Rescued by the Billionaire CEO

by Amelia Autin

  It wasn’t until she was upstairs that she suddenly wondered how Jason had known there was a hairbrush in the nightstand. She was going to ask him about it, but he was outside throwing off the docking ropes and levering the yacht away from the dock with a boat pole. And when he came inside he immediately sat himself in one of the two chairs in the cockpit and fired up the engine.

  He indicated the chair next to him. “Come sit by me,” he invited in that British accent she loved, which was paired with one of his killer smiles. She sighed softly to herself and quickly complied.

  Alana had barely settled into the seat, noting with a slight qualm there was no seat belt, when his hand moved on the throttle and the boat slid smoothly forward, soon leaving the dock behind as they headed west. She didn’t want to interrupt his concentration, especially once they moved out into the shipping lanes, so she made a note to ask him about the brush later.

  The cockpit and salon were enclosed, but Jason had the windows open to the harbor breeze, so Alana was grateful for her jacket and the not-quite-silk scarf he’d bought her yesterday.

  “How far is it around the island?” she asked once they really got going.

  “Twenty-six nautical miles, give or take.” He darted a look at the watch he wore, which gleamed golden against his tanned skin. “We’re a tad late in starting, but we should still be able to finish before sundown.”

  He pointed out the landmarks they passed, but she wasn’t really concentrating. She was content to just listen to his deep voice with half her attention, while the rest of her was sorting through everything that had happened since Jason had dramatically entered her life.

  She’d been enamored of him since the night of her rescue, of course. She’d known that immediately. And she’d heard his voice in her dreams ever since. She hadn’t really expected to meet him again...but then she had. She’d seen his handsome features for the first time two weeks ago, and she’d fallen a little deeper under his spell as they communicated with just their eyes.

  Then she’d spent nearly every moment of her free time over the past two weeks with him—living in his pocket, as Mei-li had so delicately put it. A whirlwind romance that was so unlike her she’d been stunned. Stunned, but unable to resist. Unable to call a halt, to take a breather. In fact, she seemed to have no willpower at all where Jason was concerned.

  All at once a certain portion of her anatomy clenched at the memory of his lips. His hands. Driving her up and over that peak with seemingly effortless ease. Both times.

  Willpower is overrated, she told herself now.

  Alana stared at Jason’s hands on the wheel, handling the yacht with the same light touch he’d used on her. And just like that she wanted him again. But he’d spent all that money on renting this yacht so he could take her around Hong Kong Island, which meant she had no intention of telling him. Of letting on in any way that she didn’t care about this trip. That all she wanted was for him to take her back downstairs and make love to her again.

  So she crossed her arms over her aching breasts, pinned an interested smile on her face...and forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying.

  “Hold on a sec,” he said after a few minutes, turning off his tour guide persona and pulling back on the throttle until the yacht was idling, practically dead in the water. He waited until the Star Ferry, chugging across the harbor from left to right, passed them before accelerating back to their previous speed. “Private craft must yield to public ones,” he explained.

  “You know, I never even thought to ask, but apparently you’re a licensed, um, not sure exactly what it’s called, but I’m sure you do.”

  “Yes, I do and yes, I am,” he assured her. “I’m a licensed commercial pilot. It’s called a Certificate of Competency.” His voice dropped. “I would never put you at risk, Alana. Don’t you know that by now?”

  Their eyes met, and she couldn’t look away from the dark intensity of his gaze. “Yes,” she whispered, mesmerized. “I know that.” Then she blinked and got herself under control. “So how do you know how to pilot a boat?”

  “When you live on an island as I do, it helps if you can handle most boats that come your way.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “It’s not just me. Every man in RMM is licensed for a variety of vessels—speedboats, cruisers, yachts. Some of our work entails trips to Macau...which is where they intended to take you when you were abducted. Prostitution is legal there, you know.”

  She shook her head. “No, I didn’t know that about Macau.”

  “Macau is one of China’s Special Administrative Regions, a SAR just like Hong Kong. But unlike Hong Kong, prostitution is legal there, although operating a brothel isn’t. Doesn’t mean they don’t exist.” His lips tightened into a thin line, and Alana knew without another word spoken that this issue bothered Jason a lot.

  “Macau is a hotbed of human trafficking for the purposes of prostitution. Women are said to be brought there from all over Asia, and as far away as Russia and South Africa. Macau’s even on the US State Department’s watch list for human trafficking.” Jason’s body radiated anger held firmly in check, and his hands tightened on the wheel.

  Alana touched his arm in sympathy. “Don’t talk about this anymore right now,” she said, making her voice as soothing as possible. “It upsets you. It upsets me, too, to think of women being forced into prostitution. And I’m so glad we intervened yesterday. If we can help even one woman...”

  “Yes.” He glanced her way, then turned his gaze back to the water in front of them. “Between you and the woman yesterday, that’s two saved. But RMM—”

  He broke off so abruptly that Alana knew RMM was somehow involved in trying to shut the whole operation down.

  * * *

  It was nearly dark by the time they finished circumnavigating the island. Jason cut the engine and let the boat’s forward progress float them toward the dock. Alana followed him outside, thinking to assist him, but ended up just watching as he used the boat pole to loop the forward docking rope around the piling. He leaped lightly from the deck to the dock, secured the aft docking rope, then jumped back onto the yacht.

  “I wanted to help.”

  He flashed a smile at her. “Next time.”

  She almost said, “But there won’t be a next time,” then stopped herself. Jason was obviously at home on the water. Which meant there very well could be a next time, although probably not on anything as big as this yacht. She didn’t care about that, though. A rowboat or a dinghy was fine with her...so long as Jason was at the helm.

  They strolled hand in hand up the dock toward land, Alana’s borrowed hat swinging by its ties from her wrist as darkness settled comfortably around them. When they reached the parking lot, Jason unlocked her door and held it open for her, but blocked her entrance for a moment. “Dinner?”

  She wasn’t ready for her day to end, but she didn’t really want to sit across from Jason in some restaurant, all the while wishing...hoping...remembering...

  Maybe her eyes gave her away, or maybe he could read her mind, because his voice dropped a notch when he said, “I’d give anything I have to make love to you all night long...but not tonight.”

  Disappointment stabbed through her, sharp and deep. “Why not?”

  “I have a previous commitment.”

  For just a second her heart panicked when she thought he meant he had another date, but then it came to her, and she said with certainty, “It’s something to do with RMM.” He hesitated, then nodded. “I understand.”

  She was grateful the gathering darkness hid the dismay she was already chastising herself for feeling. RMM was his calling, and she had to let him do what he needed to do. So she swallowed her disappointment and repeated, “I understand.”

  “I still have time for dinner.”

  Alana shook her head. “I’d rather not. Tha
t would just make it harder to say good-night to you.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She didn’t trust her voice, so she merely nodded.

  “Okay, then. I’ll take you home.”

  * * *

  Neither spoke for much of the drive, until Jason broke the silence. “Alana...”

  “Yes?”

  At first he couldn’t continue. What could he possibly say? “Thank you for the best day of my life” sounded overly dramatic, although it was true. From start to finish this day would stand out like gold letters on a bright red background—the traditional Chinese colors of celebration.

  As long as he lived he would remember Alana’s eyes, her face, her voice, as she said, I wanted you, Jason. I wanted you that first night. I wanted you yesterday. I want you today. Here. Now. Is it wrong to admit it? I don’t think so...

  And then...as if his cup wasn’t already running over... I don’t need things from you, Jason. I just need...you.

  All at once he remembered his tangle of thoughts when he’d woken with Alana in his arms, and he’d acknowledged he wasn’t the twenty-first-century man he’d always believed himself to be. That it mattered to him Alana had chosen him to be the first. And if he had his way...the only.

  He slowed and downshifted as they approached the turnoff for the DeWinters’ estate, and he suddenly knew what he could say to her. “Thank you for choosing me.”

  She exhaled softly as if she’d been holding her breath, waiting for him to speak. “It wasn’t so much a matter of choosing you as it was recognizing you were the one I’d been waiting for.”

  “However you want to put it, I’m...grateful it’s me.”

  “I’m glad.” And he could hear the truth of her words in her tone. “Glad it’s you, and glad it means so much to you. I hoped it would.” When she put her hand on his arm he felt it through all the layers of clothing, and his body responded in predictable fashion. Terrific, he thought with trenchant humor. When I can’t do a damn thing about it.

  He stopped in front of the gate and fished his key card out of his pocket. Before he was ready, he was parking in front of the main house.

  “Thank you...for everything,” she murmured and opened her door.

  He caught her wrist and pulled her back inside. “Wait.” Then she was in his arms and he poured everything he wanted to say but couldn’t into his kiss. Eons later he came to his senses, whispering her name as his lips trailed over her face. “Oh, God, Alana, I can’t let you go.”

  She made a little sound of protest deep in her throat, as if she didn’t want him to let her go, either. But finally she pushed her hands against his chest to force herself away from him and stated firmly, “You have a previous commitment with RMM, remember? And I won’t let you break it for me.”

  * * *

  Jason drove away, prey to a mass of conflicted emotions. Hell yes, it had taken every scrap of self-control he could muster to let Alana step out of the car and walk into the house alone, when every male cell in his body was screaming to keep her with him. And as he’d told her earlier, he’d give anything to make love to her all night long.

  But he hadn’t been completely truthful with her...again. While it was true he had an assignation with certain of his men to follow up on a tip RMM had received about a notorious purveyor of pornography who was filming tonight, a man who was also rumored to use trafficked women in making his sex films, that wasn’t the only reason he’d turned Alana down when her eyes had extended the invitation this evening.

  The main issue was, where would he take her? His penthouse condo on Jardine’s Lookout? Might as well take out an ad in the South China Morning Post or The Standard announcing who and what he was. If he still wanted to keep that part of his life secret from Alana—and he did, for complex reasons he hadn’t had time to delve into—he’d have to think of a better solution.

  He tried to marshal his thoughts as he drove, tried to enumerate his reasons for wanting to maintain the secrecy of his true identity a little longer. He trusted Alana, trusted she truly cared for him. Didn’t he? So why...?

  The only answer that came to him wasn’t one he wanted to hear, because it was emotional, not logical, and Jason had always prided himself on his logical approach to the life he’d built for himself.

  So he tried instead to bring order out of the emotional chaos today had wrought, but it was impossible. Too much had happened too soon, and he needed time to sort things out. Time he didn’t have, because he really needed to concentrate on tonight’s upcoming raid.

  “You know better than to let yourself lose focus,” he reminded himself, his voice harsh in the darkness. Resolving to put Alana out of his mind...at least for now. An emotional man gets careless, he remembered one of his covert ops teachers telling him years ago, and a careless man gets dead real quick.

  * * *

  The warehouse was located on the north side of the Hung Hom area of the Kowloon City District, and had seen better days. Its owner ran a thriving packing business during the day, but rented out sections at night for purposes he chose not to inquire about.

  The film’s producer stood behind the cameras with the director, smoking a pencil-thin cigar, while the arc lights were adjusted to illuminate the bed that was pretty much the entire set. A couple of actors wearing only bathrobes were casually perusing the scripts they’d been handed, but not really caring much. The dialogue wasn’t all that important.

  Two young women stood quietly to one side, conversing in a language no one else there understood. The arm of the older—that being a relative term, since she was only nineteen—was around the shoulders of the younger-by-two-years novice. “It is not so bad,” Natalya whispered encouragingly in Russian. “It will soon be over.”

  Ludmilla shivered. “You have done this before?”

  “Many times” came the reassuring reply. “They prefer it if you struggle to get away. And crying. That is good, too.”

  A note of desperation crept into Ludmilla’s voice. “I don’t want to do this. I want to go home.”

  Natalya understood all too well. She had never wanted to do this, either. Like Ludmilla, she’d been lured away from her home outside Moscow, thinking she was escaping the life of poverty she’d been born into by accepting the promise of a seemingly legitimate modeling job offer. Also like Ludmilla, the man she’d thought was her agent had turned around and “sold” her to the Eight Tigers triad for this very purpose because she was young, blonde and pretty.

  Even though she’d been alone and defenseless in a foreign country where she didn’t speak either Cantonese or English, she’d still resisted the first time she’d been brought onto the set of a porn movie. “Nyet!” she’d told them, appalled at what they’d wanted her to do. Only to have her very real and extremely brutal rape filmed and distributed worldwide.

  Afterward, her new “owners” had made it very clear resistance was futile. Perform for the cameras and she would not be beaten or drugged. Refuse, and she would be taken to Macau, where even worse things would happen to her.

  “Just be glad this is not a ‘snuff’ film,” she told Ludmilla now. “I have heard rumors about this producer.”

  “Snuff film? What is that?”

  “You do not really want to know. Just be thankful you will still be alive when it is over.”

  * * *

  Jason double-checked the plastic explosives wired to the warehouse’s back door, then nodded to the two other men with him garbed in black and disguised with camouflage face paint as he was, which RMM had long since determined was more effective than a mask. They backed off to a safe distance, and Jason handed the detonator to one of his companions. “Ready,” he said into his radio transmitter, a word that sounded odd inside his head with the earplugs he wore that blocked most exterior sound.

  “Roger that” came the
muffled reply. “On three?”

  “On three.” He pulled his protective goggles over his eyes and cast a quick, questioning glance at his men, who both did the same before nodding their readiness. “One, two, three, go!”

  Controlled explosions rocked the night air, and the back door to the warehouse was blown off its hinges. The three men burst through the door and raced toward the corner of the warehouse that had been screened off for the making of the film, just as three other RMM men converged on that section from the north, tossing stun grenades around the makeshift screens. These devices, commonly called flash-bangs, would produce a disorienting but nonlethal blinding light and intensely loud sound to temporarily incapacitate their targets, but hopefully nothing more dangerous than that. The same couldn’t be said for the six RMM men, who were all hell-bent on one goal—putting this scum of the earth out of business for good.

  It was over quickly. Their targets were clutching their eyes and ears and writhing on the floor, having lost their balance from the impact the explosive devices had on the fluid behind their eardrums. Jason and his men swooped in and tied them all up with their hands behind their backs, except for the two young women.

  Their plan was simple...yet fiendish. “Face” was everything to the Chinese. Men would go to great lengths to avoid “losing face.” So while one of the RMM men hustled the women out of there, taking them to a safe house where they would be cared for and carefully questioned, Jason and the others stripped everyone involved in making this film naked, cutting off their clothes where necessary. They rifled through the men’s pockets and found their identification cards, which they photographed. Then they hung signs bearing the words Wolf’s Heart, Dog’s Lungs in bold letters in both English and Chinese around each man’s neck, stood them all up...and photographed them. Numerous times. From multiple angles. Making sure their furious and humiliated faces could be clearly seen each time over the deadly insult that meant these were cruel and unscrupulous men, guilty of a heinous crime.