linking me to him?”
“A man in a security officer’s uniform dumped a heavy bundle off the side of the ship around 3:00 a.m.”
Cole shook his head. “I d
on’t know anything about it.” He looked at Emma. “I was with you then, wasn’t I?”
“Yes,” she managed to say.
“You got back at three twenty,” Del Conte said.
Emma was watching the exchange wide-eyed. Obviously she was thinking about last night, reevaluating what he’d said about the missing hours.
Del Conte kept his voice even. “I believe you’ll tell me what I want to know.”
“I have told you!” Cole spat out as he glared at the man.
The master of the Windward leaned back comfortably in his expensive desk chair. “You’d rather watch me torture Ms. Ray? I can tie her to that stone table in the party room and do some things that she’s not going to like.”
Cole’s guts twisted. He’d talk to save Emma. The problem was, he was pretty sure that talking wasn’t going to buy them much. Once Del Conte found out why they were here, they’d both end up buried at sea like Tom Dalhasi.
Del Conte looked at Emma. “Did you go to the Carlton Academy in Baltimore?”
She stared at him. “No.”
“Where did you go to school?”
After a slight hesitation, she answered, “Woodrow Wilson High School.”
“We can check on that. I’ll give you some time to think about it,” he said. “A half hour.” He turned to Greg. “Lock them in the brig.”
The guards marched them out of the office and down the hall again, into an anteroom with a desk, several chairs, a row of lockers, and a computer system with a bank of monitors showing various views of the ship. Also a gun rack with Uzis along the wall. Well, maybe things were looking up.
There were doors along a hallway, and Greg shoved him through one into a metal room about ten by twelve. Emma landed on top of him before the door slammed closed behind them.
He took a moment to catch his breath and assess their surroundings before scooting around so that Emma was leaning against him.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
“Did you kill that guy?”
“If I had, I wouldn’t tell you about it now.”
She looked around the room. “Yeah. They’re probably hoping we’ll say something incriminating in here. She forced a laugh. “Like where I went to school; can you believe he asked about that?”
