by I. T. Lucas
“I’m glad.”
“I want you all to come on one. How long are you staying here?”
Kian rose to his feet. “We are going back Sunday.”
“Then maybe tomorrow?”
“You said you’re booked for weeks.”
She waved a hand. “For you, I’ll cancel a few reservations.”
Kian shook his head. “Don’t. I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want unhappy hotel guests whose reservation was canceled for no good reason. It’s not good for business.”
“Yes, boss.” She saluted.
Chapter 23: Bridget
The guys returned from questioning the Russians late in the evening, going straight to the hotel’s restaurant to join their ladies for dinner.
“How did it go?” Syssi asked.
Kian raked his fingers through his hair. “They did the best they could, but we didn’t learn anything new.”
Turner’s impassive expression revealed nothing. “Perhaps we should do what Anandur suggested and question their boss. The crew didn’t know where the buyers came from and how he contacted them. This could be valuable information.”
Anandur grimaced. “I don’t want to spoil everyone’s dinner and get into why that’s a bad idea.”
“I agree,” Bridget said.
There were no eavesdroppers in the private room Syssi had reserved for their group’s dining enjoyment, but talking shop was sure to spoil the languid mood from a day spent getting pampered at the spa.
Callie sighed. “We had a wonderful time at the spa. I got my nails done.” She wiggled her fingers in front of Brundar.
He looked but didn’t comment.
Rolling her eyes, Callie sighed. “You don’t like it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Why do I even try?”
“Your nails look nice.” Anandur came to his brother’s aid. “But they looked nice before too.”
Syssi patted Callie’s shoulder. “Don’t get upset. Most men don’t pay attention to little things like that.”
“I don’t see the difference,” Brundar finally admitted.
Callie’s expression softened. “It’s a clear polish. And the manicurist gave them a nice shape. I had my toes done too, but also in clear polish. Next time I’ll go for bright red so you’ll notice.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Anandur said. “Maybe if you glued on those long fake nails he would.”
Callie looked at Brundar. “Do you like long fake nails?”
He shrugged. “I have no opinion.”
“Right.” Callie sighed.
Bridget leaned back in her chair and tuned out the conversation. She’d made plans for tonight and was eager for dinner to be over so she could tell Turner all about them.
A smile lifted the corners of her lips as she imagined his response. The little game she’d come up with was right up his street, and it was also the main reason she’d declined Kian’s invitation to stay in his and Syssi’s vacation home, opting for a hotel suite instead.
“What’s that smile for?” Turner asked.
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Did you have fun today?”
“Oh, yeah. Four hours of pampering. I’ve never indulged like that before. It’s not like facials and massages are going to improve my skin or my circulation. But I enjoyed doing nothing and managed not to worry about all the things I still needed to do.”
She’d taken Syssi’s advice to let her brain take a break. It would function better after having been barely active for serval hours.
He reached under the table and took her hand. “Good. You needed the relaxation after all the hard work you put into the presentation.”
She cast him a hooded-eyed glance. “You’re absolutely right.”
The tightening of his hand around hers indicated that her meaning hadn’t been lost on him. “I’m looking forward to whatever you have in mind.”
An hour later, after coffee and dessert were served, Bridget pushed away from the table. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m done for the day. Thank you for a lovely dinner.”
Turner followed her lead. “Do we split the bill? How does it work?”
“Don’t worry about it, my friend. It’s covered.” Kian put his hand on the folder containing the bill.
“The clan owns the hotel,” Bridget said.
Turner still looked uncomfortable. “So it’s on the house?”
“Exactly,” Kian said.
Pulling out his wallet, Turner took out a hundred dollar bill. “Let me at least leave a tip for the waiters.”
Kian didn’t argue. “You can do that if you want.”
It had been the right thing to do, but it surprised her that Kian understood Turner’s need to share in the expense.
With him it wasn’t only about his male ego demanding that he paid, it was about Turner growing up in a house of modest means, and his need to prove that he didn’t need anyone’s charity.
“So what are the plans for tomorrow?” Bridget asked. “Are you guys done working?”
Kian lifted his brows. “I wish. What do you have in mind?”
“A day on the beach doing nothing is fine. Or we can take a speedboat and go on a little excursion.”
“I would like that,” Syssi said.
Kian wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Then that’s what we are going to do.”
Apparently, the way to get Kian to agree to most anything was for Syssi to ask for it.
“I’ll take care of it. Are we buying a boat or renting it?” Anandur asked.
“Renting,” Syssi said.
“Buying,” Kian said at the same time.
Anandur crossed his arms over his chest. “So what would it be? Buying or renting?”
Syssi cast a hard glare at Kian. “Renting. I don’t see us vacationing here for more than a few days a year. Buying a boat for that would be a huge waste of money.”
“It’s not that expensive,” Kian tried to argue.
“No. If you want to throw money around, I can think of a few worthy charities it can go to.”
Kian threw his hands in the air. “You’re impossible to please.”
“On the contrary, my love. I’m very easy to please.”
And just like that Kian’s irritation was gone, and his eyes began smoldering. Pushing his chair back, he made a move to stand.
Syssi caught his hand and tugged him back down. “I’m not done with my crème brûlée yet,” she said.
Bridget stifled a snort. Kian might have huffed and puffed, convincing everyone he was the big, bad wolf, but shy, gentle Syssi had the big guy wrapped around her little finger.
They said their goodbyes, leaving the rest of the group to enjoy their desserts, and stepped out into the breezy open-air lobby.
Turner stopped and pulled her into his arms. “Tell me what that smile was all about. Throughout dinner, it was all I could think about.”
So had she. “Did you see the movie True Lies?”
“The one with Schwarzenegger?”
“Yes.”
“I saw it. Funny movie. I liked the beginning with the wife.”
“Bingo. That’s the scene I want to play.”
He lifted a brow. “You want to watch an old movie?”
For a smart guy, he was sometimes so dense. “No, I want you to pretend to be the super-spy who is waiting for a call girl.”
He chuckled. “That’s what I thought you meant, but I wanted to make sure.”
Okay, so he wasn’t dense, just cautious.
“What part are you going to play?” he asked.
Bridget rolled her eyes. “The terrorist.”
He laughed, the sound filling her heart with joy. “Are you going to be the pro or the timid wife?”
“Which one do you prefer?”
There was no hesitation. “The one you want to be.”
Tough choice. Both options offered some exciting possib
ilities.
“How about I surprise you?”
The hunger in his eyes was her answer. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Chapter 24: Turner
His eyes trained on the door, Turner sat in an armchair in the darkened hotel room and waited for Bridget.
She hadn’t told him which part she was going to play, that of a call girl or the timid wife masquerading as one. He knew how to respond to the first but not the second. As good as his acting skills were, they were limited to just a few roles, and the loving husband trying to provide his bored wife with some excitement was not one of them. On the upside, Turner didn’t need an actor to record French dialog for him. He could manage just fine on his own.
Still, Bridget might surprise him by coming up with a different game. He hoped she would. Turner’s ability to predict people’s words and actions meant that he was seldom surprised and rarely excited. Not that he was complaining. Most of life’s surprises weren’t good, and he would gladly do without them. Except, there was something to be said for the unexpected, it provided spice to an otherwise predictable existence.
The knock on the door pulled him out of his reverie. Should he answer in French?
“Come in.” He decided to stick with plain old English.
The door creaked open. “Mr. Turner? Is that you?” The voice was Bridget’s, but the tone wasn’t.
Bridget spoke with confidence, the tone she was using now conveyed anxiety. Had she chosen to play the part of the wife?
It was too dark for him to see her, but he knew she had no problem seeing him. “I’m over here,” he said. “Would you like me to turn on the lights?”
“No. It's better like this.” She closed the door behind her but didn’t move from her spot.
“Come closer,” he commanded.
The woman sighed and took a few tentative steps. “I’m sorry, but Stacy couldn’t make it tonight. She’s got the flu, and all the others have it too. I was the only one available. I’m sorry.”
Bridget was playing the part so well, Turner focused on her voice to reassure himself it was her. Still, which part was it? He needed more clues.
“What’s your name?”
“Gena.”
“Come a little closer, Gena, and tell me why you think you should apologize.”
“I’m not who you were expecting.”
As she took several small steps toward him, he could finally see the outline of her body. It was definitely Bridget.
“It doesn’t really matter.”
“It does.” She inhaled as if searching for courage. “I’m new. I was supposed to get training, but there was no time. I’m afraid I’ll be a disappointment to you. Perhaps you would prefer a refund? I’m sure the agency will give you back your money.”
“I don’t want my money back.” He extended his hand, and when she took it, he pulled her gently onto his lap.
Bridget didn’t look at him, her red hair spilling in thick waves on both sides of her face.
He hooked a finger under her chin. “Look at me.”
She did, chewing on her lower lip. “Yes?”
Damn, she was good. But he still wasn’t sure if Bridget was playing the role of the wife or not.
“Do you want to be here, Gena?”
She nodded.
“Why?” Maybe she would finally give him a clue.
A timid smile lifted the corners of her lips. “You’re very handsome.”
“I’m glad you think so. But if I’m your first client, you can still change your mind. In this profession, you don’t get to choose, and the next one might not appeal to you.”
She shifted in his lap, making herself more comfortable and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m going to tell you a secret,” she whispered in his ear. “I’m not a call girl in training. I’m the agency’s receptionist.” Bridget aka Gena kissed his neck, the soft touch sending a bolt of desire to his shaft.
Nuzzling his jaw, she continued. “When Stacy called in sick, I logged into your account to let you know she had to cancel, but then I saw your picture and decided to take her place.” She lifted her eyes to him. “Are you mad? I know I’m not as gorgeous as Stacy, but I’ve been told I’m pretty.”
“You’re beautiful.”
She looked at him from beneath her lowered lashes. “Do you mean it? You’re not just saying it to be nice?”
It seemed he’d been right about Bridget’s inventiveness. This was a different storyline.
Was he still supposed to be the secret agent?
The role fit him well, so why not. He could roll with that.
Pushing up, Turner let her feel his hardness. “Trust me, sweetheart, I’m not the type who bothers with niceties. I know what I want, and right now it’s the curvy redhead sitting on my lap.”
“For real? Are you sure there is no one else you’d rather be with?”
“I would prefer a naked redhead.”
She giggled in a very un-Bridget-like way. “That could be arranged.” Now that sounded more like the Bridget he knew.
Victor moved her off his lap but kept his hands on her waist. “Stacy was supposed to perform a pole dance for me. Can you dance, Gena?”
He’d been looking forward to that part from the movie. The question was whether the doctor had moves.
“I can try.”
“Please do.”
She looked down at her shoes. “I need music.”
He was ready for that. “No problem.”
Turner pulled out his phone and pressed play on the soundtrack he’d prepared. “Is that good?”
“Perfect.” Sauntering toward the row of light switches, Bridget moved her hips as if she’d been walking the runway her entire life. She pushed one up a bit, illuminating the bed area and leaving the rest of the room in darkness.
Slowly making her way to the four-poster bed, she pulled her dress over her head and tossed it on the floor.
Clad only in a pair of red heels, a black thong, and a barely-there lacy black bra, she wrapped her arm around one of the posts, lifted her leg, and hooked it around the thing. She then bent so far backward that the ends of her red hair were touching the floor and her ample breasts were about to spill out of her bra.
Turner’s breath hitched.
The woman knew what she was doing with that pole. Where the hell had she learned how to do that?
Was it an innate talent? Did all immortal females move like that?
Doubtful.
Bridget was a vision. Her body moving in precise fluidity and perfect balance, she performed acrobatics he would have never suspected her capable of.
When the soundtrack ended, he was tempted to start it again even though it was torture to look at the woman and not touch her. But it was sweet torture, the buildup of anticipation a pleasure on its own.
He rose to his feet and clapped his hands. “Bravo!”
“Thank you.” Bridget smiled, kicked off her red shoes, and climbed on the bed. “I forgot you wanted your redhead naked.”
He didn’t forget, but dancing in her sexy lingerie had been just as titillating as dancing naked would have been.
Probably more.
Turner knew next to nothing about sexy lingerie, but he knew what looked good.
On her knees, she unhooked her bra with one hand, covered her breasts with her other arm, and tossed the scrap of lace on the floor.
“Are you ready to see what you’re paying for, Mr. Turner?” She turned around and bent forward, thrusting her luscious heart-shaped ass out as she wiggled out of her thong.
Turner smoothed a hand over his jaw. “Mercy,” he groaned.
Chapter 25: Bridget
The dance had been fun, and by Turner’s heated reaction she hadn’t messed it up. The only pole dancing she’d seen was that one scene in the movie. She’d used a few of the moves she’d remembered and improvised the rest. As an immortal, her body was flexible and supple without much effort put into exercising, which in her case was l
imited to occasional walks around the block.
Behind her, the heat from Turner’s body reached her before his hand touched her behind in a loving caress.
Maybe loving was too strong of a word for it, but she was going to stick with it. His touch was gentle, his palm warm, and his hand lingered as if he never wanted to sever the contact.
With his other hand, he helped her slide the thong all the way down her legs and tossed it aside to join her bra and dress on the floor.
She made a move to lift her torso, but he guided her back down with a soft push.
“Stay like that,” he whispered. “It’s a million dollar view.”
She chuckled. “Three thousand at least.”
“Is that what I’m paying you?” He trailed his hand lower, cupping her mound.
She moaned. “Aha…”
His finger dipped between her folds. “Worth every penny.”
“I didn’t do anything to earn it yet.”
“The view alone is worth that much. From now on you’ll be working for your tip.” He smeared her wetness around her lower lips but not where she needed it most.
Ugh, he was going to take it slow. “Tell me what you want, Mr. Turner.”
“I want everything.”
It was hard to think with his finger doing all kind of wicked things to her, and she meant it literally. Not touching her pulsating nerve center was mean.
A sigh of relief escaped her lips at the sound of rustling fabric. Victor taking off his clothes signaled the end of her torment. The man had formidable self-control, but even he had limits. Staring at her ass was no doubt stretching his resolve to the max. Turner was obsessed with it.
Lucky for him, she had a plentiful backside. Not as in huge, she was too small of a woman for any part of her to qualify as such, but she was curvy, with a fairly big bust, a proportionally sized ass, and a narrow waist.
A classic hourglass figure.
In his usual efficient and economical manner, Turner had promptly gotten rid of his clothes, not tossing them on the floor as she had, but folding them neatly and placing them on the bench that hugged the footboard. The way he’d arranged her, visual information was not available to her, but Bridget’s hearing was good enough to ascertain every move he made.
