“I don’t know.” Her tongue swirled around him. “I’ve never done this before, just as I’d never had a man love me the way you did.” She dipped her head again. Found him again. Murmured even as she circled him. “I think . . .” She closed her mouth fully over him, lingered, learned, memorized the heat and pulse of life in him, took him deeply and lost herself, tasted the salt of creation. Slowly, slowly, she released him. “Yes, I like it. A lot.”
The pleasure on Hannah’s face as she bent to caress him again made Archer fight for the control that she stripped from him so effortlessly. He lay on his back, fingers digging into the bedcovers. As the sultry tugging of her mouth consumed him, he wondered if she had any idea of what she was doing to him.
“You keep that up and you’re going to make me come,” he said finally, raggedly.
She looked up and his breath fragmented in a groan; her eyes were heavy lidded, as sensual as her mouth caressing him, and her nipples were drawn into hard, hungry peaks. Clearly she liked arousing him, pleasuring him.
“I’d rather be inside you,” he said thickly. “But it’s your call, sweetheart.”
“Would you mind?”
“Whatever you want,” he said simply, closing his eyes, giving himself to her. “However you want it.”
He felt her weight shift on the bed until she was astride him. She guided him home, taking him inside her with a slow, slow motion of her hips that made the world go a radiant kind of black all around him. Hot black. Deep and sweet and dangerous. Without knowing it, he groaned.
She heard. Need pricked her with exquisite claws. Shivering, she gave him what she couldn’t hold back, took from him what she needed to survive. With every breath, every heartbeat, she kissed him, her mouth open and lazy. Forehead, eyelids, lips, neck, shoulders, everything she could reach without losing the slow, complete rhythm of giving and taking and needing and sharing.
And then she felt him change, sensed the rigid tension and the hot surge deep within her body, his strength given to her without hesitation, her name broken on his lips, and the elemental pulses that were both his and her own. She trembled with him, around him, in a long, shivering consummation that was all the more shattering for its tenderness. Boneless, spent, she sprawled the length of his body and waited to find out if she was still alive.
As the sweat cooled on their bodies, Archer shifted.
“No,” Hannah whispered, wrapping her arms around him. “Don’t leave me.”
“Don’t worry.”
Leaving her was the last thing on his mind. That would come later, and with it would come the kind of pain he didn’t want to think about. He grabbed the down comforter, wrapped them up in it like a sleeping bag, and drew her so close he couldn’t take a breath without tasting her. It was the same for her, breathing him in, tasting him, holding him. With a long sigh, she slid into sleep.
She didn’t fear her dreams now.
Twenty-six
The ringing phone dragged Archer out of deep sleep. After a moment of fumbling, he realized that he and Hannah were cocooned in a down comforter. He wriggled until he could free an arm and reach blindly for the phone. Hannah murmured and followed the heat of his body until she was covering him like a second blanket. As he lifted the receiver, he decided that he really liked the feel of her snuggled against him from his chin to his heels. The only thing that would have been better was being inside her at the same time.
“Yeah?” Archer said into the receiver.
“Slick, we need to talk.”
Archer didn’t need to ask who was calling. Only one person called him slick in just that impatient tone of voice: April Joy. His mind cleared instantly. “When and where?”
“What would you say to green tea at the Dragon Moon?”
“No, thanks.”
“No shit.” She laughed curtly. “My office. Now.”
“My office,” Archer corrected. “Thirty minutes.”
“Your office. Fifteen minutes. Bring Hannah McGarry.”
April hung up. Hard.
Archer put the receiver back in its cradle without disturbing Hannah, who was still lying on top of him like a cat on the hood of a warm car. And, catlike, she was watching him with big, curious eyes.
“Who was that?” she asked.
“The person who supplied us with passports and clothes in Australia.”
Hannah blinked. “And now?”
“It’s payback time.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Much as I’d like to be ravished again, I’m afraid I’ll have to go.”
She smiled slowly, remembering just how much fun it had been to have him at her mercy. “I’m going with you.”
“I want to keep you as far away from Ms. Joy as possible.”
“You know what Len used to say?”
“No.”
“Put your wishes in one hand and piss in the other and see which fills up first.”
Archer smiled thinly. “Vintage Len. All right, Hannah. Get dressed. April Joy mentioned bringing you. She’ll be in a better mood if I look like I’m cooperating.”
Hannah started to slide off him, then stopped when his big hands fitted themselves to her buttocks. He gave a deep, slow squeeze that had her breath wedging and fire licking out from her core.
“Kiss me,” he said. “Hard and fast. Then run like hell for the shower.”
Even though Donovan International’s headquarters in Seattle was the twin building across the courtyard from the residential condos, Hannah and Archer were late. She hadn’t stopped with one kiss.
He hadn’t stopped at all.
“Good morning, Mitchell,” Archer said to his assistant. Mitchell Moore had worked for Donovan International for fifteen years. Ten of those years had been as a field supervisor on various mines around the world. After a mine caved in on him, he was given a choice between retirement at disability pay or using his organizational skills as Archer’s assistant. Two years ago he had been offered a promotion to coordinator of overseas mining. He refused, saying that working with Archer was as close to exciting as desk jobs got. Archer had been so relieved that he gave Mitchell a 50 percent raise. “Did your wife like the opera?”
“Good afternoon, sir, and yes, thank you. Verdi is a favorite of hers.” The emphasis on hers was just enough to tell everyone that Verdi wasn’t Mitchell’s favorite way to spend an evening.
“Is it afternoon?” Surprised, Archer looked at his watch. “So it is. Next time the tickets will be for a Sea Hawks game.”
“There is a god,” Mitchell said under his breath.
Hannah bit her lip to keep from laughing. Archer’s secretary winked at her. The wink transformed him from a proper martinet into a rogue wearing a pale blue shirt, a conservative maroon tie, and a stainless steel watch with a mirror face.
The fax machine beeped a delivery warning. Mitchell spun his wheelchair and reached for the sheets that were piled up in the receiving tray.
“A Ms. April Joy is waiting for you downstairs,” Mitchell said as he scanned the first page of the fax. “She claims she has an appointment. As you weren’t expected to come in today, I told her I couldn’t guarantee your presence. She wasn’t happy.” He dropped the page back into the tray. “The fax will wait until you’re back from your emergency trip to Australia, whenever that might be.”
“The emergency has moved to Seattle. Send April up in two minutes,” Archer added, not answering his assistant’s unspoken question about how long the emergency might last. “Coffee for three.”
“She isn’t alone.”
Archer didn’t move, but he changed. The easy humor was gone. In its place was cold readiness. “Who?”
“A man called Ian Chang.”
That answered one question: Archer now knew who Uncle Sam was backing in the pearl sweepstakes. What he didn’t know was why.
“Observations?” Archer asked quietly.
Mitchell wheeled back to face his boss. “If they’re friends, it’s not an easy relationship. Mr.
Chang looked like he would rather have been somewhere else. Anywhere else. Ms. Joy could have etched glass with the edge of her tongue. Will you be needing the lawyers, or is Uncle Sam going to behave?”
“I’ll buzz you if it gets sticky.”
The phone rang. Mitchell picked it up. “Archer Donovan’s office.” He began reading the fax again. “I’m sorry, an emergency called him out of the office. Perhaps I could help you.”
As Archer led Hannah through a door at the side of the office, she looked back over her shoulder at his assistant. Mitchell winked again. She winked back, drawing a wide smile from him.
Archer’s office had a wall of windows overlooking Elliot Bay. A big green-and-white ferry was working its way across the wind-scoured water. Clouds revealed part of the Olympic Mountains and concealed the rest. The city gleamed white and shiny black in the aftermath of a cleansing rain.
The office itself contained all the standard executive appointments—large polished desk set at right angles to the view, big leather chair, a grouping of sofas around a low table, a wet bar. Some of the touches weren’t standard. One of Susa’s powerful, compelling landscapes hung on the wall opposite the desk, where Archer could enjoy the painting every time he looked up from work. The yellows, oranges, reds, and brooding purple of the sunset painting were repeated by a trio of free-form glass sculptures that graced the low table in front of the couches.
“Beautiful,” Hannah said, running her fingertips over glass. “Hot to the eyes, cool to the touch.”
“I like the sculpture in your house better. Couldn’t stop touching it. Like you this morning.”
Startled, she looked up at him. “Do you mean that?”
“About touching you?”
She smiled but shook her head. “No, the sculpture.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. I threw away all the rest that I did, but I kept that one even though Len laughed at me.”
“You created that?”
She shrugged. “Created is a big word for a bad carving.”
“Created is the right word for that sculpture.”
For a moment she looked at him, measuring the truth of his words. “You mean it.”
“Of course. Why are you surprised?”
“Try shocked. Len couldn’t say enough bad things about my carvings.”
I’m not Len. But the savage thought went no further than Archer’s mind. He accepted that Hannah saw Len every time she looked at his half brother. Nothing Archer did seemed to change that. Much of what he did made it worse. “Len was wrong about a lot of things.”
Archer put his hand under her chin and kissed her slowly, thoroughly, trying not to think about how much longer she would want him. Lust was a hot, quick emotion. Love was hotter, and lasted as long as there was breath. That was how long he would want her. Thinking about the difference in their needs would only ruin whatever time they had together, so he put away that knowledge and concentrated on the woman in his arms.
“No wonder Susa looked daggers at me when I told her to forget having you as a daughter-in-law,” he said, barely lifting his lips from Hannah’s long enough to get out the words. “She had you pegged for a fellow artist.”
“Ruddy hell,” she muttered, embarrassed. “Your mother hangs in museums. I’ve nowhere near her talent.”
“Bull dust.”
She smiled, then laughed out loud and kissed him full on the mouth. “I don’t believe a word of it, but thank you. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one in the world who likes to pet wood.”
“The only thing that feels as good beneath my hands as that sculpture is you.”
Hannah’s breath shortened. She remembered waking up, being pulled over him, and his long fingers sinking into her hips.
“Are you thinking about what I’m thinking about?” Archer asked huskily.
“I hope so.”
He gave a crack of laughter and reached for her even as she came up to meet him.
When April Joy walked into the office she saw a long-limbed woman wrapped around Archer like a jungle vine. He was wrapped around her just as tight. April hadn’t believed it when Ian Chang had told her Archer and Hannah McGarry were lovers.
She believed it now.
“Full points to you on that one, Ian,” April said sardonically. “If they were any closer, it would take a surgical team to separate them. I didn’t know he had it in him. Or should I say, in her?”
When Hannah stiffened, Archer broke the kiss and said very softly, “Follow my lead, okay?”
She hesitated, then nodded, watching April Joy uneasily. The woman was petite, beautifully formed, with raven hair and matching eyes, delicate Chinese features, and a way of moving that could set fire to brick. The crimson wool suit she wore was both elegant and severe. Though there was no badge in sight, she wore authority and ruthless intelligence the way other women wore perfume.
“What’s on your mind?” Archer asked April.
“How to make the kind of pearls Yin’s brother is dying for,” she said coolly. “That would be the merry widow’s department, I believe.”
“You knew Len,” Archer said, his voice hard. “You will apologize to Hannah for that crack.”
“It’s not necessary,” Hannah said quickly.
April’s smile was as hard as Archer’s voice. She turned to Hannah. “I’m sorry your husband was a prick. If he had been mine, I would have put him under years ago and danced on his grave. Now, how do you make those damned black pearls?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bullshit.”
“Wrong,” Hannah retorted.
“Prove it,” April said.
“How can she prove a negative?” Archer asked.
“Good question, slick. I’m waiting for an answer.”
Chang looked at Hannah, who was even now flushed from Archer’s arms. It galled Chang, but he didn’t allow it to get in the way of business. “How do you think Len got his black rainbows?”
“I don’t know. He never told me.”
“Once I got past the lick-me lips and ball-breaking ass, I learned that you’re a very bright lady,” Chang said coolly. “I want your best guess.”
Archer gave Chang a look that had April’s hand sliding into her neat black purse.
“I suspect some kind of cloning of the mantle material,” Hannah said. The neutral tone of her voice said it wasn’t the first time Chang had talked about her body.
“Explain,” April said.
“When we seed an oyster,” Hannah said, “we carefully pry open the shell and make an incision in the living flesh. That’s where the seed goes. With it we put in a bit of living mantle—the flesh that lines the shell and deposits nacre—from another oyster. It’s the bit of introduced mantle that starts the process of pearl formation around the implanted seed.”
“So you think the secret was in the bit of mantle he inserted, which told the oyster how to produce the rainbow blacks?” Chang asked.
“You told me to guess,” Hannah said. “That’s one of my two best guesses. The second possibility is that Len cloned the experimental oysters himself and used mantle from sacrificed experimental oysters for seeding.”
Frowning, Chang absently shot the cuffs of his creamy linen shirt. The heavy wool and silk blend of his suit was an intense indigo that almost matched Hannah’s eyes. The realization annoyed him.
“I know Len raised the experimental oysters himself,” Hannah added. “They were never wild shell. That’s why I lean toward the second possibility.”
“Cloning?” April asked.
Hannah nodded. “It would explain the narrow color variation among all the experimentals.”
“Coffee,” Mitchell said from the door.
“Bring it in,” Archer said.
Mitchell wheeled over, put the tray on the low table next to the unusual glass vases, and looked at his boss.
“I’ll take it from here,” Archer said. “Thanks. If anyone calls, I’m still in Aus
tralia.”
“Is Ms. Joy here?” Mitchell asked.
“Ms. Joy,” April said distinctly, “is not here. You’ve never heard of her.”
“Mr. Ian Chang,” Mitchell said, “is he here?”
“Who?” April retorted.
Mitchell nodded and rolled out, closing the door behind him.
While Archer poured coffee, April looked around the office. She tried not to stare at the vivid landscape, but couldn’t help it. Outside of a museum, it was as close as she had ever come to a Susa Donovan painting.
“You can doctor your own coffee,” Archer said, indicating the tray of sugar, cream, cinnamon, and various other spices.
April ignored coffee and additives alike. “What happened to the pearls you bought from Yin?”
“Did I buy pearls from him?” Archer asked, sipping coffee made the way he liked it—hot and very dark.
“Don’t go sideways on me, slick. We both know where you and Hannah spent the morning.”
“Since when is sleeping late a crime?” Hannah asked.
“Sleeping isn’t. Neither is screwing. Sawed-off shotguns are.” April flicked a black glance at Hannah. “You have guts, Ms. McGarry. Not much sense, but real guts. What’s it like to love someone enough to die in his place?”
Hannah went pale. She didn’t want to think about the dream she had had, or the instant early this morning when she had been certain that Archer would die if she didn’t do something. She hadn’t considered the implication of her action at the time, her reckless disregard for her own safety.
She didn’t want to consider the implication now. It frightened her as nothing else had but the thought of Archer’s death.
“She would have done the same for a stranger,” Archer said curtly. “That’s just the way she is.”
“Saint Hannah?” April shrugged. “Whatever you say, slick. But I say you’re wrong.” She cocked her head slightly to the side, studying both Archer and Hannah for a long minute. “Okay, we’ll try it your way. If that doesn’t get to the bottom line in one hell of a hurry, we’ll do it my way.”
Archer waited, revealing nothing of his feelings. The thought that Hannah had chosen to put herself in the line of fire to save him both angered him and moved him as nothing ever had in his life.
Pearl Cove Page 36
