“Mother Mary!” she exclaimed, looking up at the glass ceiling above which rested the swimming pool he had mentioned earlier. So stunned by the unexpectedness of what she was seeing she almost dropped the heels she was carrying by their straps.
The seventh floor landing looked nothing like the ones preceding it. For one thing it was a smaller space—no more than ten by twelve—and there was only one double-wide door set at the end of the landing under the bubbling water. The walls were covered in the same black wallpaper with the silver tribal design and the carpet was the same as well. But there were no couches here. No tables. No lamps. The only decoration was a floor-to-ceiling ornately framed mirror that reflected the water. The landing was lit by the underwater lights in the pool that gave it an eerie bluish cast. It felt as though they were actually standing under the water.
“Neat, huh?” he asked.
“Amazing,” she breathed.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet, baby girl,” he said, carrying her toward the double black doors.
“Do you own this entire floor?” she asked.
“Woman, you know the answer to that,” he said. He stopped at the door.
“You’re going to have to put me down to open it,” she said.
“Wanna bet?” he inquired. He moved as close to the door as he could. “Place your hand on the entry panel.”
She looked at him. “Is that why she scanned my palm?”
He nodded. “Place your hand on it.”
She put her palm to the scanner and the double doors slid silently open. He carried her into a small alcove that had to be directly under the waterfall for the glass ceiling had cascading water flowing over it. The walls of the alcove were papered in a sea-foam green silk that undulated in the light from the water above them. On an oak table in the middle of the alcove was a large arrangement of gardenias in a beautiful dark-green vase. The floor was done in lush celadon green marble.
“I’m not a Goth,” he said, “or a Westie so I’m not into jet black. This is my home away from home so I wanted it to be just as light and airy as where I normally hang my hat. It harkens back to my ocean heritage.”
There were several doors off the alcove, all a rich, gleaming oak-paneled portal and each was closed.
“I have an office through there,” he said, turning to show her the door behind which lay that room. “I have a guest bedroom over there.” He turned again, shifting her against him. “That door leads to the kitchen and breakfast room. No formal dining area here. I don’t entertain. Through there is the great room—complete with a fireplace and bar and seventy-inch flat screen.” He shifted her again.
“You can put me down, you know,” she told him.
“Not yet,” he said and started toward the door he hadn’t named yet. He stopped and she saw there was another handprint scanner beside the door.
“Why?” she asked.
“I like my privacy,” he replied. “No one goes in there that I don’t want to. Not even the maid. Just me and you.”
She melted at those words and reached out to lay her hand on the scanner. The oaken door swung open.
What was beyond was astounding. “Oh, Kiwi,” she whispered, her eyes going automatically to the ceiling.
The room was spectacular but the ceiling.
The ceiling!
This time the shoes fell out of her hand and hit the floor with a thud.
“If you’re up on the roof,” she heard him say, “you can’t see this because that portion of the roof lies behind a door to which only the janitor has access.”
Above her was a gigantic saltwater aquarium through which swam the most unusual, exotic and gorgeous marine life she’d ever had the pleasure of viewing. The jewel tones of the angelfish, the pastel shades of the anthias, the bright red of the hawkfish, the startling yellow of the butterfly fish, and the neon fuschia of the basslets were so effervescent, so beautiful it was breathtaking. There were so many varieties, such myriad colors and sizes. Around the perimeter of the room was the beach area of the underwater wonderland with magnificent stands of coral and exotic sea plants.
“The sand is kept back by a low glass wall. If you look closely you can see it. I wanted to be able to lie on the bed or in the bathtub and see the fish swimming without having to look up through sand.”
“That is just… It is…” She looked at him. “I have no words.”
“What do you think of the rest of the room?” he asked.
She wasn’t sure she had words for it, either.
The floor was an intricate parquetry of what looked to be weathered teak, stained and varnished to a high gleam. The walls were also teak upon which hung magnificent seascapes. Two loveseats covered in dark-green fabric faced one another on a side wall and between them was a cocktail table made from a large lobster trap. Scattered on the loveseats were pillows made from yachting signal flags. In the center of the room was a gorgeous king-size bed with the headboard and footboard fashioned from sculpted driftwood. The duvet was soft creamy beige edged in a darker caramel color like beach sand. At the end of the room, facing the foot of the bed, were two massive oak armoires flanking a flat-screen television. To either side of what she suspected was the bathroom were two floor-to-ceiling glass-fronted cases filled with all manner of nautical paraphernalia from sextants to glass buoy floats to replicas of lighthouses and figureheads—all interspersed with seashells, coral and sponges. A five-foot-tall round glass cylinder was packed full of every color of sea glass imaginable and lit from behind with a row of pin lights. The most remarkable things in the room were in one corner. A large ship wheel on a turn indicator stand had been placed in front of a skull-and-crossbones Jolly Roger pirate flag.
“My God, Kiwi,” she said. “I am in awe of this room and of your imagination to have created it.”
“It’s a tribute to my ocean roots,” he said.
Their eyes met.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He carried her to his bed and sat down with her in his lap. His arms encircled her as he held her gently to his chest.
“You are sure?” he asked one last time.
“Yes, Synjyn,” she said, using his name to reassure him, to impress upon him the seriousness and honesty of her answer. “I am sure.”
Before he could say anything else, she slid off his lap. She nudged his knees apart and pushed his suit coat from his shoulders.
“Oh, you’re going to undress me?” he asked, one dark brow cocked.
“Stop talking,” she ordered and his slow, sexy smile sent tendrils of warmth through her lower body.
Helping him out of the coat, she laid it carefully on the twisted driftwood at the foot of the bed then put her fingers to his tie, slowly working the knot loose.
The knot undone, she pulled the tie from around his neck and draped it over his coat. She removed his cufflinks then dropped them into the pocket of his coat before she tugged the hem of his black shirt from his trousers. Slowly, sensuously she undid the buttons then peeled the soft silk from his broad shoulders. She folded it in half and laid it atop the suit coat as well.
Gracefully, she dropped to her knees in front of him. The low growl that came when she did so made her hands shake as she reached for his loafers and slipped them off, set them to one side. She removed his socks and poked them into the shoes. She got to her feet.
Next she leaned over to unbuckle his belt. Buckle undone, she unbuttoned his fly to the accompaniment of another low growl then stepped back. She arched a brow.
He stood and she moved in again to tug down the zipper. She slid her hands into the opening of his waistband and pushed the trousers over his hips.
Commando—as she knew he would be.
Hard as steel—as she hoped he would be.
The sight of him fully erect with a bead of pre-cum glistening on the broad mushroom head of his penis made her mouth go dry.
She stepped back. Took still another step as he stood there with his arms akimbo and his e
yes blazing hot as he stared at her, waiting to see what she did next.
She reached her hands behind her to pull down the zipper of her dress—curious to see his reaction when she slid the sheath from her body. She flexed her shoulders and the bodice began to drop.
The black sheath slithered down her body with a soft rustle and he sucked in a breath. She was completely naked beneath the silk.
“You saucy little minx,” he whispered.
He snaked out an arm, hooked it around her waist and lifted her from the floor. Pivoting, he swung her around and to the bed, sitting her down all in one continuous movement. He gave her no time to react but fell to his knees, thrust her legs apart, hooked them over his shoulders and buried his face between her spread thighs.
“Kiwi!” she gasped, her hands going to his head.
With his hands shoved under her sweet ass, he flicked his tongue over her warm folds, lapping at her as though he were a cat and she the cream. He licked her from one end to the other as far as he could reach her flesh. He used the tip of his tongue to stab at her clit then latched his lips upon the tiny bud.
She was making gasping noises and her hands were circling his head trying to gain purchase. Offhandedly he made a mental note to let his hair grow long enough for her to get a damn good handful from now on. He wanted to feel her fingers threaded through his hair. He wanted to feel her tugging against his scalp.
He groaned against her and her ass left the bed with a jolt. He knew the vibration against her very sensitive spot would drive her wild and it did. Her squirming her ass off the bed gave him room to slide his thumbs to the core of her and spread her wide so he could delve inside with his tongue. He thrust inside her and she cried out, coming so hard he swore he could feel the little quivers.
Before the last little spasm faded, he had his arms under her legs and was scooting her to the center of the bed. She was panting as he wedged himself between her thighs and lowered his mouth to her breast. He locked her fingers between his and pinned them beside her head. He ravaged her nipple with his lips, flicked his tongue over and around it, lightly worried it with his teeth.
Beneath him she was squirming for he had given her no respite from the moment she’d climaxed until he had stretched his full weight upon her, pressing her firmly to the bed, his cock tight against her nether curls. He was giving her no time to think—just experience the headiness of impending penetration. He wanted her panting with need, craving what he had to give her. He wanted sensory overload to take hold of her and keep her tight in its grip.
His lips pulled at her nipples. His body writhed over hers. Inch by inch, he used his knees to slowly push her thighs farther and farther apart. Her fingernails dug into the backs of his hands and her head was pushed back, her heels digging into the mattress. She was making little mewing sounds that drove straight to his cock.
He shifted his attention to her other breast and she cried out. He arched his hips from her until his cock was sliding against her folds and she was in essence riding it. She tried to close her thighs but with one final, brutal shove he pushed them as far apart as he could. He reared up over her and with his lips on her nipple positioned the tip of his shaft at her opening.
“Lie still,” he mumbled against her breast.
She couldn’t and he knew she couldn’t. He really didn’t want her to. She was trapped by the sensations rippling through her and he would capitalize on that. He pressed the head of his cock upward and she bucked beneath him.
“Synjyn!” she shrieked and tried to impale herself on him.
He pulled back and she sobbed with frustration.
“Lie still,” he said once more and she twisted her shapely ass under him.
Kissing his way from her breast, up her exposed throat, he latched his mouth hotly on hers and thrust his tongue deeply inside. She groaned and he snapped his tongue back at the same time he pressed the head of his rod all the way into her body.
She stiffened then went wild beneath him—writhing and wriggling, arching her hips in invitation. There had been only a minute resistance to his shaft and then he was well seated within her but she wanted more. He pressed deeper and stilled.
She mumbled against the invasion of his mouth and he thrust his tongue past her lips as he thrust his cock deeper yet.
He stilled.
She moaned with growing aggravation.
He pulled almost all the way out.
“No!” she snarled against his mouth.
He thrust a little ways in then stilled.
“Synjyn, please!” she begged and her fingernails drew blood on the back of his hand.
He grinned against her lips then shoved himself to the hilt.
She screamed—not from the pain but the immense orgasm that shook her entire body. Her legs came up and her thighs went around his hips. She rocked against him until he was rocking into her like a racehorse on its course. He flicked his hips forward, jerked them back then plunged so deep he believed he could feel her womb.
She was hissing as she met him stroke for stroke and when he came he threw back his head and bellowed.
At long last, she was completely his.
Chapter Thirty
Night Twenty-Seven
It was the day before Thanksgiving and one of the days of the week when she always visited her brother. Yet when she arrived at the nursing home she was told he had already been transferred to Cedar Oaks.
“Mr. McGregor hired a private ambulance service to take him,” the head nurse told her. “I tried to phone you but you must have already left your house.”
“I wish he’d told me he was going to do this,” she said, a bit annoyed with the Kiwi.
On the thirty-minute drive out to Cedar Oaks, she turned on the CD player expecting Mumford and Sons. The song that began playing was Red is the Rose.
“You sneaky bastard,” she said, laughing, her irritation with him evaporating.
He—or Jonny most likely—had replaced the CD. It was a not-so-subtle reminder of their night together. The song had been playing when she was shown to his table in the dining room of the club and he had played it later that evening as they lay locked together in his bed, watching the fish shimmering through the water overhead. He had sung along with the instrumental and she was delighted to learn the man had an excellent voice.
“Come over the hills, my bonnie Irish lass
Come over the hills to your darling
You choose the road, love, and I‘ll make the vow
And I‘ll be your true love forever.”
Now she sang with the music and her heart ached wishing he was there in the car to harmonize with her as he had the night before.
The night before, she thought. What a night it had been.
And would be again tonight for she was going back to Club Triumph. That was his new Room, she thought, and what a Room it was!
Her mind on him, on the purely carnal and satisfying things he’d done to her, she flicked on her turn signal as soon as she saw the sign for Cedar Oaks. Like the sign at Club Triumph, it was discreetly placed at the entrance to a long, serpentine drive that meandered through moss-draped live oaks, azalea bushes, magnolia trees and stately Georgia pines. A weathered split-rail fence upon which grew wild honeysuckle and trumpet vine bracketed each side of the road.
The song changed to Wild Mountain Thyme and she began to hum along with the instrumental. She was still humming when she came around the last bend before reaching the main building.
The hum died in her throat when she saw the news vans lined up on either side of the road and the talking heads with microphones in hand standing at the bottom of the steps leading up to the entrance. The care center administrator was on the top step in front of a trio of microphones on stands. Beside her was a tall, cadaverous-looking man she’d be willing to bet was either the chief of staff or the legal rep.
“Shit,” she said as unease shifted down her back. She had no doubt whatsoever the press was there because o
f her connection to Synjyn McGregor.
“What the fuck do you mean she’s hiding inside Cedar Oaks?” he shouted.
“They ambushed her when she went out to see her brother,” Jono informed him. “The lady who runs the place was holding a press conference when Lina arrived. As soon as one of the reporters recognized her, they rushed her car.”
“A press conference?” he snarled. “What the fuck for?”
“The press was asking questions about Drew and your connection to him. She was trying to fend them off. In hindsight, that might not have been the wisest thing to do.”
“You think?” he asked sarcastically.
“One reporter tried to slip past security but got caught,” Jono replied. “He got a bit roughed up in the scuffle and that didn’t help matters.”
“How the hell did they find out where he’d been moved?” he demanded.
“I don’t know, Synnie!” Jono yelled back at him. “They must have had someone at the other nursing home tip them off or they followed the ambulance.”
“Fuck!” he exploded.
“Most likely they followed the ambulance,” Spike told him. “They’ve had people all around the nursing home since they found out about Lina. Her office too.”
“The security guards ran over to Lina and got her out—pushing and shoving the reporters out of the way. They said she was crying by the time they got her inside the building.”
“Goddamn it!” he said and swept his arm across his desk, sending everything to the floor. “Goddamn it to hell and back! They made my woman cry! I’ll gut every last one of them!”
Accustomed to his bouts of destructive rage, neither Spike nor Jono batted an eye.
“This is because of her!” he snarled.
“Her and the Ukrainian slut,” Jono agreed. “You wound up on the press radar with both of them.”
“Did it ever occur to you that Tatyana might have been in league with Olivia?” Spike asked.
He turned toward her. “Eh?”
“Lina asked me if I thought it was a coincidence that both of them accused you of beating them. That Olivia showed up mere days after Tatyana’s claim was disapproved. Both of them were determined to either put you in jail or extort money from you and when neither could, Olivia had the living shit beaten out of you.” She shrugged. “Lina doesn’t think it’s coincidence.”
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