When I reach the bottom of the stairs and turn the corner, the bubble of pleasure is firmly popped when I see who’s sitting on the couch.
Magnus Reinhardt.
Chapter Twenty-One
Magnus
It takes every ounce of will power to keep my natural instinct from taking over, namely certain bodily functions that Mother Nature intended men to take advantage of at will.
I’ve long since finished my usual morning run during the wee hours before Monte Carlo sleepily wakes to life. The winding streets of the city add power to my legs and stamina to my system that only enhances my performance during pentathlons. The adrenaline that accompanied this morning’s exertion has nothing on how stimulated I am now.
It certainly didn’t help that I heard Sloane while she was in the bath. I’ve been here since I first heard the water flowing, patiently waiting for her to make her way downstairs.
She’s a moaner.
Men aren’t the only ones blessed by Mother Nature with a natural inclination.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” She demands, trying to hide her embarrassment with a show of bravado.
“I did mention I’d be by today.”
“You also said I should feel free to sleep in.”
“I did,” I say, making a show of keeping my eyes firmly on hers, which only belies where they want to wander. “But we have business to discuss, and since I’ve already secured your services, I suggest we get started.”
Now, I do allow my eyes to travel up and down the length of her.
She grips the side of the towel, and I see her debating whether or not to rush upstairs and get dressed.
“You’re free to put on something decent if it makes you feel more comfortable.”
Once again, she seems to debate this idea, then her eyes cool in a cynical way.
“You know what? I’m fine like this. Because we need to set some boundaries here,” she says, taking one of the plush armchairs across from me. It causes the bottom of the towel to hitch up just enough to torture the senses, and she does nothing to try and stop it. “You might as well get your fill while you can. This is as much of me as you’ll ever see, Magnus.”
My eyes slide back up to her face to find her giving me a cynical smirk.
“Which brings me to my first rule. Just because you own this hotel, this suite—probably even this city, doesn’t mean you can just drop in like this unannounced. Do it again, and I’m gone, I don’t care what…” she falters just a little, her eyes blinking before returning to their firm focus on me. “I don’t care what that means in terms of returning to New York.”
I think about the news Jaques relayed to me last night regarding Linus Caldwell. I wonder if Sloane knows yet.
“Understood,” I say, nodding ever so slightly.
She seems slightly thrown by my easy agreement to this demand.
“Well then,” she continues, straightening back up. “Second, I expect you to behave like a professional…and a gentleman.”
I can’t help the sly smile that comes to my face, which only causes Sloane to harden her gaze.
“Will that be a problem?” she asks.
I lean back on the couch and cross one leg, placing the ankle on the knee of the other as I assess her.
“As far as being a professional goes, trust me Sloane, when I use you—”
I allow my eyes to travel down the length of her, leaving no inch of perfect, dark brown skin untouched by my gaze.
“—or your services—”
Now, my lips curl up into a hint of a grin.
“—it will be strictly business.”
I watch her fingers instinctively curl, wanting to tug the towel further down her legs or tighten it around her chest, but she maintains the facade of confident indifference.
“But when it comes to being a gentleman, there is no such thing. Those men you assume are behaving themselves are really just sharks savoring the hunt.”
Her eyes narrow with contempt while her mouth twists into a sardonic smirk. “Then savor away, so long as it’s from an arm’s length distance.”
“Mine or yours?”
She raises one eyebrow. “I can use mine if I have too,” she warns. “I suggest it doesn’t come to that.”
“That sounded distinctly like a threat,” I say, my eyes flashing, partially with excitement at the prospect of getting physical with Sloane.
“Take it however you want.”
“That I shall,” I say in a tone of voice that warns her off any further threats. Her only reaction is to swallow hard, then straighten her shoulders and lift her chin defiantly, eyes not even wavering as they stare back at me.
I find it fiercely erotic.
Even in nothing but a towel, she looks like a damn queen. I have a feeling it will be harder to knock that crown off than I originally anticipated.
Good.
It’s been a while since I had a worthy foe. All the better if I can mix business with pleasure. I allow my eyes to scan her long legs again. They are closed tighter than a clamshell, bent slightly to the side in a prim ladylike manner that’s enticingly contradictory to how much skin the position reveals.
“Any other rules for your boss?” I say in a dry voice.
“That’s all…for now.” She inhales as a segue before continuing. “So, what is it exactly you require from me, Magnus?”
“I assume you received news of the money I wired to your firm?”
“I did. It was…certainly sufficient. For forty days of work.”
“Or more.”
Her eyelashes flicker. “So long as my firm allows it.
“They will.”
Her brow begins to worry. I’m cutting into whatever timeline Jan has given her to get what she needs from me. That’s no matter to me. Nor should it be to her, though I won’t say so just yet.
He’ll be dead before those forty days are up.
“Yesterday, I mentioned that I was having a small gathering on my yacht tonight. The Mako.” I say with gleaming eyes.
“I know the name,” she says in a slightly patronizing voice.
“Instead of taking my original date, I’ll be taking you.”
She blinks once. “I don’t want to intrude on your personal life.”
A wry smirk touches my lips. “She’s strictly professional, in a manner of speaking. Not to worry, she’ll still get her twenty-thousand euros for the evening.”
Sloane’s mouth falls open, which is exactly the reaction I was hoping for. Hopefully, that erases any preconceived notions she has of what the term “professional” encompasses.
“You mean a—a…?
“Yes, a. Don’t be naive, Sloane.”
“I refuse to be mistaken for a prostitute.” She says the last word in a low hiss, as though saying it too loudly will instantly transform her into one.
“Prejudice is unbecoming on you,” I say in a scolding tone.
“I’m not judging,” she says quickly. “I just...”
“No one will mistake you for a prostitute. Though for twenty-thousand euros a night, she’d better have delivered something better than a quick fuck. Women like her are paid more for what’s between their ears than what’s between their legs. All the same, trust me, your saintly reputation won’t be sullied with the suggestion that you’re a lady of the night.”
Her lips tighten almost as though she’s offended, which I find amusing.
“You’re wondering why you wouldn’t be, aren’t you?”
“I’m not.” A lie.
“Well then,” I say, sitting back up to conclude this business meeting. “I’ll be here at eight o’clock tonight. Be ready by then. Don’t worry, I’ll knock first.”
She glares at me.
My eyes fall on the rack of dresses leftover from yesterday. “Wear the gold, along with the gold shoes I sent up. It’s a fitting color on you.”
“Yes, sir,” she says in a clipped tone.
“Until
then, the rest of the day is yours. Might I suggest the hotel spa? It’s rated as one of the best in the world. All free of charge, of course.”
“How very generous,” she says in a tone that is anything but gracious.
I ignore that. Standing up to leave, I stop to consider her. She’s staring out the window, avoiding me until the feel of my gaze on her forces her eyes to me.
“Anything else?” She asks, one eyebrow raised.
“Have you called your brother?”
She blinks in surprise at the shift in subjects.
“To let him know where you’ll be for the next forty days?”
“I don’t need to call him about this. My firm knows exactly where I am, as far as my safety goes.” She makes sure to stress this point, both with her tone of voice and the look she gives me.
It does nothing to change the considering look on my face. “Call him. Family is important.”
I leave before she can reply. Hopefully, I’ve put the suggestion in her head, and she’ll do just that. I’m curious to learn what she discovers.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sloane
I watch Magnus leave, wondering where that comment about my brother came from.
I think back to the quick research I did on Magnus before coming to Monte Carlo. I know he has one younger sister. I also know about the tragic deaths of his parents. Perhaps that’s what evoked a rare bit of sentimentality from the man.
I do have a sudden urge to call Theo if only to let him know that I’m getting warmer. Then I think about Jamie Reaves waiting to hear from me. There’s still time to catch him at a satisfyingly obscene hour of the night in New York—which he pretty much insisted on.
First, I have to get dressed.
I go upstairs to change into a shift dress and sandals. It’s only once I’m dressed that I do a little self-reflecting. I can’t believe I had the audacity to sit there in nothing but that towel while Magnus basically undressed what little there was to undress with his eyes.
I try to keep my mind from straying to the horrid thought of just how long he’d been sitting there. I’ve always considered it one of my personal flaws that I’m not a “quiet” lover. Perhaps that’s why I make such a point of being so dignified and poised in all other areas of my life. The idea that Magnus was a party to that part of me I’ve always been so mortified by is, frankly, appalling.
I busy my mind with the business I need to handle in the moment. I pick up my phone and dial.
“Hello?” His voice is a mixture of grogginess and irritation.
“Jamie?” I reply, pure innocence. “Oh dear, I’m sorry. I forgot about the time difference. It’s just that your message sounded so urgent I thought it best I call first thing—as you requested.”
Holy hell, does it feel good to be this passive-aggressive with the man.
“Yes, yes!” He says, seeming to perk right up. I can just imagine him sitting up in bed, no doubt wearing thousand-dollar silk pajamas or something idiotic like that as he sees the dollar signs flash before his eyes. “So…this Magnus Reinhardt business. Do you have any idea what this is about? Frankly, if you’d mentioned this was why you dropped everything to head off to Monte Carlo, you should have said something, Sloane.”
I want to laugh, especially as I recall the half-hour lecture I got before coming about how “using vacation time is a rare thing for associates trying to make partner” and “what with my failings in several other areas” (I didn’t need diversity sensitivity training to read between the lines on that one) it didn’t look good.
“Yes, well, I wasn’t sure how it would pan out here,” I say, which is mostly the truth.
“So what is it he wants? The gentleman who contacted us wasn’t quite clear on the details. Well, except for the part about working with only you.” He seems especially put out by this request.
“We’re…still hashing out the details,” I say ambiguously.
“Does he really need forty days? I mean, we’re still working on this Gaultier Financial mess and—”
“I’m afraid so,” I interrupt. It’s no wonder he’s worried about “this Gaultier Financial mess” since I’m the one who’s been busting her ass doing most of the heavy work on it. All the better to make partner!
“Yes, well,” he says with resignation. “I suppose we can’t very well look a gift horse in the mouth. Better to have a thriving business than one we’re getting paid to dismantle.”
“Indeed.”
“Just make sure you keep me updated, Sloane. I expect daily briefings, and I know I don’t need to tell you to document your hours.”
My eyes roll up to the side, wondering what one would bill mandatory attendance at a “small little gathering.”
I’m damn sure billing Magnus for our little tête-à-tête earlier. Something tells me I could pull an absurd number out of my ass, and he’d agree to it without batting an eye. In fact, something tells me I could bill for the entire forty days, and he’d pay it.
The thought has me heady with power—even if by proxy.
I must admit, I’m not thrilled about the “daily briefings” with Jamie part, but I can only push the envelope so far.
“Well, I should get going, Jamie. It is, after all, already—” I check the time. “—almost ten o’clock here. I’m sure there’s something Magnus needs me to do.” Like, take advantage of the spa.
“Right, right. Well then…don’t let us down, Sloane.”
“When have I ever, Jamie?” I reply before hanging up.
I place the phone on the credenza next to my purse.
I stare at it, thinking back to what Magnus said about my brother. It was almost as though he knew something I didn’t.
A sudden wave of panic hits me, and I pick it up and call Theo. It rings forever, and the dread in me begins to grow.
“Sloane!” He answers in a panic.
“Theo,” I almost gasp with relief.
“What is it? Are you okay?” He asks, still with anxiety in his voice. That’s when I remember what time it is.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m sorry to wake you, I just…” I just what? “I just wanted to check in on you.”
I hear him sigh with relief on the other end. “I’m fine.”
“Have you heard anything more from anyone?”
“You mean the assholes who kidnapped us?”
I swallow, trying to ignore the memory of that night. “Yes.”
“No, not yet. I guess they really are giving you forty days. Well, thirty-nine now.”
“What about Linus? Have you heard anything from him?” I ask, trying not to spit his name.
“Are you kidding? I cut my ties with the man. This was the last straw. I should have listened to you a long time ago, Sloane. To his credit, he hasn’t tried to get in touch.”
At least one good thing has come out of this. And all it took was a little kidnapping and coercion, not to mention the unspoken but very obvious threat to our lives.
I keep that thought to myself. No need to rub salt in the wound since I’ve already jolted my brother out of sleep.
“Okay, go back to bed, Theo. I think I’ve got things handled out here. I’m pretty sure I can get them what they need in time.”
“Really?” Now, he’s very much awake.
“Don’t get too excited,” I say, thinking back to Magnus’ suggestion that he might keep me for longer than forty days. Not if I have anything to say about it. “Go back to bed. I’ll check back in a couple of days.”
He pauses before responding. “I”m sorry about all this, Sloane.”
“Forget about it, Theo. You can buy me a beer when this is all over,” I say with a smile. I could never stay mad at him for long, even with this mess.
He chuckles on the other end, as though beer with his sister is a nice thought. I can’t blame him. It sounds like heaven to me as well, considering the circumstances.
“Bye, sis.”
“Bye, Theo.”
I han
g up and set the phone down, trying to force my body to relax. Maybe I should take Magnus up on that spa visit.
Before I can even ponder the idea, I hear a knock at the door.
What the hell is it now?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sloane
I open the door, and I’m surprised to find Lisette standing there looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle!” she says in a perky voice, lifting the leather-bound booklet she has in her hand. “I come to…ah… how you say…breakfast?”
I stare at her for a moment, long enough for her brow to start creasing.
“By all means, Lisette. Please come in,” I say, opening the door wider for her.
She walks in and turns around, still with the overly bright smile stretched across her face. “Alors—”
I raise a hand to quiet her. “Let’s stop with the no parlez vous English bullshit, shall we?”
Her eyes go wide with confusion and innocence. She’s good.
I simply place one hand on my hip and wait.
It lasts longer than I expected, but I’m pretty skilled in the art of negotiation. Sometimes all you need to do is outlast your opponent.
The transformation that comes when she realizes the jig is up is…surprising.
The wide-eyed ingenue transitions into a cunning minx.
“Okay, I will play along,” she says in a cool voice that sounds like something that should be coming from the lips of Mae West or some other 1930s dame.
She has a hint of an accent that tells me English is probably not her first language, but at the very least, she appears to be far more fluent than originally implied.
“So what are you, a private detective or just some actress Magnus paid to spy on me?”
She chuckles as she walks over to the minibar and boldly reaches in to grab a small bottle of vodka. As she pours it into a glass, adding part of a can of Sprite to it, she eyes me with a cynical look of humor.
“I’m whatever men,” she allows her eyes to wander up and down my body, “or women pay me to be.”
The Monte Carlo Shark: An International Legacies Romance Page 11
