Power and Possession

by C. C. Gibbs

  Some people, as it turned out, were more competitive than others.

  Or perhaps the reward for arriving first was more compelling.

  Showered, dressed in black linen slacks, a gray T-shirt, and sandals, and looking sleek and powerful, Rafe was downstairs checking his e-mail when Nicole appeared at the top of the staircase. Sliding his phone back in his pocket, he greeted her with an admiring whistle. “Smoking hot dress. What’s underneath it is even hotter. Every guy in the club is going to want to nail you, myself included.”

  “Subtle, Contini.” But Nicole was smiling as she moved down the stairs on silver strappy spike heels. “Your idea of flattery?”

  “I’ll flatter you later any way you want.” He took a breath. “Right now, I’m sucking it up ’cause I have to.” His smile was supersweet. “You do look hotter than hell though, tiger.”

  She wore a clingy silk metallic dress in silver and azure, with a deep V-neck, little ruffly sleeves, and a gathered bodice that cupped her breasts. “This is my traveling dress. It doesn’t wrinkle in a backpack.”

  He frowned slightly. “Do you think you should wear a bra?”

  “Can’t with this neckline.”

  “Then you’d better stay by my side. Your tits are really out there.” He grunted. “Sure you don’t have something else to wear?”

  “Let me check.” She tilted her head sideways for a second. “Nope.”

  “I’ll take care of that tomorrow.” His voice was equally succinct. “Right now,” he said, holding out his hand as she reached the bottom of the stairs, “just stay close and I won’t have to punch out anyone.” He nodded toward the door. “The car’s outside.”

  “Speaking of taking care of things”—she glanced at him as they moved toward the door—“and I mean it ironically—what’s that box of rope with a Japanese address doing in your dressing room?”

  “Someone must have brought it over.” She might have asked him if he thought it might rain from the casualness of his tone. “Where was it? I didn’t see it.”

  “In one of the wardrobes.”

  He smiled and opened the front door. “Snooping?”

  “I was looking for a pair of scissors to trim my bangs.”

  His look was mildly inquisitive. “Find any? Thanks, Simon.” He nodded at the driver, who was holding the car door open.

  “Yup.” She flipped a finger through her long, jagged bangs. “All fixed.” She waved at Simon as Rafe handed her into the car.

  Rafe slid in next to her and the door shut behind him. “Sounds like you’re low maintenance.” He grinned. “Except for your sex addiction.”

  “I’m only addicted to you. Not that your vanity needs bolstering, but”—she shrugged—“it’s the truth. So tell me about the rope.”

  He checked that the privacy glass was up as Simon pulled away from the house; with Nicole a conversation could turn volatile in seconds. “You didn’t notice I wasn’t answering that question?”

  “Of course I did. That’s why I asked again.”

  “It’s for sex,” he said simply.

  “Duh. And?”

  “And some guy in Japan makes the best bondage rope in the world.”

  “Really, the world,” she said drily. “You’ve tried them all?”

  Wondering for the hundredth time since he’d met her why he found this woman who demanded equality so fascinating, he sighed. “No, I haven’t tried them all. My partner at this club we’re going to has a Japanese father. Tomi lives part of the year in Tokyo and knows this Japanese artisan who makes traditional bondage rope. It’s specially treated hemp that’s soft, doesn’t burn the skin, and holds knots.” He gave her a scrupulously neutral glance. “Is that what you wanted to know?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I mostly wanted to know that you’ve never used it before.”

  “Then this is where I say that was my first ever shipment of rope,” he said, without missing a beat because no way he was going down memory lane when it came to his sex practices.

  “Goddamn,” she muttered, dropping her head back against the cool leather and shutting her eyes. “Not giving a shit is way easier.”

  “But not so intense.” He ran his finger down her warm cleavage, slid it under the silky fabric, and touched her nipple. “Right?”

  She’d gasped, so there was no point in trying to pretend. “You probably shouldn’t do that if you have to see someone in a few minutes.”

  He smiled and his voice dropped a husky octave. “We could have him come out to the car. How do you feel about exhibitionist sex?”

  “The same way you feel about engagement rings.”

  He laughed, a teasing light in his eyes. “Then you’ll have to wait. Practice a little patience.” He brushed her jaw with a light sweep of his thumb. “I’ve heard it builds character.”

  “Or I could find someone at the club to help me out,” she purred, because he was looking way too smug.

  “Somehow I’m thinking no on that,” he said with a quick lift of his brows. “Any guy so much as looks at you, no guarantees.”

  “Jeez, now your baddest-dude-in-town jealousy is turning me on.”

  “Everything turns you on, pussycat.” He smiled faintly. “It’s one of your many charms.”

  “Just everything about you,” she said, fighting the impulse to say more because he’d heard it all a thousand times before. She gave him a lavish grin instead. “Should I apologize?”

  “No, I’m flattered.” It wasn’t as though women hadn’t flattered him his entire adult life. But that Nicole did mattered; she gave him joy. Curious word that. Not that he was going to overanalyze his feelings. Therein lay danger.

  “At least tell me we don’t have to stay long.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “We don’t. I just need to find out why Ganz came in a week early.” He kissed the top of her head. “And you’re not allowed to leave my side. I will require an affirmative on that,” he said gruffly.

  She lifted her face to him and whispered, “Yes, sir, whatever you say, sir.”

  He groaned. “We’re going to have to make this a supershort visit.”

  But his partner, Tomi Nureki, was waiting outside when the car pulled up to the entrance of the private club.

  “What the fuck,” Rafe muttered.

  “Trouble?”

  “I hope not, but Ganz is a total cokehead. We’ll know in a minute.” He was out of the car before Simon came to a complete stop and motioning Tomi over before he turned to help Nicole out.

  A moment later, Rafe said, “Tomi, Nicole Parrish, Nicole, Tomi Nureki. Is he crashing?”

  “Getting there. Hi, pleased to meet you.” The tall, handsome Eurasian man, dressed in jeans and a blue button-down shirt, smiled at Nicole. “Come on in. Ganz is in one of the banquettes in the back room.” His brows flickered. “Entertaining everyone with his favorite topic. The corruption of civilization.”

  Rafe sighed. “Great.”

  “Yeah, no shit.” Tomi waved them toward twin bronze doors. “If this wasn’t a private club I’d worry one of his numerous enemies would take him out.”

  “We all have enemies,” Rafe murmured.

  “Some more than others. Ganz has a way of pissing off people.”

  The men were walking side by side and speaking softly.

  “Our security is—”

  “Ramped up,” Tomi murmured. “At least while he’s in town.”

  Rafe turned back to Nicole and smiled. “Sorry, business.”

  “I understand. That’s why you’re here.” But she’d heard the word enemies, so understood it wasn’t about something benign. With an uncle like Dominic, who traveled with a security detail and who had additional security teams for his family, she was aware of the dangers in great wealth.

  Two huge doormen/bouncers in black T-shirts and slacks guarded the entrance, although other less visible protection was on duty as well.

  “Evening, Rafe,” they said in unison and swept the doors open.


  “Hi, guys. Busy night?”

  “Every night, boss. The rich and famous like to party.”

  Which was the reason Rafe and Tomi had opened the private club. No tourists, no wannabes, no oligarchs who traveled with muscle, no strangers. Mostly no strangers.

  The three made their way past a welcoming committee of five female concierges seated behind desks in the large entrance hall—a virtual UN array of stunning beauty dressed in matching Chanel Pop Art summer dresses.

  Rafe greeted the ladies with a smile as they passed through the large rosewood-paneled chamber, drawing Nicole by the hand past five gazes that turned icy when they focused on her.

  “Have you slept with all of them?” she whispered, once they cleared the gauntlet of unhappy women and moved toward an imposing set of trompe l’oeil doors offering a view of the sea. “I’m getting frostbite from their looks.”

  “You’re imagining it, pussycat,” he said, like every man immune to the repercussions of fucking and running.

  “Did you?”

  “To be honest, I didn’t notice who was even here tonight,” he said, following Tomi through one of the painted doors held open by another buff, young man in a black T-shirt and slacks. “Want me to go back and look?”

  Feeling a blissful glow from his casual answer, she shook her head.

  “Until you came along, I never looked or asked names,” he explained, candid and blasé. “So don’t sweat them or anyone else. But I’m a little uptight over Ganz showing up early, so if I’m inattentive, please forgive me.”

  “Really, no worries. Pretend I’m not here.” How sweet he was to say what he did, even if it wasn’t true about the women; Nicole was smiling as they walked into a large room vibrating with music and the din of shouted conversation. Two walls held long, neon-lit bars manned by a couple dozen bartenders and packed with people trying to get a drink, tables crowded with guests were arranged against another wall, and the fourth was floor-to-ceiling glass fronting an artistically lit atrium with lush plants and more crowded tables. The band was rocking hard, the dance floor was a writhing mass of bodies, and the crush of beautiful people in the club was testament to the personal trainers, hairdressers, plastic surgeons, couturiers, and rich parents and/or self-made wealth that made it all possible.

  Rafe leaned over enough to put his mouth near her ear so he could be heard above the music and noise. “It’s not possible to pretend you’re not here. Just holding your hand has my dick going crazy.” Then he quickly held his free hand palm out in a warding off sign to a man who pushed out of the crowd to greet them. A gesture he repeated several more times as they wove through the standing-room-only partiers.

  They finally made their way to a plain black door, flanked by two of the biggest bouncers Nicole had ever seen.

  While Tomi waited, Rafe greeted both the men by name, asked one of them about his recent wedding, and listened politely to the man’s enthusiastic appraisal of matrimony.

  “Sounds like you found the perfect woman,” Rafe said with a smile. “Nice to hear.” Then his voice took on a measured intensity. “I’m going to try to get Ganz out of here. Bring up a few more men just in case we need them.” He turned to the door, Tomi pulled it open, and Rafe escorted Nicole through to the inner sanctum.

  As the door closed behind them, an immediate hush descended. The small room was subtly lit with low-wattage track lighting bordering decorative cornices as well as some spectacular Venetian chandeliers dimmed to a soft golden luminescence. A plush reproduction of the Pazyryk carpet in russet and gold covered the floor, the walls were dark teak; there were no windows, just the single door. A short row of russet leather banquettes lined the back wall, and a half dozen tables scattered about the room were occupied. Most of the people in the room were having dinner.

  “Why is he quiet?” Rafe murmured.

  Tomi nodded to a banquette in the far corner. “He’s doing a line. Everyone at the table is waiting for his next harangue.”

  Rafe groaned. “Too bad he’s so fucking brilliant. His path to self-destruction wouldn’t be so bloody sad.”

  “But he is fucking brilliant.”

  “Yeah.” Rafe took a deep breath. “Let’s go see about saving his ass.” He turned to Nicole. “Ignore anything Ganz says. He’s pretty out of it. If possible, I’m going to hand him over to Henny and Basil tonight. They can keep him company while he comes down. Don’t worry, someone else will drive him up to the house.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  Rafe nodded at Tomi. “After you.”

  As they reached the banquette, the man sweeping a short crystal straw over a line of cocaine on the table came to the end of the white powder, jerked his head up, and inhaled sharply through his nose. Only then did he open his eyes and look up at his visitors through a curtain of black hair. Flicking his hair out of his eyes with a sweep of his arm, he smiled in a wide flash of white teeth, shot a glance at Nicole, thrust his hand up to Rafe in greeting, and said in a low rumble, “Looks like I got you out of the sack.”

  “And it looks like I got to you a couple hours too late. Can you still walk?”

  “Fuck, yeah.” Heaving himself to his feet, he immediately fell backward and sat down hard.

  “If we could have a little privacy.” Rafe silently surveyed the ranks of druggies keeping Ganz company with cool deliberation. “Now.”

  Although Rafe’s tone was extremely soft, the well-dressed entourage all lurched to their feet as if they’d been struck, and mumbling apologies they quickly cleared the table.

  Nicole figured this wasn’t the time to make some smart-ass remark, but she was tempted. That was authority in action, no question. And for the first time since she’d stumbled into Rafe’s stateroom, she made the connection between two of her favorite people. She was watching a younger Dominic in action; a don’t-fuck-with-me attitude was a common trait.

  “Sit here,” Rafe said, in an altogether different tone of voice—gentle, affectionate—and, pulling over a chair from a nearby table, he seated Nicole in front of the banquette. He slid in beside Ganz, and Tomi did the same from the opposite side, effectively blocking in their friend.

  The large Asian man stared at Nicole for a moment, then turned to Rafe. “Introduce me to your”—he started to say something and changed it to—“lady.”

  Rafe gave a him a hard look. “Good choice. Your fucking brain’s still working.”

  Ganz dipped his head and smiled. “Lucky for you it is.”

  Rafe took a breath and nodded. “Point taken. Nicole, Ganz, entire name, Ganzorig, one name, he’s Mongolian. Ganz, Nicole Parrish, and make sure you treat her with respect.”

  “Absolutely. Excuse my disarray, Miss Parrish,” he said, polished and urbane, his English colored with a faint French accent.

  Nicole smiled at his good manners. “No problem. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Known Rafe long? I haven’t seen you before.”

  “Not long, no. I’m here on vacation.”

  “From?”

  “San Francisco.”

  “Could we exchange pleasantries later?” Rafe muttered, feeling strangely possessive when he never was, when Ganz knew better than to poach anyway. “I have better things to do. Come up to my place and we’ll talk in the morning when your head is clear.”

  Ganz’s gaze swung lazily to Rafe. “You do have a sense of humor.”

  “Well, let’s say clearer. You can party with Henny and Basil. They have roxy to let you down easy when you’re ready.”

  “Why didn’t you say so before?” He started to rise, wobbled a little, brushed Rafe’s helping hand aside, placed his palms on the table, and pushed himself upright.

  “Just a minute,” Rafe said. “We’ll move the table out of your way.”

  The man who looked even larger standing smiled at Rafe. “You do love me.”

  “Damn right. You’re my fucking savior.”

  “This time for sure,” he said, swaying on
his feet. “You have major problems. Government espionage, mon ami, from my special friends.”

  “Oh, fuck,” Rafe muttered, lifting one end of the table while Tomi grabbed the other side and Nicole pulled her chair out of the way.

  “Exactly. An epic fuck of epic proportions.” He chuckled. “Lucky I’m an overachiever.”

  “Can it wait till morning?” Ganz had come in so early, Rafe wasn’t sure.

  Ganz nodded. “I slowed them down—balled up their systems so they’ve all been sacrificing their sleep to try to get back online. I’ll save your ass in the morning.”

  “I’ll have everything set up for you. Geneva is waiting too, I’m assuming. Hey.” Rafe took Ganz by the upper arm and gave him a shake. “Pay attention, eyes open. Tomi and I are going to walk you out of here and into a car.” Rafe turned to Nicole. “Give me a minute. I’ll be right back.”

  By the time the trio had moved a dozen feet, four men had come up to help take Ganz off their hands. Nicole watched as Rafe gave instructions, the security team nodding, one asking a question, Rafe answering briefly. Most of the occupants of the room were indifferent to the transaction. But then security was a way of life for the haut monde and glitterati. As for drugs, they viewed that as a personal issue.

  “Normally, Ganz controls his intake better,” Rafe explained when he came back to Nicole, giving her an edited version of Ganz’s drug habit. “But occasionally when the stakes are high or he’s working nonstop, things get out of hand. Tomi’ll see that he gets in a car. You okay? Not freaked out?”

  She smiled. “Everything’s good.”

  “I figured. Just checking. Let’s get out of here.”

  The crisis contained, Rafe was more relaxed and on their way out, he stopped once or twice when friends came up. He offered a few, mostly yes or no, answers and fended off several invitations with a smile and a shake of his head before moving on, shielding Nicole with an arm around her shoulder as he wended their way through the crowd.

  They exited the noisy bar, the doors shutting behind them, sealing off the pounding music and roar.