by Emma Slate
Though I hadn’t seen anyone, servant or guest, since I’d arrived by helicopter, I wasn’t surprised when a man dressed in white chinos and polo entered the opulent room to pour our champagne.
“Please serve the lobsters,” Mateo said, not taking his eyes off my face.
The servant bowed slightly and then departed.
“I hope lobster is acceptable,” Mateo said pleasantly.
“Ah, I’m allergic to shellfish.”
Mateo blinked. I smiled. “I’m just teasing. Lobster sounds wonderful.”
He chuckled, playing with the stem of his champagne flute while he shrewdly observed me. “Your husband must enjoy your sense of humor.”
I inclined my head and eyed him, letting him know that I knew what he was doing. “Most men enjoy my sense of humor.”
“I’m sure,” Mateo murmured.
I’d spent most of the flight from New York reading all about Mateo Sanchez. Though there were photos of him, they weren’t as forthcoming as seeing the man in person. In the photos he was shielded, either by sunglasses or terrible lighting.
I knew he was in his late thirties, the youngest of three children, his father’s forgotten son. From an early age, Mateo wanted power and wealth. By his mid twenties he’d achieved both.
He also had a daughter. A three-year-old named Sofia. Sofia’s mother wasn’t in the picture from what I could conclude.
The servant returned and placed two plates in front of us. The lobsters had already been taken out of their shells, so all I had to do was pick up a fork and knife. I took a dainty bite and chewed slowly.
“How is it?” Mateo asked, not yet having sampled his own meal.
“Cooked to perfection,” I said honestly. I picked up my flute of champagne and took a small sip.
“A diplomatic answer,” Mateo said as he watched me.
“It’s delicious,” I rushed to assure him, throwing him a teasing smile. “My stomach has been upset the last few days. Nothing seems to calm it.”
“You’re worried about your husband,” Mateo said, not taking offense that I nearly insulted him.
“I am,” I admitted. “But let’s talk about that after lunch.”
“I think we should talk about it now,” Mateo said, finally taking a bite of his food. “But you need something to eat.”
“You wouldn’t, by any chance, have a mango aboard, would you?” I asked.
He chuckled. “I do. Mango it is.”
Mateo didn’t press an invisible button or make a call, so no servant appeared. But I had no doubt one had been waiting in the wings, listening intently for any sign that Mateo needed something.
Mateo set his knife and fork down. “I’ll wait until you have your food.”
“Please,” I said. “Eat. Before it gets cold.”
He inclined his head. “If you insist.” Mateo resumed eating.
I sipped at my champagne, the bubbles settling my stomach.
“Tell me about your husband,” Mateo said.
“Don’t you already know about Flynn?” I asked pointedly.
“I do.”
“Then you know why I’m here.”
Mateo leaned back in his chair and surveyed me. “I do. I’m guessing you know what I require in form of payment?”
I quirked my lips. “Shall I straddle you now? Or wait until you finish your lobster?”
Mateo’s eyes darkened with lust.
“I know about you, Mateo,” I said softly, reaching for the hair clip holding my hair hostage. Auburn waves spilled down my back and over my shoulders.
Mateo’s eyes dipped to the swell of my breasts. I was wearing a simple dress, white and A-line, but it hugged all the right places without being overt.
“I know how you made your fortune and your power. I know that women love you.” I cocked my head to one side, wondering if Mateo realized that he had leaned forward, eager for my next words.
I licked my lips. His eyes dropped to my mouth, but I waited until his gaze returned to my eyes before I began speaking again.
“You’ve had girls in their twenties. Stupid girls, pretty girls, naive girls. But have you ever had a woman, Mateo? Have you ever had a woman who knows what she wants? A woman in her twenties is vastly different from a woman in her thirties. And you know it.
“You’re a worldly man. Powerful. Rich. Don’t you get tired of having women telling you what you want to hear because they want things from you? I want something from you. I do. I admit it. Freely. And I’ll give you a night with me in exchange for it.”
“Willingly?” he asked huskily.
“Willingly,” I repeated.
Mateo set his napkin on the table before rising. He came to stand next to me and reached a hand down to help me up. His hands splayed my hips before hauling me towards him.
I was average in height and even with the short heels I wore, I was no match for Mateo’s height. Tall men didn’t scare me, though.
I placed my hands on Mateo’s chest, feeling the strength, the power. I looked up and smiled.
“You want me,” I said to him.
“Yes.”
“You’ll make the call and get Flynn released from prison.”
“Yes.”
“Your word is your honor,” I said.
He smiled slightly. “Yes.”
“So is mine,” I assured him. My hand went to the back of his neck; my fingers sank into his dark hair.
“What do you want more,” I whispered as his mouth came closer. “Me? Or a business proposition?”
Chapter 38
“Let’s go out onto the deck for a little more privacy,” Mateo suggested after we’d finished our lunch.
“How are you feeling?” he asked when we were on the private deck, sitting underneath an overhanging awning out of the sun.
“A lot better. Thank you.”
My stomach had settled and my nerves had calmed. I’d had every intention of spending the night with him to ensure that Flynn was released from jail. But there was another way, a better way.
“How would you like to expand your product’s distribution?” I asked.
He smirked. “What a diplomatic word.”
I shrugged. “It is a product. We don’t have to get into morality and philosophy. You have a product you want to sell and I have a way to distribute it.”
“Go on.”
“You get it to Scotland. Dornoch, specifically. We have a Scotch distillery. We’ll pack it in the boxes sent to the U.S. and we’ll distribute it.”
“I get my product to the U.S. just fine. Why do I need you?” he inquired.
“You don’t. But you want more of your product leaving Argentina, more channels of distribution, then why wouldn’t you expand? At the moment, you don’t have trouble with red tape or the American government, but you know how quickly they shift alliances. They go where the money is.”
“The American government is full of vipers pretending to be garden snakes,” Mateo said, his voice bathed in truth and irony.
“Yes,” I said immediately.
I didn’t claim to be a good person. But there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my family. Did I really want to get into the drug business? No. Was it an opportunity I’d take? Yes.
“Three years,” Mateo said. “In exchange for getting your husband out of prison, I want a three year deal and I’ll give you 20% of the profits.”
My eyes narrowed. “One year—and you keep all the profits.”
“You think drug money is dirty? Is that why you don’t want it?”
“I think it’s a business I don’t want to be in long term. And I’d rather not feel like I’m indebted to you. Just a mutually, beneficial arrangement.”
I knew how Flynn felt about drugs. To him, any sort of drug was distasteful, but I was going to use whatever bargaining chip I had.
“Two years,” Mateo offered. “And 15% of the profits.”
“One year. And we distribute in England, too.”
; “Done.”
We shook on it and then Mateo dropped my hand. “We should celebrate our new business arrangement.”
I chuckled and shook my head. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Can’t blame a man for trying, can you?”
“Nope. I would’ve been offended if you hadn’t.”
Three hours later, all the details of our arrangement were ironed out. Before Mateo escorted me to his waiting helicopter, he made the call for Flynn’s release.
“It’s been a real pleasure,” Mateo said, holding out his hand to help me into the cockpit.
“It has, hasn’t it?” I agreed with a smile.
“Until next time, Barrett.”
The helicopter lifted off and soon Mateo was nothing more than a speck below. I settled back into my seat, not bothering to make polite conversation with the pilot as he flew us to Buenos Aires.
By the time I got back to Buenos Aires, it was evening. I could’ve stayed the night in the hotel suite I’d booked, but I wanted to get back to New York as soon as possible. There was a lot to discuss with Flynn. I was more than prepared for his anger, but I’d weather it—as long as I could do it with my arms around him.
When Mateo’s pilot had come for me earlier that day, he’d made sure I had no personal weapons on my body. In a show of good faith, I’d left everything, including my cell phone. There had been no need for it.
I had at least twenty missed calls. The most recent was from Flynn and before I did anything else, I called him back.
“Barrett,” he breathed. “Hen, what the hell did you do?”
I sank down to the floor, my legs giving out at the sound of his voice. I leaned back against the bed and closed my eyes.
“Are you safe?” I demanded. “Where are you?”
“Aye, I’m safe. I’m at The Rex. Where the hell are you?”
I paused and then, “Buenos Aires.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Where the fuck is Duncan?”
“Naples.”
“What—”
“Let me talk!”
“Fine,” he growled. “Sorry.”
“First of all,” I said, “Are you—are you okay?”
“Aye, love,” his voice softened. “I’m fine. I just miss you. And the boys. God, I feel like I haven’t seen them in years.”
“I’m getting on the plane tonight.”
“So you’ll be back in New York when?”
“It’s an eleven hour flight. I’ll be there early tomorrow morning.”
“I won’t sleep until you’re back with me.”
I let out a laugh that turned into a sob. “Welcome to my world.”
“Just tell me, love. What did you do?”
“You really want to know now?”
“Aye.”
“I made a deal with Mateo Sanchez for your release. But it’s not what you think.”
His sigh was relieved.
“You’re not going to like the alternative,” I warned him.
“Believe me, if it means another man didn’t get to sample your charms, then I’ll jump for joy.”
“Sample my charms?” I teased. “What are you? A character from a romance novel?”
“Barrett,” he growled. “Come home.”
“I’m on my way.”
Chapter 39
I got on the plane and to distract myself from takeoff, I listened to the voicemails. One from Alia telling me the date of the restaurant she was opening with her husband, Jake. Another from the contractor letting me know The Rex Burlesque club repairs were completed. One from Sasha threatening to murder Brandon with his own two hands but only after they found Quinn. Duncan was in Naples. Moira sent a video of the boys and my heart leapt into my throat. On and on, but nothing from Dex or Ash.
I was worried about Quinn. I didn’t know much about her upbringing except that her father had made a lot of money doing business with criminals and was probably one himself. Quinn had been sheltered; she’d had nice clothes, expensive cars, whatever she wanted. I just hoped wherever she was, whoever she was with, had only kidnapped her to get our attention, to let us know they weren’t playing around. But they had yet to make contact, so we had no way of knowing their intention.
“Hold on, Quinn,” I whispered.
Twelve hours later, I landed in New York. The excitement of being reunited with Flynn had adrenaline pumping through me. Even though it was a few hours before dawn, I was wide-awake.
As I got into the car that would take me back to The Rex, my phone rang.
“Flynn was arrested?” came Ash’s shrill voice.
I immediately held the cell away from my ear and grimaced. “It’s too early in the morning for this. Or late at night, depending on your viewpoint.”
“Don’t be glib,” she snapped. “You couldn’t call and tell me your husband was arrested?”
“You weren’t answering my phone calls,” I answered calmly. “I wasn’t going to leave that piece of information in a voicemail. Furthermore, do you really think I would’ve stooped to that level to get you to talk to me?”
“I would’ve come,” she said, her voice soft. “Stood by you.”
“He’s out now.”
“I heard. Duncan,” she explained. “Left a voicemail.”
“What else did he tell you in the voicemail?”
“Only that.”
It wasn’t my place to tell her, I knew that, but she did have the right to know. And I doubted she would give Duncan the opportunity to explain. That left me.
“He didn’t do it,” I said.
“Flynn? I know he didn’t kill Lila.”
“No. Duncan. He didn’t sleep with her—that wasn’t his child.”
She paused. “How do you know?”
“Genetically impossible.” I told her what we’d found in the autopsy.
“Still doesn’t prove he didn’t fuck that whore,” she said in anger.
“Ash, come on.”
“No, you come on! How would you feel in my situation? Everyone lied!”
“Jack punched Duncan in the eye.”
“That makes me feel a little better,” she said. “But even if that’s not his child, he still slept with her.”
“No, he didn’t,” I insisted. “He blacked out, Ash. The night he met Lila. Don’t you think that’s weird? How much scotch does it take for your husband to black out?”
She didn’t reply and I went on, “Someone drugged him and made it look like Duncan slept with Lila.”
“Why?”
“For the same reason someone had Flynn arrested for Lila’s murder. Someone is out to get Flynn.”
“So why didn’t this person drug Flynn and have him wake up next to Lila?” she demanded.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe Lila tried to get Flynn to pay attention to her but he wouldn’t. Maybe someone is going after those close to Flynn to make him suffer. I don’t have the answers, Ash, but I do know Duncan—and his story about that night is true. I’d bet my life on it.”
“It’s not enough for me,” she said quietly.
“I know. But I’m working on getting you proof.”
“Okay,” she said tiredly.
“But you have to answer when I call.”
“Okay.”
“I miss you.”
“I miss you, too,” she said. Her voice had begun to thaw, but that didn’t mean her anger had. I wasn’t going to push my luck.
“So how the hell did Flynn get out on bail if he was charged for murder?” she demanded.
I sighed. “Yeah, about that… so I was in Buenos Aires…”
Flynn met me in the lobby and we ran to each other like two lovers in a sappy romantic comedy. He lifted me in the air and my legs wrapped around his waist. I kissed him like an ocean and a war had separated us for years.
“Barrett,” he breathed when my mouth finally left his only to pepper kisses across hi
s face. “Barrett, love,” he tried again. “Let’s go upstairs before we give the employees a show.”
I grinned as he set me down on the floor. Grabbing my hand, he tugged me towards the elevator. Once we were in private, he pinned me against the elevator wall, his hands framing my face.
“You’re safe,” he growled.
“Yes.” My hands plowed into his hair as I tried to get him to kiss me again. The doors opened, and he hauled me away from the wall and into the suite.
“You scared the shite out of me,” he stated, his eyes dark and dangerous.
“I did what I had to do.” I began backing away even as Flynn stalked towards me.
“And what was that?” Flynn demanded as he whipped his gray sweater up over his head and tossed it aside.
“I made a deal with Mateo Sanchez.”
Flynn continued to come for me, his intense stare making me shiver in anticipation. Though Flynn appeared mad, I never worried that he’d hurt me.
“What kind of deal?” he whispered when he was standing directly in front of me. His bare chest brushed my shirt and my nipples pebbled. He reached up to cup my breasts and he groaned when he realized I wasn’t wearing a bra.
“You want to talk about the deal now?” I demanded.
His grin was wolfish. He tore my t-shirt in half and then dropped to his knees. Placing his mouth on my bare belly, he bathed me in light kisses. My hands went to his hair, and I closed my eyes, reveling in the moment. Right now, nothing else mattered except this. So much of our time together was made up of separations and reunions.
Flynn’s hands tugged at my jeans and then he was pulling me down to the floor. Our mouths collided, our bodies fused together. We crashed and obliterated. When he slammed inside of me, I no longer felt empty and adrift. We stared into each other’s eyes, refusing to break our gaze. His hands held my hips as he rolled us so that I was atop him.
“Ride me,” he gritted out. His fingers slid between our joined bodies and I ignited, going up in flames. He speared up into me, calling out my name, cursing in Gaelic, praying to a God neither of us believed in.
I leaned over and pressed my cheek to his chest. Flynn’s fingers trailed up and down my spine for a moment and then stopped.
