She picked up the bag and peeled it open. With an obvious sound of appreciation, she licked her fingers and dipped them into the bag—rubbed powder-encrusted digits along her gums and tasted sugar.
Günter fished in his pocket and Jenny laid back, her head in his lap, so he could place dilating drops in her eyes. Closing her lids, she waited for the liquid to take effect. A warm palm smoothed back her hair and she sighed.
“You like to make me get off before I get high,” she said, voice breathy. “Less work for you.”
“I have a job to do.” He sounded irritated.
She smiled and stretched, catlike. “I am your job.”
He snorted. Derisive. “Something besides being your personal hard-on.”
“Mmm. Hard-on,” she purred.
The drug would be taking effect by now, making her dreamy and aroused, or cranky and horny, depending on its strength and blend. The pretend mixture they’d settled upon for their ruse had a reputation for being lessened by sexual activity prior to use.
When he didn’t respond she rolled her head to the side and nipped at the ridge of his cock in his trousers.
Günter’s hands clutched the back of her head and yanked upward. “Stop it. You’ll make a stain.”
She chortled and ran a finger along his shaft. “No. You’ll make a stain.”
The car came to a halt and he pushed her to a sitting position.
Jenny’s stomach clenched as the driver came around to open their door. She and Günter had only been playing—establishing their pieces on the board for anyone who might be listening. Outside the hotel, the real games were about to begin.
Chapter Fourteen
Early evening spread like a blanket above the city as Günter helped Jenny from the car. She spotted three paparazzi who’d been fed word of her stay. Their telephoto lenses trained on her face, she heard them begin snapping before she fully exited the vehicle.
In this moment, they’d cemented her supposed drug habit—made it known to the world and, by association, the White Tiger’s people. While the ruse was necessary, it galled her that from now on she’d be known as David Tallis’ partying problem sister.
She stumbled and giggled. Shrill.
“Oops.”
The photographers had six snaps of her dilated pupils and vacant stare before Günter dragged her by the arm toward the hotel door. She waved and flashes popped like wildfire.
“One’s from Rumour. The others are freelance.”
Günter barely moved his mouth as he spoke, low and quiet in her ear. She’d seen David’s handlers do something similar when they needed to feed him information. He never acknowledged the tidbits, so she took a page out of his book and said nothing.
What would it feel like? To actually have Bengal pumping through her blood? Making her drunk on sex and desire? Every nerve ending firing with the impulse to consume pleasure and slake carnal thirsts without regard to inhibition or consequence?
Right now it sounded awfully good to not have to be scared. Worried. Responsible. Shoving sunglasses on her face, she followed Günter to the elevator and tried not to picture tomorrow’s papers, or David’s face when he read the headlines.
Günter had never been so glad to see Simon in his life as when the man held open the door to their two-bedroom suite. Five seconds longer in the car and he’d have fucked Jenny for the world to see. At least now he could put a few feet’s distance between them.
“We’re clean.” Simon closed the door and showed Günter a green-lighted readout on his cell.
Günter nodded and Jenny straightened away from him.
“I need water,” she said, her voice like smoke and sin. “Want some?”
“Sure.”
They made their way into the sitting room and Günter fell into a chair in front of the softly hissing gas fireplace. Simon sat across from him. He closed his eyes, suddenly bone weary.
Ice clinked. Water splashed. Cool glass pressed into his hand resting along the arm of the chair. He grasped it and opened his eyes to take in the subject of his simmering desire.
She perched next to the fireplace—the chignon she’d wound her hair into that morning coming undone. Her hair fell in waves around her shoulders to frame her face. Cheeks pink, pupils dilated, she presented a picture of carnal perfection he wanted to see splayed beneath him. Next time he fucked her, he intended to watch her breasts—high peaked and blushing—as they shimmied in time to his thrusts.
His cock stirred and he tore his eyes away from her.
“Report.” He directed the command at Simon.
“I set up a ten p.m. with a contact at Iniquity.”
Günter frowned at the mention of the private casino. “That’s pretty high-end for this stage of the game.”
“I got a call just as you arrived.” Simon sipped at his own drink—something stronger than water. “They want press on her walking through the front door.”
“So the rumors about the Tiger’s people owning the Iniquity are true?”
“Appears so.”
Rubbing his eyes, Günter stood and went to the wet bar for something more fortifying. If their contact was ready to bump up to a venue like Iniquity then they must think Günter’s proposal—delivered through Simon’s lower-end contacts—meant a real shot at cornering the moneyed market. With Günter’s hold over Jenny and her connections through Tallis, they’d supposedly lasso clientele who could afford and appreciate a more expensive grade of the drug. In short, if done right, they’d make millions for the Tiger.
“Call and tell him we’ll be there.” He turned to Simon. “But not Jenny.”
She’d been through enough today.
Simon nodded and went into the other room to make the call. When Jenny didn’t argue, Günter leaned forward and caressed her hand.
“All right?” he asked.
Smiling at him, she nodded sleepily.
Simon returned, his hair standing on end as if he’d pulled it by the roots while he’d been on the telephone.
“What is it?” When Simon’s hair looked like that, no good could come of the question, but Günter asked it anyway.
“You’re not going to believe this,” Simon said, looking from him to Jenny. “Not only are they insisting she be there? They want her to bring a bankroll. High stakes. Anything goes.”
Serenity shattered, Günter exploded from his chair.
“What?” The question flew from him. Then, “Call them back and tell them no.”
“I’ll do it,” Jenny said in the quiet aftermath when Simon turned to do Günter’s bidding.
“No. No way.” Simon pivoted mid-stride. “Even I think you’re crazy on this one. They don’t just bet money at these places, you know.”
At least someone here had a lick of sense. Günter looked at Jenny and refused to entertain the mere idea of watching her give herself to another man.
“Simon’s right. You can’t do this. If either you or I lose a bet, you might be the prize.”
“You think I’m so naïve I didn’t realize something like this might happen when I signed up?” Bravado made her notch her chin, but he saw how pale she’d gone.
“You’re barking mad.” Günter wanted to shake her—saw her turning the problem over in her mind as if he hadn’t spoken—and braced himself for her harebrained logic.
“If it looks like I’m going to lose, you’ll help me cheat,” she said. “Besides, if you turn down their first request you’re essentially refusing to deal with them at all.”
“She’s right,” Simon said, and sat heavily.
Günter spun away and cursed. Loudly.
Stubborn woman. How did she always manage to get the upper hand? Were his feelings for her clouding his judgment? Or were she and Simon right?
“You’ll be the death of me,” he said finally. “Because I’ll tell you right now, Jenny. If you lose? I’ll put a bullet through the motherfucker who so much as breathes in your direction.”
* * * * *
<
br /> They didn’t have to cheat.
Jenny sat next to Günter at a green baize table, her sequined gown pushing her breasts into a mind-boggling display of flesh. The combination of her effect on the men and her prowess at poker combined to give her superpowers that fleeced every man at the table—including him.
“Bugger me sideways,” Simon muttered and Jenny laughed with glee as he shoved a pile of chips to the center of the table.
“You’re not supposed to tell us your hand is crap when you make a bet,” she advised. “Why not fold?”
“Can’t stand to lose.”
Günter snorted. “You’ll lose anyway, mate.”
Their host—Morris Munson—kept his thoughts to himself. Winning or losing, Munson clicked two chips together between his fingers—over and over—as he stared at Jenny’s breasts.
“I’ll see your five thousand pounds and raise you five grams of B,” he said finally.
Günter slid his eyes to Jenny, who took the cue and straightened with feline grace and licked her lips. She eyed her cards.
“I don’t have any B on me, Munny,” she purred.
“I’ll take a piece of that pretty ass of yours as a fair bet.” A cold smile glittered in Munson’s eyes. “And if you lose I’ll give you the B anyway.”
Something evil slithered through Günter’s middle as he crumpled his cards into a little ball.
“Aw! Gun!” Jenny put her hand on his arm—a steadying presence. “You’re folding? That leaves only me and Munny, ’cause Simon’s hand is complete shit.”
Simon threw down his cards, and Günter knew he barely contained his own temper. They were all on edge—nerves absolutely frayed from the evening’s questionable festivities. Going on three a.m., they should all have been in bed long ago. Instead, here they were, watching Jenny prostitute herself for drugs.
Munson—short, stocky, with a cauliflower nose and large ears, held the place of lieutenant in the White Tiger organization—was someone close to the top who was authorized to make low-level deals and carry out gang-style executions. Günter kept a stranglehold on his own temper, for now, only because losing Munson would mean shredding their ruse beyond repair.
Snapping his cards to the table, Munson laid out three of a kind.
Jenny widened her eyes and Munson’s smile stretched from one side of his ugly mug to the other.
Closing his eyes, Günter wished for his piece. A bullet would be so much cleaner than what he was going to have to do to the bastard with his bare hands.
“Oh…” Jenny breathed the word, leaning so far forward her breasts came a millimeter from popping over the glittering fabric. Fanning her cards, she pressed them to the table one at a time from the tips of her fingers.
Two… Four… Seven… Jack… Ace…
All diamonds.
“Bitch!” Munson growled.
Ignoring the insult, Jenny simultaneously dug the nails of one hand into Günter’s leg to keep him from pummeling Munson for the insult, as she held out her other hand for the Bengal.
“I believe you have made my night.” She tossed her hair from her eyes and gave Munson a gleaming smile.
Günter looked at his watch as Munson dug a vial of Bengal from his pocket and dropped it into Jenny’s hand.
“Thanks for the evening’s entertainment, but we must be going,” he said.
Dark eyes narrowed on him.
“You’ll have me thinking the lady doesn’t appreciate my gift,” Munson said with a calculated tsk.
“Oh, she appreciates it. Maybe a little too much,” Simon said with a laugh as he tried to grab the vial from Jenny.
Snatching her hand away, Jenny held the vial behind her back.
“It’s mine, you two-bit lackey,” she said with a curl of her lip. “And no, you can’t have any. The last time you nicked my stash we caught you licking a tree stump and moaning Günter’s name.”
At a signal from Munson, two gun-toting goons sidled up to the table and Simon snapped his mouth shut mid-retort. Jenny became very still.
“What’s this?” Günter asked, trying to play cool and unconcerned as a knot of fear pulled at his abdomen. He had to get Jenny out of here. Now.
“Why do you want her in on this deal you’re proposing?” Munson asked, putting a fine point on the reason he’d insisted Jenny join them this evening.
“I took you for someone smart.” Sitting back, Günter crossed his arms over his chest and gave the man a measured stare. “Don’t you know she spells access? With her interest in B, she’ll do anything I need. Anything at all.”
“Hey!” Jenny said.
“Shut it!” Günter whirled on her.
Shrinking back, Jenny gave him a sullen look and twirled the glass vial between her fingers.
Munson’s brow quirked. “Anything, ay?”
“Anything.”
“Prove it.” Munson nodded toward Jenny. “Show us just how hot she is for it.”
Time suspended until Günter heard Jenny swallow down her fear.
“You really don’t want to see her on B,” Simon tried. “She’s uncontrollable. A complete wh—”
The slap Jenny gave Simon rang through the casino, the imprint of her hand a stark white on the ruddy red of his cheek. Jaw working, nostrils flared, Simon looked away.
“It’s mine, you toady.” She spat the words and swiveled to face Munson. “It better be the good stuff.”
What made Bengal such a pain in the ass was the cocaine and other opiates that tended to be mixed in for the express purpose of chemical addiction. The drug in its pure form caused an emotional addiction over time. Though for many that could be just as crippling, it wasn’t nearly as dangerous—at least not immediately.
Even as he cursed himself for ever allowing her across the threshold of the casino—or into this operation in the first place—Günter admired Jenny’s guts. That she’d thought through the problem despite her fear, and tried to determine the quality of the drugs she knew she couldn’t avoid taking if they wanted to get out of the building alive, told him he could trust her to have his back.
Pride in her swelled even as his fear for her made him clench his fists against the urge to do damage to the man who’d placed her in this predicament. He leaned close and plucked the vial from her hands—unscrewed it—and met her eyes as he handed it back to her.
She smelled like Christmas, all fresh and crisp—innocent. Their intimate play in the car notwithstanding, Günter knew she had no idea what she was in for. She might be lucky at cards, but luck only went so far, and hers was about to run out. Knowing how the White Tiger liked to play, the strength of the stuff in that vial was likely to blow her world away.
Jenny stared down at the vial and tried to imagine herself as the entitled party girl she played. What would it be like to earn nothing and ride David’s coattails on an endless wave of decadence and debauchery?
Munson’s dun-brown gaze narrowed.
Too long. She was taking too long.
The tiny spoon in the vial told her this batch of B was fine enough to be snorted. She didn’t have to put it under her tongue or rub it along her gums. Of course, a true addict wouldn’t care if the cut of the powder abraded. They’d endure any amount of pain for the resulting high.
Using the spoon, she took a rounded portion. Lifting it to one nostril, she pinched the other closed and sniffed. Tossing her head back, she closed her eyes as she’d seen some actors do in the movies. When nothing happened for several moments—not even a stinging or tingling sensation—she opened her eyes and looked at Gun.
His lips—so full and luscious—pressed into a firm line, then released. Was he trying to kiss her? Suddenly chilly, she leaned in, needing his warmth.
His scent drifted over her. Pungent. Male. An aphrodisiac. The heat of him caressed her skin—tickled her nipples until they engorged and hardened into aching points. A sigh escaped her. Warm. Throaty. She swayed as blood left her brain, abandoning her to a dizzying vortex of n
eed.
Her libido stretched. Yawned. Awakened. Filled with desire. She could smell her sex—rich and sweet—as her senses sharpened. Vapor-like fingers of sensation skimmed her abdomen until liquid heat pooled at her apex, stoking her pussy to life. From zero to sixty, in the space of several heartbeats, her climax built in breathtaking pulses.
Light and sound played a staccato beat against her skin, thrumming at her pleasure points. Nothing separated her from the universe, or from herself. All centered on one aching point of desire. She gasped as awareness built into a point of infinite pleasure and unexpectedly shattered into a thousand points of light.
For the briefest moment, she drifted down from the climax. Then, as if jerked by a hook from her middle, she flew upward again. The orgasm built anew—faster this time—turning her clit into a tiny, throbbing drum. Insistent. Primitive. The bundle of nerves formed the epicenter of her existence once more.
Cloth rasped against her nipples and she cried out. She flew apart as an explosion of sensation ripped through her, shredding her like confetti and tossing her about the room. Pieces of her swirled back together—coalesced and centered on nerve endings already flash-point hot with desire.
Wetness stained her cheeks and even her tears seemed to pool downward, filling her with dark cravings and sinister whispers.
More. She needed more.
Her hand found something hard. Hot. She tried to free that hardness. To claim it. The beast of her lust could die happy on this weapon. Impaled upon it, she’d be able to vanquish the demon that ravaged her body.
Heated manacles pulled her wrists away. Denied her. Insisted upon her torture.
Mercy, she pled for mercy, and found none.
Desperate, she clawed her jailer’s face. Pressure built and swelled into another orgasm. Writhing, she cried out a name—Günter. A hand slipped between her legs, caressing her with a whisper of pressure, and another climax peeled apart the fibers of her being.
Blood—sweet and metallic—coated her tongue. She’d bitten it, hard, in an attempt to replace pleasure with pain. Anything—she’d do anything, endure anything, to make it stop. Yet, even the throbbing in her mouth morphed into tortured desire.
Undercover Lover Page 19
