That wasn’t a victory her mother would ever claim again.
“Fine.” Phin straightened. “Lie down.”
She shook her head. “What?”
He deftly removed the cuff link at one sleeve. Tossed it into a small crystal bowl, clink.
Her mouth went dry.
His fingers agile, he unhooked the other with quick, neat precision. It rattled into place with the other one, metal and glass. “Lie down,” he repeated slowly. “On the table, with your shirt off.”
“Not even if you—”
“Look,” Phin cut in, his tone as calm and conversational as if they only discussed the chances of rain on an autumn day. “You’re wound so tight, I can practically see reality bending around you.” Briskly he rolled up the cuff of one sleeve, bared a lean, muscled forearm sprinkled with golden brown hair.
Her eyes locked on his hands. Long fingers. Wide palms. Her brain stalled.
As he rolled up the other sleeve, he jerked his chin to the table. “So strip off the shirt, and lie down, okay? I’ve never met somebody more in need of a massage.”
Her body jerked. Surprise. Bottled anger. But to her shock, Naomi found herself reaching for the tied hem of her blouse. The silk rustled between her fingers.
For a brief, jagged instant, Phin’s eyes met hers as the hem cleared her face. His gaze skimmed over the set of her mouth, her shoulders.
The scarlet lace that cupped her breasts.
All at once, her rage shimmered into something else just as searing. Turned over into an arousal so deep, so tight, it slipped like wine through her blood, made her slow to react as Phin’s voice reached across the strained silence.
“And the bra,” he rasped. Rough. As taut as the impressive erection Naomi clearly saw straining against his slacks. Clearing his throat, he nodded to the table when she shrugged out of the lacy bra. “Facedown.”
Skin shivering, every nerve awake and trembling, Naomi dropped the silk and lace to the floor. She climbed onto the table, settled into place, her breath tight and sharp with anticipation. With wired, leashed impatience.
The cushion was soft against her forehead, thick and lush against the sensitized flesh of her breasts. It cradled her face, blocked her view of everything but the floor beneath her head. She watched the candlelight flicker, dance, and jump with every move Phin made. She heard a drawer open, heard liquid slide as he rubbed something that smelled sharply spicy between his palms.
When they touched her, Naomi thought she’d climb out of her skin with wanting.
He had strong hands, wide, fearless palms that traced her spine, hot skin to skin. His thumbs edged into corded muscle stretched tautly across her back, eliciting a gasp, a groan from her throat.
She couldn’t see where Phin stood. Couldn’t hear him, couldn’t feel anything but the slow, torturous slide of his hands on her back. His strong fingers dug deeply into muscles that all but screamed under pressure; he found every kink, every knot, every goddamned trigger in her neck and shoulders.
And he worked in silence. In eternal, excruciating quiet.
She didn’t know how long she held out, but Naomi couldn’t keep back a moan of relief, of mingled pain and need as his magical, oil-slick fingers found the taut muscles in her neck. Her toes curled as he thumbed the side of her throat.
Her eyes flew open as he traced the barbell she’d stubbornly left in place at the back of her neck.
“You know,” he murmured, and she gasped to feel the heat of his breath fan over her ear, “the first time I saw this, it just about killed me.”
Shuddering, she managed, “Why?”
“It’s telling, isn’t it?” Phin caught the back of her head, smoothed her hair out of the way to dig his fingertips into the vulnerable ache behind her ears. She sighed. “As far as anyone else knows, you’re a nice girl. Nice clothes. Nice smile.”
Her incredulous laugh caught on a low, husky moan. He tore it from her chest, coaxed it from her lips with every inch of muscle he subjugated under his clever hands. Her skin hummed, burned deliciously from the oil.
From Phin’s touch.
“And then one day, you wear your hair up, and—” Naomi tensed as his lips brushed the nape of her neck. As his tongue slid over the small, silver piercing and the flesh trapped between each bead.
Heat scorched like lightning to her belly. Flooded her system with a wave of breath-shortening electrical shocks. “Oh, God,” she groaned. “Phin—”
“No.” He flattened his hands on her back, held her when she would have rolled over. Her fingers curled into the table edge, fisted into the plush coverlet. “I’m not done.”
“Damn it,” she gritted out, and sighed out another thick, rough sound of pleasure as his lips touched her shoulder. “Phin. Jesus, Phin.”
His laughter ghosted across her slick back. Raised every fine hair with a shudder. “What will you give me?”
“What?” Naomi tried to struggle, tried to command her body to get it together, to get off the damn table, but he dug his thumbs into that hollowed edge by her vertebrae again. Dragged his fingers all the way down to her waist. To the muscles below, tight and sore with her frustration-fueled workouts. “Oh,” she whispered. “Do that again.”
He did, drawing another groan, another gasping sigh from her lips.
“A date.”
“Whatever,” Naomi murmured. “Fine.”
“Tonight.”
Eyes half closed, her arms limp by her sides, she barely managed to move her head as he hit that sweet, mind-altering slide of muscle at her shoulder blades. “No clothes for it,” she sighed. “Spa.”
She could hear the grin in his voice as he said, “Meet me at the front desk at four.”
Alarm bells began to clang in her head. Muted. Flat. “Wait, what?”
“And, Naomi?” One oil-slick hand edged into her hair. Cupped the back of her head, held her still as Phin bent to take the shell of her ear between the sharp edge of his teeth. He bit down, soft. Deliberate.
Lust rocketed straight to her soul. She gasped.
“Wear your hair up.”
By the time she remembered how to breathe, Phin was gone, the door shutting silently behind him. Her skin all but crawled with awareness, with a current of tactile electricity. One part was the oil. It tingled, warmed her skin.
The rest was all him.
She rolled over on the table to stare at the colorful seascape mosaic inlaid into the ceiling, but Naomi didn’t see anything but Phin. His face, edged with the same need that clawed at her. His eyes, banked hard with the same lust. He wanted her.
But he hadn’t taken her. Not here.
He had plans. “All right, slick,” she murmured, her heartbeat echoing the need pulsing between her legs. Through her veins. She’d play his game.
Slowly, deliciously shivering, she spread her palms over her breasts. Cradled each sensitized mound of flesh and nerves and imagined what it would be like to have Phin’s fingers there. His mouth on the hard, tight buds of her nipples.
She’d play, but she wouldn’t play it fair.
Chapter Ten
He found Lillian at the front desk, poring over the electronic guest book. “At what point,” Phin demanded quietly, “were you going to tell me that Abigail Montgomery and Naomi Ishikawa are related?”
His mother’s eyes narrowed. Flicked up to him. “So it’s true?”
“I’m asking you.”
“And I was hoping you could tell me,” she admitted with a small, tired frown.
Phin braced one hip against the desk. Around him, the soothing melody of harps and flutes did nothing to ease the tension ratcheting through him. One part worry, concern. One part blind lust.
All of it Naomi.
He raked his fingers through his hair. “I saw them side by side—”
“Phin!”
“She caught me by surprise,” he admitted dryly. “If there’s one thing I’m learning, it’s that Naomi is going to be exactly where y
ou don’t want her.”
“Oh, no.” Lillian’s expert makeup couldn’t hide the circles under her eyes, or the flinch that set lines around her mouth. “What happened?”
He reached over, smoothed back a tendril of golden hair over her ear. “Naomi looks a little like her,” he admitted. “And Abigail set her off badly just by being there, but—”
How did he explain it? How did he wrap his head around the fact that the two women seemed to have such different reactions to each other?
Anger, fury in one. And pain. Phin knew that Naomi would be so much more livid if she’d known how much he saw in that raw, unguarded moment. When her violet eyes had filled with so much rage. So much hurt.
“Mrs. Montgomery didn’t seem to recognize her,” he finally said. “Nothing. Not a flicker.”
“That poor child.” Lillian rubbed at her forehead. “I can’t imagine what she must be feeling. Maybe Gemma—”
“Don’t,” he cautioned swiftly. “Don’t bring it up, don’t let on. Whatever is going on there, whatever relationship those two have—or don’t have—it’s obvious that Naomi doesn’t want anyone to know.”
For a long, harp-accompanied moment, Lillian studied her son’s gaze. The set of his face, which he knew was tense. He couldn’t help it. Even his smile felt stiff as he shook his head. “Just trust me on this one.”
“I do, my love.” But she cupped his chin in her palm, lifting his face to the light. Her hazel eyes were no less sharp, for all her fatigue. “You’re in trouble, aren’t you?”
God, yes. “Of course not, Mother. I’m just making you aware that your potential problem is most definitely a reality.” And falling hard and fast for a woman whose entire makeup seemed to consist of complications.
She arched a single, shaped eyebrow. “And?”
Phin’s smile went crooked. “And,” he added, spreading his palms on the counter space, “admiring how pretty your suit is today.”
“Flattery, my son,” Lillian said crisply, “will get you nowhere.” But her eyes sparkled as she released his chin. “Will you be at dinner?”
At her elbow, the desk unit flashed a blue signal.
Phin edged away. “No, I’ve got plans.”
That eyebrow nearly reached her hairline. “What sort of plans?”
The lights flashed again. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he hedged, “I’m eating out tonight.”
Lillian picked up the earpiece, mouthed, Stay put, in silent demand, then added, “Concierge, how may I—”
Nothing changed in her tone. Nothing in her posture or her face, but he knew his mother. A barely perceptible shift drew Phin to a complete stop. He frowned, leaned over the desk to place his ear beside his mother’s on the line.
“—unbelievable amount of gall to tell me that everything is fine when I know it isn’t. So you better start looking for any messages that Katie left, because I know she left something!” An English voice, sharp with annoyance.
To her credit, Lillian waited patiently for the woman to take a breath. “Jordana,” she said soothingly, “this is Lillian Clarke speaking. Please, calm down and tell me exactly what the problem is.”
“Haven’t you been listening?”
Phin exchanged worried glances with his mother.
“I said,” Jordana continued hotly, “that my assistant is gone. She left, probably to go do something or fix something or whatever it is she does when I’m busy, but Katie doesn’t just vanish. She always leaves me messages so you better talk to the last girl polishing her nails at that fucking desk and find it.”
Lillian tapped at the monitor inset into the concierge desk, scanning through logs quickly. “I’m sorry, there are no messages for you.” A sinking pit sucked out the bottom of Phin’s stomach as he read the screen over his mother’s shoulder. “And as far as we’re aware, Katie is still in the building.”
“No, she isn’t.” Jordana blew out a hard breath, fuzzing the line. “She isn’t answering her comm, and— Oh, no,” she gasped. “Oh, God, I was so drunk last night. We had a fight.”
Phin’s eyebrow slid up his forehead, an unconscious mirror of Lillian’s quiet inquiry.
“Is there any way she could have just, you know, left? Without checking out?”
“Take a deep breath,” Lillian coached gently. “I’ll have our security team go over the feeds, all right? Where are you?”
“The dining hall, having a good, stiff drink.” She lowered her voice. “If that bitch just walked out on me . . .” Her voice cracked.
“Let’s just concentrate on finding her for you,” Lillian replied, meeting Phin’s eyes with mirrored concern and uncertainty. “Has she ever left you for long?”
Phin was already shaking his head as Jordana said icily, “Katie knows who signs her paychecks, Mrs. Clarke.”
“Of course,” Lillian murmured, gaze grave as it settled on him. “I’ll get our security on this right away. We’ll find your assistant, Jordana.”
“She’d better be dead,” the pop star spat, “or I’ll kill her myself.”
“Let’s avoid either,” Lillian said smoothly into the mic. “In the meantime, my staff is at your disposal. I am so sorry for the inconvenience, Jordana, rest assured we will investigate this matter fully.”
Phin withdrew from the conversation, but the cold knot still wrapped tight in his stomach gnawed at him. Quietly he unclipped his comm from his belt and cracked it open. Within moments, Barker answered the ring.
“Security.”
“Mr. Barker, I need Katie Landers’s last whereabouts located in the feeds.” Phin kept his voice low. “She’s about five feet four inches, with light brown hair and thick rimmed glasses.”
“The singer’s guest, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll feed the data into the recognition software,” Barker replied immediately. “Is there a problem?”
Aside from the worry gathering like an anchor in his gut? He turned away from Lillian’s quiet phone calls and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “I hope not.”
“Right, well, I’ve got a handful of entries in the scanner logs.” Keys clattered over the line as the security lead worked. “She last used her pass to reach the ground floor.”
“When?”
A pause. Phin stared blankly at the fountain as it splattered musically against marble. “Two hours ago, sir.”
“And before that?”
Over the line, Barker blew out a breath. “The scanner recorded her card at the dining hall first thing this morning. Then she left for the beauty floor, and then— Huh. That’s odd.”
Phin frowned. “What?”
“She went from the beauty floor to her suite without— No, there has to be something wrong with the scanner. Toby’d mentioned he thought it was getting loose or something.”
“What?” Phin repeated, tension edging every line of his body. Behind him, Lillian hung up the desk unit.
“Well, sir, the logs have her leaving her suite, but there’s no record of her entering it. I’ll have the techs look at the scanner.”
“Do that. What about Vaughn?” he asked, already too damn tired to hear the answer.
“I sent Toby down to the address listed on file. It was empty. His possessions were still there, though.”
Phin swallowed a curse as it surged in his throat. “Clues?”
Barker made a small sound of annoyance. “Toby found gambling tickets from a mid-city place called the Last Way Out. Dated last night.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
“We’ll stay on it, sir. In the meantime, we’ll locate the assistant. I’ll be in touch.”
Phin clipped the comm back to his belt. He turned as Lillian set the desk receiver into its charging unit.
She sighed. “When it rains, it most certainly pours.”
“No kidding,” Phin replied grimly. He rubbed his face, scraped his fingers over his scalp as a steady throb blossomed to a full-blown headache. “Fuck.�
�
“Phin,” Lillian reprimanded. “What did you learn?” He outlined it briefly, and shook his head as she asked, “Is it possible the scanner really is broken?”
“We’ll find out.”
“So what do we do?”
“Round-the-clock security.” He rocked back on his heels, suddenly dead tired. The jangle of harps only seemed discordant to his aching brain. “What about Katie?”
“It’s possible she really did leave,” his mother said. “And also possible that she’s still in the building somewhere. Security will do its job; Phin, you go take Miss Ishikawa to dinner.” Lillian’s smile deepened into a too-knowing curve as his glance slid sharply to her. “I was not,” she added, “born yesterday.”
He shook his head. “I can’t go now. What if something else happens?”
“Then we will deal with it as we always have,” Lillian replied. Her chin came up; long, thin hands laid flat on the desk as she leaned over it. “Take your date and go.”
He swayed. Torn, Phin knew his mother was right. Short of filling the corridors with hunting dogs he didn’t have, he couldn’t do anything that his mothers couldn’t do themselves.
But if something happened—
“Phinneas Clarke.” Lillian’s tone sharpened. “Do remember that your mother and I successfully managed this business long before you were old enough to say discreet, much less be it.”
A sudden burst of warmth made him smile. Feeling all at once sheepish and overwhelmingly concerned, Phin leaned over to press his lips to her offered cheek. “Fine, but we’ll be back after dinner. No excuses.”
“That is your choice.” Her smile mirrored the tenderness in her gaze as she reached over and straightened his tie. “Do go put on something more suitable. You have oil on your sleeve.”
Damn it. Heat seared his face, burned all the way to his ears as he checked both arms. His smile was much less casual than he intended as he found the shiny blot of massage oil that darkened the green fabric at his forearm.
Knowing anything he said wouldn’t matter, Phin cleared his throat, nodded, and turned back to the garden doors.
“And, Phin?”
He glanced back. Lillian watched him from behind the desk, one hand settled regally on its surface. The other curled over her trim hip, stern echo of the caution in her voice as she added, “Please be careful.”
Lure of the Wicked Page 11
