Grabbing her ankle, he hauled her to him. She screamed and kicked back with her other foot, the too-fleshy thump and his startled grunt telling her she’d come very close to his groin.
He froze and everything in her went still. So still she hardly dared breathe. Such an action surely called for serious retribution, and she wondered if perhaps she’d pushed their game too far, to a point past which their play was believable. She knew his mind scrambled for an appropriate response, and she relished the fear-laced adrenaline as it melded with the arousal low in her belly.
They’d paused for perhaps two seconds, but to her the suspended moment equaled an eternity. He grasped both her feet in a vise-like grip and flipped her over. She landed hard enough to take her breath away. And then he was on her. In her. Filling her with a thrust that sent them both sliding backward along the polished wood floor. Adjusting, he held on to her throat with one wide palm and brought the other to her shoulder to render her immobile.
Wide-eyed, she stared up at him. The pressure of his hand increased with each thrust and decreased with his withdrawal, creating a primitive form of breath play that had her gasping for both oxygen and release.
Sinister. Menacing. Nothing like her sun-soaked god, he presented the perfect picture of her darkest desires and wildest dreams as he held her immobile and pounded into her body.
Dipping his head, he bit her engorged nipple through her bra and she cried out. Sensation pooled in her pleasure points and ran together to form a lake of need in which she’d gladly drown. The next bump of his root against her clit poised her high on a precipice and she looked into deep-blue waters, prepared to jump.
Günter’s hand spasmed around her throat, cutting off her air for the briefest of seconds and she came apart in a series of shuddering sparks that should have set the room ablaze. Releasing her throat, he pushed into her, awakening aftershocks that built into another release she was breathless to voice, even with his hand no longer helping to hold back her cries.
His spine straightened and he arched, burying himself in her as he came with a drawn-out war cry that left her feeling every inch a woman and very much claimed. He fell over her then, only for a moment, and she resisted the urge to clasp him to her. As he withdrew, she turned her head away, prepared to play the injured lover, but he grabbed her chin and brought her ear to his lips.
“I love you. Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he whispered, before pushing up and walking away.
Chapter Seventeen
He’d said he loved her.
Brushing the sex snarls from her hair, Jenny paused mid-stroke as Günter emerged from the bath. White towel wrapped tightly around his hips. Catching her stare, he arched a brow, and her gaze skittered away. She’d spent the last half hour trying to dissect and make sense of three little words.
I love you.
Maybe he meant he was sorry for their rough play. Or it was a coded compliment to tell her she played her part perfectly. He couldn’t actually mean he loved her, loved her. Could he? What if he was just getting his gangsta on and giving her a mind a fuck along with her body? She shook her head. He’d never do that… Would he?
Disgusted with her ability to pick the subject to death, she groaned and threw her lipstick tube to the vanity. Günter placed his hands on her shoulders and she jumped at the unexpected contact. Warm and light, his touch reassured while his gaze asked, All right?
Wishing she could ask a zillion questions, Jenny just nodded and went back to reapplying her makeup.
Günter’s hands dropped away and she watched him walk to the bed and lift his newly pressed trousers from the hanger. What else could he do? What else could he say? Nothing. Not under the present circumstances. Still, she wished he’d tried harder.
“Give the man a break,” she muttered under her breath and he turned to her with a lifted brow.
“Sorry?” he asked.
A blush crept up her neck at being caught talking to herself like an inmate of Bedlam.
“Nothing,” she said.
With a quirk of his brow, he turned his back to her and pulled his t-shirt over his head. In the mirror she saw puckered ridges of flesh glisten as his back caught the light. Where had he gotten those scars? She remembered his mention of the explosion in Dublin.
Dublin…
If the story he’d told her was true—and what reason did she have to doubt it—then the Günter she knew now was a very different man from the one he’d been. He’d gone so rogue she didn’t blame MI-5 for cutting him loose, but she couldn’t reconcile the wildcard he’d described himself as with the painstakingly careful man he’d become. Was it his wife who’d brought out the rule breaker in him? Or had the incident made him the more careful man he was now?
A slither of material said he’d shrugged on his shirt and she watched him pop the buttons through their holes with nimble-fingered confidence as he looked down and stepped into his shoes. Hair swinging forward, obscuring the angle of his jaw, he presented a picture of masculine power and elegance that made her hand pause mid-stroke as she applied her blush.
Something about the intimacy of the moment struck her, and she realized if this were a normal relationship this bond they shared wouldn’t have yet formed. They’d be in the wining-and-dining stage. He’d woo her. On the fifth date—as the magazines advised—she’d let him sleep with her. They’d discover what television shows they had in common and whether or not they liked the same sports. If she was lucky, he’d be the kind of man who remembered to bring her flowers.
Instead, they were dressing together like an old married couple and planning to blow the lid off of a drug-ring-turned-terrorist-conspiracy in less than an hour. Her stomach flipped as she remembered their mission and with cold hands she put on her diamond earrings.
He sat to tie his shoes, and she watched the muscles in his arms ripple beneath the fabric of his French-blue dress shirt. When he glanced up, she caught the echo of the color in his eyes and smiled. She’d never tire of looking at him. Never tire of trying to puzzle him out.
Swinging her legs around to the other side of the vanity stool, she tipped one toe into her stocking. Feeling his eyes on her, she glanced up as he settled back on the bed to stare at her with a hooded gaze. Her pussy clenched with need at that look as her body recognized its intent. He wanted her. Even now.
She made slow, sensual work of pulling the sheer material up her leg, taking care to give him a glimpse of the vee between her thighs when she stretched her toe up and out toward the bed. He grinned lazily at her, a dimple popping to life in his cheek.
The exchange left her giddy and she pushed aside questions about the meaning of love and the likelihood of his affections. Who cared if two and a half weeks were all they’d had together? Now was now, and it might be all they ever had.
* * * * *
Günter placed his hand at the small of Jenny’s back to guide her into the private club. Taking hold of the collar of her mink, he helped her slide off the rented fur and handed it to the door attendant.
Two men, each with the obvious bulge of a firearm under his jacket, led them into an anteroom painted in white and gold. When one made no bones about patting first Günter, then Jenny, down it confirmed they were about to meet someone very important to the organization.
When the thug’s hands lingered too high and too long under Jenny’s dress Günter’s chest tightened, signaling a welling growl. Burying the emotion, he turned his back. Fabric rustled and Jenny gasped. Muscles in Günter’s shoulders tensed, but he did no more than flex his fingers at his sides. They’d warned her during her training, he reminded himself. If he could have his balls groped in the name of the Queen, Jenny could handle a thorough frisk as well.
“This way,” the guard said, finished playing with them both.
Logic, cool and serene, draped Günter in a sense of otherworldliness and brought his facial expression, if not his blood pressure, under control. They followed the squat, broad-shouldered henchman
through another door and down a brick-walled stairway. From their hurried research, he knew of the five function rooms on the upper levels, and two private rooms on the basement level.
Memorizing the location of the rooms had been the easy part. The difficulty lay in finding current interior photos. The place was so exclusive not even a mole had infiltrated its confines. If any unlicensed modifications had been made to the architecture, he’d be blind about them.
The brass at MI-5 rarely let one of its agents walk into a situation so thoroughly unprepared. That they did so with him told him exactly how disposable he and Jenny really were long before they’d entered the building. He’d contemplated locking Jenny in the loo at the hotel, but without her he wouldn’t have gotten past the front door.
The arch of a doorway that shouldn’t have been at the bottom of the stairway made Günter swear quietly. Whatever was behind the polished metal fire door was new. If it was an unmarked egress to another building the agents Simon hopefully had staking out the premises might never know they’d left the premises until it was too late.
Jenny tensed behind him and he knew she saw it too.
That’s my girl.
He’d worried she might be too rattled from the pat down to remain alert.
They entered the basement bar and Günter took in the golden glow of burnished wood, high mirrors over curve-backed snugs, and amber glass fixtures lit with dozens of candles.
Fire hazard.
He catalogued the detail in case MI-5 needed a pretext to get into the building after he left. Candles could also make a useful weapon when applied to an alcohol-soaked rag in a bottle of rum, he reminded himself as they were ushered past the high-backed bar centered in the room to a secluded table nestled in a brick-and-oak paneled nook.
Meeting Jenny’s eyes, he saw her look of panic and knew she’d noted the absence of a barkeep. He frowned at her and she smoothed her features.
They’d have to work on her poker face. At the thought, possibilities for sex play tumbled into his head along with vignettes from their earlier interlude. He drew in a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. He’d have to gain control of his own emotions before he could chastise hers.
The rest of the room came into view as they rounded the curve of the bar. A shadow separated itself from one corner of a previously obscured nook and Günter’s sight tunneled to take in the man who’d obviously taken pains not to be noticed before now.
Ushering Jenny forward, Günter kept his attention on the guard via the mirror over the table, as well as their host in front of them. A flick of one thick-fingered hand sent the security presence away and brought him and Jenny forward.
“Please, join me,” the man said in a thick, halting voice Günter recognized but couldn’t place.
Eschewing chivalry, Günter seated himself first. Meager light reflected from his host’s hairless head as the man held out his hand. Cold, rough skin—scarred and uneven—met Günter’s touch.
The word Dublin whispered through his brain.
“Mr. Faust.”
Günter nodded and gestured to Jenny. “And this is Ms. Ainsley.”
“A lovely name for a beautiful woman.” He leaned forward, casting himself in the light to take Jenny’s hand. A waxy scalp, puckered with a long, vicious scar traveling in a jagged arc from forehead to ear, dominated Günter’s attention. “I am Nicholas Teso.”
“A pleasure, Mr. Teso.”
“Such a charming accent your American companion has, Mr. Faust,” Teso said. “And from what I hear, she’s much more alive than your…wife.”
Günter stiffened at the mention of Alona. The man had all but thrown her death in his face. He knew after seeing his scarred visage that Teso had been there in Dublin and had an axe to grind. 5’s intel on the man as an uninjured and mercenary-focused party was glaringly incorrect.
“A quiet night for a Friday?” Günter asked, wanting to let his host know he’d noticed their secure handling.
Teso glanced around as if seeing his surroundings for the first time. “Guests will be along shortly. We open at eleven.”
As if on cue, the barkeep entered the far end of the room with a case of wine and Teso snapped his fingers. At the unspoken order the man busied himself behind the bar with ice and a shaker. Günter waited for Teso, as their host, to direct the conversation. The silence held until the barkeep crossed the room with three olive martinis.
Teso watched him leave and lifted his drink in a gesture designed to call attention to the twisted ruin of his left hand.
Jenny stared down at her glass and Günter knew she wondered if it had been drugged.
“You don’t touch your drink, Ms. Ainsley,” Teso pointed out. “Do you prefer something…harder?”
Günter kept his posture deliberately relaxed and turned his gaze to Jenny.
“Answer our host, Jenny,” he said. “Do you, in fact, prefer something harder?”
“No, thank you.” She lifted her drink, still dubious of its contents, and took a delicate sip.
Tilting his head to one side, Günter considered her mouth through the curve of her glass.
“Pity,” he said, dryly. “You were so amusing the other night.”
Color formed bright spots high on her cheeks and Jenny shifted her gaze away to feign interest in a water spot on the dark oak table.
Arms folded, Teso leaned back to consider them both before his eyes came to rest on the case Günter had placed on the empty chair between them.
“I trust you have something for me?”
Günter took a leisurely sip of his drink and rolled the gin around on his tongue, tasting for sedatives or poisons before swallowing. Lifting the case, he popped the lock open and displayed the stacks of money inside.
Jenny put down her glass and he read the surprise in her gesture. She wondered how he’d gotten the money on such short notice. Thinking he’d need to make drug buys, 5’d given him five hundred grand before they’d left Oxford.
Holding the stem of his glass between two fingers, Teso studied his drink as he swirled it in a lazy arc around the rim of the glass.
“And what do you think this money will buy you?” he asked. “Absolution?”
“I credited your staff with too much competence if you don’t already know I want to do business with you,” Günter replied, ignoring the blatant reference to Dublin.
A sardonic grin traced Teso’s lips, but his good humor was fleeting. He lifted a packet of bills from the case and examined it coldly.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked, fanning the money between his thumb and forefinger.
“Oh, I recognize you,” Günter said.
Technically, he’d answered truthfully. He knew the man’s present connections to the White Tiger—second-in-command—but he didn’t know where he’d actually met him. Only that they’d bumped into one another somewhere before.
“Then you know I have no love for you or your proposal…and you know why.”
“We’ve all done regrettable things.”
“Tell me why you want this business?” Teso asked. “And why you need her.”
“I’ve never followed the rules as you well know,” he said. “And I’m tired of wiping arses for a living.”
Expression mild, Günter fingered the rim of his glass and tilted his head to look at Jenny. She worried her lips with her teeth. Afraid. If he saw it, Teso did too. A little anger would look better on her.
“As for Ms. Ainsley, we have a good thing going.” He reached out and squeezed her leg as he addressed Teso. “The cut and quality of the Bengal I get does wonders for her, and her access to Tallis’ money does wonders for me.”
Playing incensed, Jenny took his cue and slapped his hand away. “I could get it on my own, asshole.”
He grabbed her chin and made her look at him. Her lips parted and he had to resist an urge to kiss her.
“Go ahead. Try,” he said. “We’ll see how long it takes your brother to find ou
t. You’ll be in rehab faster than you can say Betty Ford.”
Gripping his wrist she tried to pull his hand away. He tightened his fingers.
“Liar,” she whispered, playing the suddenly frightened addict—caring only about her next hit.
Proud of her for the improvisation, he dropped her hand and lifted his drink. “Sunshine, I’m the only one who’s man enough to tell you the truth.”
“Truth has a funny way of changing, depending upon your experience,” Teso interjected.
When Günter looked at him, a shadow fell at just the right angle across his host’s face. A vision of him with slick dark hair and a pencil moustache flashed in memory. Cold like he’d never known slid into his gullet and formed a hard lump as he remembered where they’d met.
They were screwed. And beyond a doubt MI-5 had known it before they sent him in.
“Jenny? Get me a gin and tonic,” he said, issuing their preset cue for her to get the hell out of there.
“But—” She balked and he whipped his hand up—in character—as if to strike her.
He’d hate himself for it later. Right now he only felt relief when she scurried from the table, one ankle wobbling slightly before she steadied herself. With an aching sense of familiar helplessness, he watched her as she disappeared around the curve of the high-backed bar. Then he turned back to Teso, knowing he’d kill the man at the first opportunity.
“We think, Faust,” his host said, placing the money back in the case, “you have more to offer than a transatlantic drug distribution ring to the rich and famous.”
“We?” Günter asked.
Teeth bared in a vicious approximation of a smile, Teso slung an arm over the back of the empty seat between them and shifted his eyes to look beyond Günter. The seductive punctuation of stilettos on hardwood tapped out a sultry cadence. Günter hesitated before turning around, and Teso let out a deep laugh.
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