by Lora Leigh
Wrapping her arms around his neck she arched and writhed against him. His name was a ragged chant on her lips, drawn from the growing desperation building inside her.
Lightning-hot bolts of sensation tore across her nerve endings, whipped through her body, and sent waves of clawing hunger washing through her.
She couldn’t bear it. The need was tearing at her like a ravenous beast, filling her with a desperation she couldn’t fight or control any longer.
“Please, John,” she cried out, fighting to breathe through the hunger that tore at her senses. “Take me now. I can’t bear it. Please.”
“God, I can’t let you go yet,” he groaned against her breast as he licked at her nipple before turning to its mate. “Not yet, Bailey.”
His fingers worked inside her, stroking and caressing tender tissue, stoking the fire burning inside her until she could feel the flames licking at her soul.
“No. No. Now.” She arched, the muscles of her pussy tightening around his thrusting fingers. “Now, John. Please.”
She couldn’t bear much more. She needed so desperately to feel him inside her that she couldn’t bear the sensations.
“God, you’re killing me.” His fingers slid free of her as he rose between her thighs. “Sweet sweet Bailey, you’ll be the death of me.”
She watched, licking her lips in anticipation as he stroked the sheathed flesh of his cock and moved closer to the aching center of her body.
She reached for him, gripped the hard shaft herself and lifted to him, drawing him to her and tucking the head of his erection into the clenching entrance of her pussy.
“Love me,” she whispered. “Just this once.”
His expression tightened, his gray eyes darkened to nearly black as he froze against her for one long moment. Their gazes locked, Bailey watched as something akin to grief swirled in the hungry depths of his eyes.
“Forever,” he whispered, the word almost soundless, almost broken as his hips moved.
Bailey cried out, her hands flying to his hips while he thrust against her, pushing inside her, working his erection desperately into the tight depths of her sex as the world began to explode around her.
She saw stars. She saw a sunburst explode inside her mind as he thrust to the hilt, stretching the sensitive tissue as she clenched in reflex around him.
His groans mixed with her cries as he began to move. There was no time for slow loving now. They needed too much, had too many memories, too many sensations to store up inside their souls.
John felt as though his soul were pouring from his body into hers. He couldn’t hold back the emotions any more than he could hold back the need that tore at him.
His balls were tight with the need for release, his cock flexing, clenching as he felt her pussy tightening around him and the hard arch of her body when her orgasm flooded through her.
His name was a steady chant on her lips. Love filled her voice, her hold, it wrapped around him until he could feel nothing, sense nothing but Bailey. Until nothing mattered but the woman, until he released inside her with a hard growl, his body arching, tensing until he felt as though he had been shattered from the inside out.
Until he knew, without Bailey, he was nothing. Pleasure would be a thing of a past. He would be like a ghost, haunting the world for the love of a woman.
God help him, how was he was supposed to walk away from her now?
CHAPTER 9
THE NEXT EVENING BAILEY stood amid the bright chandeliers, surrounded by the slow, sweet strains of orchestral music, and watched the eleven other couples in attendance at Ford Grace’s dinner party.
These dinner parties were always excellently timed to coincide with other parties being held through the night. Tonight the couples in attendance would leave to attend a fete held in honor of one of Hollywood’s leading men, who coincidentally was staring in a major production by a studio that Stephen Menton-Squire and his wife, Josephine, held major interest in.
Bailey had never enjoyed the rounds of dinner parties, despite her mother’s attempts to instill a sense of excitement about them. They were boring, the food was too rich, and the guests were too self-involved. She had never understood why her parents had enjoyed them so much.
After-dinner drinks were served in the large family room of Ford’s mansion. The chandeliers overhead were dimmed. Tastefully arranged lamps were set in place around a large seating area, which faced a crackling fire. Conversation flowed as freely as the alcohol.
“Interesting group,” John murmured from where they stood next to French doors that led to an evergreen garden beyond.
It was an interesting group. Every suspect left on the short list that had been compiled was in attendance. Was it possible that Warbucks wasn’t one man, but a group of four?
“There’s Raymond,” Bailey said softly as John drew her onto the dance floor. “Whoever or whatever Warbucks is, he’s here tonight. All the major families are in attendance.”
“As well as a few well known criminal elements,” John pointed out rather sarcastically. “Amazing the clout a few good drugs will get you.”
It was amazing the amount of drugs that actually flowed in a party such as this one.
“No one has yet approached me,” she kept her voice low, her lips close to his neck as she spoke. “Considering I’m the one that chose the broker for this deal, and the one with the code needed, you would have thought I would be approached by now.”
“He’s waiting to see what you’ll do when confronted with the choice,” he told her. “No doubt he’s well aware of the fact that the brokers will let you in on the secret. Better you have one of them arrested than one of his men.”
“True,” she murmured. “Still, not exactly the wisest course of action where I’m concerned.”
“There’s no way he can know that one of us isn’t who we seem,” he told her. “My background is solid, darling, stop worrying. I’ll be fine.”
“Maybe it wasn’t you I was worried about.” She smiled before nipping his neck with her teeth. She was rewarded by the tightening of his hand at her hip and the hardening of his cock against her lower stomach.
That was how she liked him. Hard for her, hungry for her.
“I’ll make you pay for that comment later,” he assured her.
“Excuse me, Mr. Vincent, but perhaps you should give the rest of us a chance here.” The deep, dark male voice at her side had Bailey lifting her head from John’s shoulder to encounter the snake-mean gaze of an American broker known for his penchant for sexual torture and terrorist connections.
Ralph Stanford was the only son of a very successful Texas rancher. He had married an international model whose extremely good looks had withered away within years of her association with him.
“Ralph.” John stepped back with smooth grace as the other man laid his hand on Bailey’s hip. She almost felt her skin crawl.
“We could skip the dance.” She smiled tightly as he began to lead her around the room. “Why not get a drink and have a seat?”
He chuckled at the suggestion. “And miss a chance to rub against you as Vincent was doing? For shame, Bailey, knocking the rest of us off the playing field so easily isn’t exactly sportsmanlike.”
“I never claimed to be a sportsman, Ralph,” she drawled, well aware of the fact that John was watching the other man closely.
Tall, almost gangly, with rather long brown hair and fierce hazel eyes, Ralph Stanford could have been handsome if he didn’t work so hard at being the bastard he was. The corrupt soul of the man seemed to darken his expression, his eyes, even his smile.
“I would have thought you’d at least be required to be impartial,” he stated with no small amount of malice. “Fucking one of the competitors just seems a bit like foul play to me.”
“I didn’t see a rule book with the job,” she murmured. “I’m well aware of all your reputations. I’ll make certain the best man gets the job.” She’d already made her choice as far as she was
concerned. Warbucks was wasting his time with this little game.
“We were assured of impartiality,” he stated, a glimmer of anger showing in his eyes.
“And I’m being very impartial,” she promised. “If you don’t like how I do things, then perhaps you should take it up with your potential client. I only make the suggestion, I’m sure he’ll make the final choice.”
Personally she would have preferred to have been asked to take the position, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. The past year had been spent trying to convince Warbucks that she wanted her chance to get back at the government that had betrayed her. He was giving her the chance. Now, she had to play the hand she was dealt until the time came to cash in on her own vengeance.
Ralph’s thin lips nearly disappeared into his face as he pressed them together in irritation. “I’ll be certain to do that,” he informed her coldly. “Until then, Ms. Serborne, I’d watch my back if I were you. You could acquire several very dangerous enemies with this job.”
He walked away from her, leaving her in the middle of the dance floor as though he had cast her aside. Bailey let a rueful smile tip her lips at the curious glances from the other dancers.
“Were you deserted, darling?” John’s arm wrapped around her as he pulled her against the strength and heat of his body once again. “For shame. Some men just have no manners.”
Delight spread through her body at the feel of herself against him. She hadn’t realized just how good his body felt against her own. Even clothed in the finely cut evening suit, the hard muscle hidden from view, she could sense the strength and the heat of him.
“I considered it a favor,” she laughed lightly as he led her from the dance floor.
“I’m certain you did,” John agreed. “But while you were away, I received a very interesting message.”
He slipped the paper into her hand. Turning against his body to use it as a shield, she opened the folded note and read it quickly.
Ms. Serborne’s choice is noted. Not that it had been approved, simply that it had been noted.
Refolding it, she tucked it into her purse, noting the narrowing of his gaze as she did so.
“Well, it seems we are indeed being watched,” she murmured.
“Did you doubt it?” he asked her.
“I never doubt it, I simply hoped to figure out who it was rather quickly,” she sighed, though she knew she should have known better.
“Several other brokers are here as well as Stanford,” he noted. “Abbas and his former mistress are here.”
Former mistress, her ass. She knew exactly who Catalina Lamont truly was. The same redhead posing as John’s handler. A few cosmetic alterations to her face, a lighter rinse on her hair, and perhaps some padding at her breasts, but it was definitely the woman she had met as “Tehya” the morning before.
Catalina Lamont had been caught in the explosion with the real Jerric Abbas. They had literally died in each other’s arms. After the explosion, and the revelation that they had survived, the two had very publicly, and vocally, broken off the affair. They were now rumored to be mere business associates, nothing more.
It seemed Tehya was playing a variety of roles and ones she appeared to be well adept at playing.
“We also have a European arms broker in the mix, Terrance Dupuis,” she pointed out. “And a Saudi sheik who often brokers deals with the various terrorist groups. A Russian mafia figure arrived in Aspen earlier today as well.” She shot him a sidelong glance. “Ivan Olav. He’s gaining a name for himself with his negotiations on stolen Russian military weapons to terrorists.”
It all came down to terrorism. The various factions and cells in an age of terror and political and religious factions vying for supremacy however they could acquire it.
“We have quite a little mix,” John murmured. “And we’re about to add to it. Greer is coming up to us.”
Bailey turned as Raymond stepped closer, his expression unreadable.
“Bailey, could I drag you away from Mr. Vincent for a bit? Mary was feeling poorly and wanted to visit with you before we leave.”
“Of course.” Bailey turned to John and saw the edge of worry in his gaze. No one would have realized it, or would have recognized it. But the familiarity to Trent slammed inside her. The same light in his gaze, the way the shade darkened even as she watched him, the slightest tightened curve to his lips.
“I’ll be back soon,” she promised. “I saw Ian and Kira arrive earlier, perhaps you could take the opportunity to invite them to lunch tomorrow as we discussed.”
She hadn’t discussed it, but she knew Ian was part of the group that John was working with, as was Kira. It was time to draw the players together and force the answers she needed.
“Don’t be long, sweetheart.” He lowered his head, kissing her cheek gently. “You know how I worry.”
He had every right to worry, as they both knew. Turning back to Raymond, she gave him a slight smile before moving with him across the ballroom.
It wasn’t an odd request. Mary often had bouts of weakness and retired to a bedroom or sitting room where she visited with her closest friends during the parties she attended. Crowds often made her jittery anyway.
“This way.” Raymond stepped into the foyer and led the way to a short hallway that led from it. “Ford was kind enough to loan us his sitting room.”
Kind enough. “Ford” and “kind” weren’t words that she thought would be synonymous with the man. He was kind to his sister, he loved his son. His grandchildren treasured him. But he had terrorized his wife and daughter, and, she suspected, had ordered their deaths.
He was the same man who had cried at her parents’ funeral and went to their graves on the anniversary of their deaths. The man whose servants had gossiped that he’d nearly destroyed the inside of his home the day his wife and daughter had been buried.
He played a damned good game, she had to give him credit for that.
Opening the door to the sitting room, Raymond showed her inside, but no one was there. Bailey turned quickly to find Raymond closing the door before clicking the lock slowly into place.
“Where’s Mary?” She gripped her purse loosely, her finger lying on the trigger of the weapon within the silk folds of the small bag.
“Stand down, Bailey.” He shot her a disgusted look as he moved for the bar, his stooped shoulders rigid with either tension or anger, it was never easy to tell with Raymond. “I’m not going to have you killed while your lover is waiting in the ballroom.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time you arranged it.” She didn’t move her finger, but she relaxed marginally as he fixed himself a drink.
“Whisky and Coke?” He turned back to her, his heavy brow lifting in question as he gestured to the drinks.
Bailey nodded carefully. “What’s this about, Raymond?”
He finished fixing the drinks before moving back to her. “Have a seat, my dear.” He nodded to the chairs that sat in a small grouping to the side of the bar. “We need to talk.”
“Do we now?” She took her drink and accepted the chair closest to her as she watched him curiously. “And what do we have to talk about that would require such a private setting?”
Sitting down, Raymond leaned back in his chair, sipped at his own whisky, and let a smile touch his lips. “You’re rather good,” he stated after long moments. “I have to admit, even I had my doubts that you would turn your back on your own country until you covered our tracks in Iraq as you did just before your retirement.”
“You fucked up,” she snapped. “Damn, Raymond, I never thought you would have let yourself get burned so easily.”
She hadn’t been certain he had been involved until now. All she had known was where the trail had led, and the prints that had been lifted from the secured Army barracks that had held the confiscated plutonium found in a hidden, underground vault beneath Saddam Hussein’s castle.
“Very nearly,” he agreed. “We were working within a tighter s
chedule than we had assumed. Unfortunately, the prize wasn’t nearly as rich as we had assumed. The plutonium was unusable, I’m afraid. Saddam, it seemed, wasn’t nearly as bright as he led some of us to assume.”
Bailey sat back in her chair, forcing herself to keep her expression enigmatic, not to give up the fact that she had never truly been certain that Raymond was involved.
“Warbucks appreciated your efforts,” he murmured, watching her, his gaze narrow, thoughtful.
“That’s always nice to know.” Leaning back herself, she watched him for long moments, seeing a side to Greer that she had only suspected existed. She had always known he was cold, hard, superior, but what he was showing now was a casual confidence, a self assurance that attested to the fact that he now had the upper hand.
“I haven’t figured out exactly what you’d hoped to gain in the past years though,” he finally sighed. “We’ve watched you, of course, especially since I took over the day-to-day operations of the ventures he partakes of. You’ve gone to great lengths to protect him. Why?”
Bailey crossed her knees, rested her elbow on them, and sipped at her whisky as she considered the question.
“Whoever he is, he’s someone I’ve grown up with.” She finally shrugged. “Father didn’t completely fail in raising me, Raymond. I understand my duties to the men who have always watched my back. I looked after Warbucks’s interests, and he kept me alive. It was a beneficial arrangement.”
Raymond’s lips quirked in amusement. “How did you know he kept you alive?
“Orion had a big mouth,” she sniffed. “He warned me several times that he was being paid not to kill me and that one day there wouldn’t be enough to walk away from the temptation.” She grinned ruefully.
“You were rather a thorn in his side,” he sighed. “We paid quite a bit of money to ensure he didn’t harm you. Perhaps you could have done us a greater favor and let him be,” he suggested.
