by Jo Leigh
And here she was, standing close enough that he could smell the hint of citrus in her hair. There was nothing to do but touch her, let his fingers land gently on her shoulder, urge her forward.
She came willingly, her gaze as familiar as his dreams. He leaned down those few inches, touched the soft cream of her lips with his own.
Jenny sighed and he tasted her need.
He pulled her in tight. But she was tense, all the muscles in her back as taut as bow strings.
“Jenny, I can leave.”
She shook her head. “I’m okay,” she said in the whisper he heard every time his eyes closed.
“You’re not. You’re scared to death.”
“Of course I am. And you should be, too. But I don’t care. I need to forget. To make him disappear.”
“Ah, Jenny,” he said.
She didn’t say anything at all, and he lost her. Her gaze slipped away, staring past him, past the safety of the closet to the terror of out there.
No. He’d gotten a film loop of the closet to the boys outside and they’d rigged it so that whoever the hell was doing the surveillance wouldn’t know they were there. He’d fixed the microphones himself, so all they would hear was white noise.
This was all he could do. This stupid room with the racks and racks of shoes and rows of clothes and hats and purses, and the ugly velvet chair. But there were also the big pillows and the thick carpet, and they could make themselves a little nest, and he could touch her and feel her pale, cool palm on his hot, thick flesh.
He’d get her back. Gently. Carefully. Take her away. Bring her home.
He touched the side of her cheek with his fingers and Jenny looked up. There he was again, the one she recognized, the one she’d loved and never stopped loving. The man she wasn’t sure was real.
“I’m here,” he whispered. “Right now.”
“Who are you?”
His lips curved up on one side with the smile that had been her downfall. She was a strong woman and had trained herself to stand tough when everything told her to fold. But when it came to that smile, the way the lines spread from the edges of his eyes, the way his forehead furrowed, the cleft in his chin…the whole damn package, she was helpless. She’d wait forever for that smile.
“I’m Nick,” he whispered. “You know me. Just like I know you.” He leaned a bit to his right and kissed the curve of her neck, making her tremble. “I know you’re ticklish right here.” Then he took her earlobe between his teeth, nibbled long enough to weaken both her knees and her resolve. “I know the shape of your nose, how your skin feels after a bath. I know how you taste, Jenny. Every part of you. And I’m so damned hungry, I can’t stand it.”
She took in a deep breath of the masculine scent that was Nick and no one else on earth. Then she raised her arms and curled her hands around his neck. She kissed his chin, then closed her eyes. “I remember you, too,” she said. “Everything. Every move, every word, every touch.”
“Yes,” he said. “Everything.”
“More,” she said. “Give me more to remember.”
“Exactly what I had in mind.”
His hands moved down her back in a caress so gentle it took her breath away. And when those same hands moved to the front of her body and peeled back her shirt, he took far more than her breath.
TODD HUNG UP the phone and turned to face Sweet. “Well?”
“He’s settled, sir. He asked when he could see you. He seemed nervous.”
“I would imagine. I’ll see him when I’m ready. When he’s had time to sweat.”
“I told him, sir.”
“Good. And no one saw you?”
“No, sir. There was no tail. No one at the airport. I took the Pakistani in the back way. It was private.”
“Excellent.” Todd walked over to his desk, glanced at his calendar. “There’s been a change of plans for tonight. I’ll be going to the opening of the new review at the Mirage. On your way out, tell Jenny she’ll need to be ready at six. And tell her to wear the gold dress.”
“Yes, sir. She’s in her room?”
Todd sat in the chair he’d had specially made from kid leather. He swiveled to his right and pressed a button on his desk. A panel on the far wall lowered slowly, revealing a bank of television monitors. He glanced from screen to screen, searching her bedroom, her living room, her kitchen, even her bath. The suite was empty and silent. No activity in her closet or in the spare room. He looked at his Rolex and frowned. “Find out where she is, would you, Sweet? And get back to me.”
“Yes, sir.” Sweet, ever the obedient servant, turned to leave. As he got to the office door, Todd cleared his throat.
“And find Nick for me, would you? His cell phone seems to be on the blink.”
Henry Sweet smiled. “Be happy to, sir.”
JENNY FELL.
And Nick was there to catch her.
Like stepping off a curb, turning on a light, blinking. That’s how easy it felt to let go. She put all the worry and trouble and truth somewhere outside. Inside, she gave herself to her lover. She smiled as his fingers traced the underside of her breasts, as his mouth left her lips and circled her nipple. Her head went back, resting on a cushion so large it was like a cloud, and her eyes closed so that the outside moved farther away.
His moan, guttural, low, like the growl of a lion, belied his slow movements, his achingly gentle touch. Her hand went to his head where with spread fingers she raked the thick dark mane, pressing him closer.
He moved away, leaving her breasts exposed, wet, tightly budded against the air from the ceiling vent. Lifting her head, she saw him take off his shirt, toss it to the side of the pillow, then he unclasped his belt, snapped it back, ripped down his zipper. Spurred by his action, she pushed her shorts down, taking with them the terrible white thong panties. She shoved them down her legs, kicked them so high they landed on the velvet chair.
But she didn’t care, because he was naked, his chest broad, perfectly muscled, with dark hair curling around his nipples, swirling along the center of his chest down his stomach. Blossoming again where his thick length rose arrogant and ready.
He was more beautiful than she remembered, more chiseled and toned. His thighs. She wanted to touch them, to feel the strength beneath the tanned flesh.
He had his own plans, though, covering her body with his.
She readied for his kiss, but it didn’t come and she blinked to see him struggling with something in his pants’ pocket. For a wild second she thought it was a gun, then she saw the silver packet and she relaxed. She opened her mouth to tell him the condoms hadn’t worked the last time, but he swooped down and captured the words on his wicked tongue.
He arched over her, kissing her, but not lying on her. It took her a moment to realize he was being exceptionally tender, and another part of her heart went out to him. She solved the dilemma by turning on her side. He let himself sink into the pillow, curl his long leg over her thigh, his hands stroking, exploring. His lips tasting, sucking, licking. Making her wet and needy.
Her hand slid down the delicious planes of his chest and stomach until she found his length. Circling him with her hand earned her a gasp and a significant curse. She laughed, but only until he kissed her silent.
Then she stroked him and he moved his talented fingers to the juncture of her thighs, where he petted the soft lips, bare, smooth and swelling even as he touched her.
When he slipped inside her, she arched back, pushing him in quickly, wanting him to work his magic. She remembered how he touched her.
Even though she knew they wouldn’t be overheard, the habit was so ingrained that she kept her gasps low, her moans discrete, and transferred all that energy inside, into their secret.
He tore open the condom, slipped it on, and then, to save him from having to make the decision, she pushed him onto his back and straddled him. He held himself ready and she sank down slowly, head thrown back, mouth open, chest heaving as she felt him fill her in
ch by incredible inch. And then she was home and he was in her, and they weren’t two people anymore, but one. One panting creature, met in a union of bliss.
All the world was away, out there. The only thing that existed was her, was him, was them, and the friction as she slowly rose and fell, impaling herself, rubbing her sweet spot just so…
His hands on her hips, his face gorgeous even when it was all contorted and controlled. She laughed, the only sound aside from snatched breath and stifled moan.
Another second. Another. The pace quickened, his hips thrust up while she pounded down. A rhythm so fine, so theirs, they didn’t need gravity.
Once more, and she cried out. Not loud, oh, no. A silent cry at the thundering climax that shook her body from head to toe, from fingers to eyelashes. She climbed, climbed, and there was the peak, where there was no Todd, no Xanadu, no fear, no pain. Just Nick and unbearable pleasure.
When she finally breathed again, he still strained, pushing into her as if he could bury himself there forever, his face a mask that looked as fierce as the leopards on the tapestries that hid the cameras in the living room.
She gasped for breath as he let the air out of his lungs in a great whoosh. Her body fell forward and he caught her, held her tight.
For the first time since that awful morning, she felt whole and safe. The truth was just out the door, but the door was still shut. And she could hold on to her dream for another breath, another sigh.
Her gaze was caught by his shirt, by something odd. She wanted to close her eyes, to stay in that sweet never-never land, but she couldn’t, and she focused.
His shirt moved, vibrated, as if it wanted to come to life. With rubbery arms, she forced herself up to see the disappointment in Nick’s face. “Look,” she whispered.
He turned, awkwardly, with her still on him. He saw the shirt and a second later she felt his whole body stiffen as if he’d been shocked with a hundred volts.
Still gentle, but firm and serious, he lifted her up until she found her feet. “Someone’s here.”
All the joy left her body in a flash and she hunted for her shorts, crammed into them, while Nick dressed in seconds.
“What if it’s Todd?”
“It’ll be okay.”
“It won’t,” she said. “He’ll kill us.”
“It’s not Todd. It’s probably a maid.”
“She’ll tell him. They all report to him.”
“She won’t know anything’s wrong. I swear.”
“What are you going to say?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“God, Nick. Please. Not like this.”
He got her blouse from the floor, dressed her as if she were a child. Then he buttoned her up, which was good because her fingers shook so badly, she never could have done it herself.
“You stay here. I’ll go out. See who it is.” He kissed her, hard, on the lips. “Don’t worry.”
She nodded.
He ran a hand through his hair, straightened his shirt. Then he went to the door.
“Nick.”
He stopped, looked back at her.
“I love you.”
He closed his eyes. But only for a moment. When he looked at her again, he was already outside. His body followed and she managed to get to the velvet chair before she collapsed.
It was too much. Too much of everything, and she wanted off. She cradled her head in her hands and while she felt as though she could cry forever, no tears came. Just sadness. More sadness than should have been in the whole wide world.
ALTHOUGH THE PORTS of Hong Kong and Singapore were perennial favorites, Edward Potereiko liked Long Beach because it was so clean and direct. Dedicated to container shipping with virtually no fishing industry and few marinas, Long Beach presented a relatively fresh face to the casual visitor.
Additionally, most of the necessary government offices and many shipping companies were within a two-or three-mile radius, easy hiking distance for a sixty-year-old man who had walked his whole life.
At 301 East Ocean, the retired colonel stood at the Customs desk on the eighth floor, patiently waiting while the inspector, an attractive woman in her mid-twenties, dealt with the couple in front of him. Potereiko gave her his broadest smile as he stepped forward with his passport and a sheaf of shipping documents.
“Good afternoon, Inspector…Rodriguez,” he said, reading her name tag. “I hope I said that correctly.”
She rewarded him with a smile of her own. “Better than a lot of people here. What can I do for you—” she quickly scanned his passport “—Mr. Petrov?”
“I have taken a temporary job in Las Vegas. It will last about a year, and I have brought some personal items with me.” He slid the documents across to her.
She leafed quickly through the Russian passport, noted his temporary work visa, and checked over the shipping documents. “Can you wait a few minutes, Mr. Petrov? I have to look up the manifests on the computer.”
“Certainly.”
She headed for a nearby desk with the passport and documents.
Potereiko smiled inwardly. His passport in the name of Ivan Petrov had indeed been issued by the Soviet government to allow him to travel anonymously while he was still in the army. It was one of several things he had kept when he retired.
Ten minutes later Inspector Rodriguez returned. “Everything seems to be in order, Mr. Petrov. I see Tiger Shipping is acting as your broker?” She tapped her finger on the documents.
“That is correct.”
“And you’ve indicated you’re bringing in a single crate with household items worth less than two thousand dollars?”
Potereiko laughed out loud. “It wouldn’t be worth that without the laptop. A favorite desk and chair, a computer. A few books.”
“Is that some kind of Russian computer, sir?”
“Toshiba.” He was still grinning.
She returned his smile. “Yeah, I love mine.” She pulled a handful of stamps from a drawer and began stamping the various documents. “Okay, tell Tiger to ship your belongings to Las Vegas under a Customs seal. It’ll get there faster and the local Customs office can clear your belongings.” She swept the stamps back into the drawer and picked up his documents and passport. “Welcome to America, Mr. Petrov.”
“The land of opportunity, Inspector.”
Chapter Eleven
No one was in her bedroom, which gave Nick another few moments to figure out what he was going to say if it was Todd. He’d jammed his phone, which would give him something of an excuse. He’d have to say they’d just gotten back in case Todd had looked at the surveillance tapes.
He walked past the second bedroom, glancing inside. No one. The kitchen was empty, too. When he turned the corner to the living room, his suspense ended. Sweet, looking like the cat who ate the canary, stood leaning against the wall next to the slave-girl painting.
“Gee, now who would have thought I’d find you here?” Sweet said. “When the boss just gave the whole place a little look-see and no one was home?”
“What do you want, Henry?”
“Jenny.”
“Why?”
“What the hell difference does it make to you?”
“I’m looking after her.”
Sweet pushed himself off the wall. “You are, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“I think Todd will find that a real interesting comment.”
“Why? He’s the one who put me in charge.”
“Yeah, well from the cheap seats, it still looks like Todd’s in charge of Jenny. You’re just a baby-sitter.”
“Just tell me what Todd wants and get out.”
“Where’s Jenny?”
“She’s—”
“Right here.”
Nick swung around to see Jenny walk into the living room looking cool and collected. Not at all like a woman who’d just made love. Her hair was silky smooth around her shoulders, her lips red and glossy. Her clothes looked fresh and pressed. She
was stunningly beautiful and he wanted to drag her right back into the closet.
Sweet looked from Jenny to Nick, then back again. “Mr. Todd was looking for you.”
“Yes?” she said, for all the world like the mistress of the castle to a lowly footman.
Sweet cleared his throat. “He asked that you be ready at six. In the gold dress.”
“Is that all?”
“He’ll want to know where you were.”
“I’ll tell him at six.”
Sweet squared his shoulders and Nick could almost see him switch into commando mode. “That won’t do. I have to tell him when I go back.”
Jenny pursed her full lips as she stared hard at Sweet. “You may tell Mr. Todd that I was with Nick, as ordered. I accompanied him to his room for a moment.”
Sweet’s brows rose.
“My phone crapped out,” Nick said, stepping closer to Jenny. “I had to get my spare.”
Henry didn’t care for the response; at least, his scowl indicated displeasure. Nick relaxed. Sweet would have been smug as hell if he had something concrete he could take to Todd.
“So unless there’s something else?” Jenny said.
The big man didn’t answer for a moment. He wanted to bust them. To make Nick look bad. He didn’t care one whit if that would earn Jenny another night of hell.
Henry was going down. Right after his boss.
“I’ll tell him. I don’t think he’ll be real happy about you going to Nick’s room.”
“You can tell Mr. Todd we were there for approximately three minutes. Then we came back. I can’t imagine anyone thinking there was anything inappropriate about it. But feel free to exaggerate if you must.” Jenny walked right up to him. The top of her head reached the bottom of his chin. She didn’t let that stop her. “I know you crave those brownie points, Henry. Tell me, is there a Jenny merit badge? Or would it be a Nick Mason badge?”
Sweet’s pasty face turned pink, especially his cheeks. “Tell you something, missy,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “You’re expendable. It’s the boy who matters, not you. So I’d be careful if I was you.”
