“You’re right, you do have something of mine,” he says, looking straight into my eyes. They make a slow voyage across my face, down my neck, then wander with wanton indulgence over my naked body—blatantly ignoring the earrings held out in the palm of my hand.
Suddenly, I feel as helpless and vulnerable as that guppy. What the hell was I thinking trying to pull this off? I’m no shark, certainly no femme fatale. I’m just—
Magnus slowly sinks to his knees, setting aside his jacket and tie, and I forget everything I was thinking. I can feel his breath over every inch of me, sizzling heat hardening my nipples, warm sighs caressing my stomach. One hot and heavy exhale disappearing in the triangle between my thighs, which he’s right at eye-level with. After staring at it long enough to make me wet all over again, he slowly rolls his eyes back up to mine. The wicked grin on his face might as well be that of a predator bearing its teeth.
Instead of fear, I feel a rush of power hit me. Why does this sense of dominance, or at the very least, worthiness overcome me only when provoked? Magnus has taken this power move and accepted the challenge.
When his hand comes out to settle on my hip, I don’t so much as flinch.
But my body zaps with electricity, sizzling and crackling to life.
In one sensual stroke, he rounds to my ass. I expect at least a quick squeeze or lingering pause, but the slow, easy movement right down to the back of my thigh is ten times more pleasurable than those amateur moves. With his eyes still locked on mine, he continues across every curve of my leg, caressing my thigh, tickling the back of my knee, stroking my calf. It’s only when he gets to the ankle that he stops.
When he breaks eye-contact, lowering them to unbuckle the strap to my shoe, I feel dizzy, like I’ve just come out of a deep hypnosis. It’s only when I feel him firmly grip the back of my ankle, encouraging me to lift my foot out of the shoe, that I realize what he’s doing.
“The shoes?” I ask, slightly incredulous.
“You were the one to point out that they were mine,” he says, gently lowering my foot and moving to the next shoe.
“I meant the—”
“I know what you meant,” he says, still not lifting his eyes.
I go silent, back to feeling slightly bewildered and out of my depth again. I’m definitely not the only one full of surprises.
Another point for Magnus.
When that shoe is off, I feel my empowerment come back. As much as it unsettles me to think of my mother’s words at this moment, I mentally recite them. My back straightens, my head lifts a bit, and I feel more than worthy of this.
Until he collects the shoes, along with his jacket and tie, then rises, once again towering over me. That devilish grin is still on his face, filled with challenge.
“The earrings are yours. You’ve earned them.”
My mouth drops open at the insinuation, which I damn well know Magnus intended based on the gleam in his eyes.
He leans in so that his hot, steady breath tickles my ears.“Welcome to the hunt.”
Without another word or look, he turns and casually walks out of the large bedroom, closing the door behind him.
Damn him.
I was the one that was supposed to come out of this feeling like the victor.
Now, I feel like the war has just begun.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Sloane
With Magnus gone, my mind instantly races back to my brother. I don’t give a damn about Magnus’s assurances; I need confirmation.
Even though the phone only rings twice before he answers, my heart seizes each time, certain it won’t be him I hear but some detective who has found the phone next to his dead body.
“Sloane? What is it?”
“Oh God, Theo,” I say, releasing a breath. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, why?” He asks, suddenly wary.
I briefly debate not telling him about Linus, then throw that idea out the window. If anyone deserves to know, it’s Theo. Maybe it will make him all the more cautious while he’s back there in New York, and I’m here. Not that I’d have any iota of what I’d do if I were there. I don’t even own a gun. Suddenly, Magnus’s protection seems like a godsend.
“You haven’t heard about Linus?”
“No…what about him?”
“Theo, he’s dead. He was shot.”
“Oh, God…oh, God, oh, God, oh—”
“Theo!” I snap, trying to snap him out of it. He goes quiet, but I hear the sound of his accelerated breathing on the other end. I continue in a softer, gentler tone. “Don’t worry. I’m working with Magnus here. He—he knows everything.”
I feel comfortable enough saying this to him over the phone. Theo is too smart to leave that part to chance. He has easily worked around any bit of technology that Gabriel and crew might have tried to use to listen in on us.
That doesn’t ease the panic in him when it comes to issues outside the realm of modern technology.
“What? Sloane, what if they find out?”
“Theo,” I say curtly. “He’s helping me—helping us. This will all work out. He’s making sure you’re protected, but…try to be safe anyway.”
“Are you kidding? I only leave my apartment to go to work. This whole thing has me freaked out. I knew I shouldn’t have helped Linus with this one. It was nothing like the others, and now look at us.”
I don’t bother rehashing that mess. Lesson learned—the hard way. I feel a sudden and surprising bout of sadness for Linus, then quickly dismiss it. There will be plenty of time for mourning later. Right now, Theo seems to be safe, and that’s all that matters.
“Okay, well it’s late here, so I’m going to—”
“Sloane?”
“Yes?”
“What’s going on over there? Are you okay?”
What is going on over here in Monte Carlo? Am I okay?
“I’m fine,” I assure him in as confident a voice as I can muster. He’s my baby brother, and a sweetheart—wrapped in dazzling brilliance and astounding stupidity. I don’t want to worry him unnecessarily or give him any clue as to what I’ve been up to. “I have everything handled.”
My mind races back to Magnus whispering in my ear.
Welcome to the hunt.
God help me if I don’t have everything handled.
* * *
When day finally breaks, I wake up, surprised I was able to actually fall asleep.
After calling Theo, I took a shower and, with nothing to wear, slept naked for the first time in my life.
I note that light is filtering in through the cracks in the curtain, which means the sun is already up. Remembering that Magnus said something about them bringing my suitcase down, I look around and don’t see it. A mild surge of panic hits me when I realize that I literally have nothing to wear, not even shoes.
My eyes fall to the diamond earrings on the nightstand. Well, almost nothing to wear.
With nothing else to cover me, I once again drag the sheets and wrap them around me like a toga. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Although my face has been scrubbed clean, it still carries the remnants of a good sleep. My hair, without my silk bonnet to cover it, is a perfect mess. I rake it down to something presentable before trying to get a hold of any of the staff.
I open the door enough to poke my head out and see nothing but the same hallway Magnus practically dragged me down last night.
“Hello!”
It takes a moment, but a young man in a crisp white shirt and shorts comes jogging down the hall. He has the tact to keep his eyes firmly above neck-level.
“Oui, madame. How can I be of service?”
“I was told my suitcase would be on board.”
Before I can say anything more, he’s already nodding. “Oui, madame. Valerie will be right here to assist you.”
He’s off, presumably to collect Valerie before I can even ask who she is. No doubt another “maid” to keep tabs on me. Just how many of these women does Ma
gnus keep on hand?
The woman who eventually knocks on my door looks nothing like Lisette or Lara, and if she’s a “woman of the night,” then she caters to some very specific tastes, maybe men with serious mommy issues. She looks almost sixty with a body that could be called “comfortable” and a face that’s cheerfully plump.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Alexander,” she announces brightly when I open the door. She’s gripping my rolling suitcase in one hand.
“Bonjour, do you happen to speak English?”
“Oui, of course, mademoiselle. I speak English, French, and German.“
“Wonderful,” I say, opening the door wider to let her in. “Is Magnus—Monsieur Reinhardt on board?”
“No, mademoiselle, I’m afraid Monsieur Reinhardt had business that required him to disembark before sunrise this morning.”
I’m surprised at how disappointed I am. I thought for sure last night’s entertainment would at least earn me a goodbye. On the other hand, perhaps this is his way of “savoring the hunt.”
No gentlemen indeed.
Then again, I wasn’t behaving like much of a lady.
“Would you like breakfast, madame?” Valerie asks. “We can have it brought to your room, or you can enjoy it on the upper deck. It’s a lovely day.”
“Sure,” I say, thinking maybe a little sustenance wouldn’t hurt. “Do you have a menu?”
“We can make whatever you’d like, madame.”
“Whatever you have on hand is fine.”
“What is it you would prefer, madame?”
I stare at her, realizing that her prior statement wasn’t just a platitude.
“Anything I’d like?”
“Oui, madame.”
“Pepperoni pizza?”
She pauses only a second but doesn’t dare drop her professionalism. “Of course, madame.”
“No, I don’t want pepperoni pizza,” I say with a sigh, trying to smile it away. “Just…some coffee and fruit would be nice. I’ll take it in the room.”
“Any particular fruit?”
Good grief, this could go on all morning.
“Just a mix is fine.”
“Are there any, in particular, you wish not to be included?”
Seriously?
“I don’t like plums,” I say, just to have something to leave out.
“No plums. Very good, madame. Will there be anything else until then?”
“No, thank you, Valerie. You’ve been very helpful.”
She smiles and leaves. By the time I’m dressed, wearing a red shift dress and flat sandals, and done something with my face and hair, the food arrives.
The coffee is in a silver pot with a fine china cup and plate. It smells divine. The fruit is…spectacular, in an array on a large platter that would be fit for a champagne brunch. There are slices of cantaloupe, honeydew, watermelon, and pineapple fanned out, surrounding bunches of mixed berries, grapes, sliced nectarines, kiwi, mango, and various apple cubes. They even included two unpeeled bananas, just in case.
I pour a cup of coffee and add a drop of cream, just the way I like it. As I sip, I stare down at the platter of fruit, wondering where to start.
“Oh, that’s good,” I murmur after that first taste of the coffee. It’s no surprise Magnus would have only the best.
I pick up a fork and stab a slice of mango, not even bothering to take a seat first. As I chew, a smile curls my lips as I note the symbolism.
Forbidden fruit?
Welcome to the world of sin, Sloane.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Magnus
I’m juggling too many things—important things—for Sloane to occupy as much real estate in my brain as she is.
I thought leaving the yacht before she woke up would drop me right back into shark mode, but the only prey I’m salivating over has an elegant neck I long to taste and sensual, dark brown legs I want wrapped around me again.
“And for what date and times should I book the flight to Cape Town, sir?”
I slam the door shut on the “Sloane” compartment of my brain and bring my attention back to one of my assistants. I mentally recall the dates Lara managed to pry out of a stupidly wasted Ruben Bakker. I’ll be arriving a few days after him.
After confirming the dates with my assistant, I move onto the issue that concerns the next guest from last night’s party.
“Send a reminder to Franco in the casino that I’m to be updated by the minute about tonight’s poker game with Zachary Kim. He’ll know what I’m referring to.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And—”
I’m interrupted by the ring of my private cell phone. It’s Mona, which only serves as a reminder of another woman troubling my brain.
“That will be all for now, Clara.”
“Yes, sir.”
I wait until she’s left my office before I answer.
“What has she done now?”
“There’s no need to assume the worst Magnus. In fact, I think you’ll be happily surprised with the news I have for you.”
I don’t bother getting my hopes up. I suspect my aunt and I have differing views when it comes to good news concerning my younger sister.
“By all means, enlighten me.”
“Estelle is coming to Monte Carlo and bringing her nice young man with her. She wants to introduce you to him.”
I’m surprised, but the laugh that escapes my lips isn’t one of happiness. So this is the game Estelle is playing—one she’s played with me many a time before. Bring a seemingly nice, upstanding young man around to meet the older (wealthier) brother. More often than not, that nice young man has some scheme he wants me to be a part of—namely in the form of financing. In many cases, all it takes is one conversation for me to reveal the not so nice man behind the curtain. In one sad instance, the “nice young man” was nothing more than a pawn, standing in for the “bad boy” she had waiting in the wings.
“Is this the same nice young man who she dropped out of school to run away to Italy with?”
I hear the disappointed sigh on the other end. “I wish you would at least try to be open-minded about this, Magnus. It isn’t easy for Estelle to introduce men to you. You always manage to run them off in one way or another.”
“They usually do that to themselves when they find out I’m not the generous schmuck they think I am, especially when it comes to my sister’s latest boy toy.”
“At least this one is willing to come to you. I’ve had conversations with both of them using that video thing on my phone.”
“FaceTime.”
“Yes, yes…I suppose these things have their uses. I’m just old fashioned that way. A handwritten letter is good enough for me.”
I feel the sentimental smile that comes to my face, which is certainly a rare occurrence. Most of my memories, even the ones reminiscent of happier days—particularly those—don’t tend to make me feel warm and fuzzy. But unlike my parents and grandfather, Mona is still here with me as dependable as ever.
Perhaps that’s why I feel my tone softening as I continue. “Fine, I’ll meet with them. And I’ll be open-minded when I do.”
“I think that would be wonderful, Magnus.”
“I suppose I’ll be hearing from you when they finally arrive.”
“You never know, she may surprise you and call herself!”
“In which case, she really must be a changed woman.”
“Just give them a chance, Magnus. That’s all they want.”
“For you, I promise.”
“I suppose that will have to do. Well, I know how busy, busy, busy you are so I’ll leave you be. I have a crossword here I’m finishing up. Goodbye, Magnus.”
“Goodbye, Mona.”
I hang up, still feeling the smile on my face. I allow it to linger, enjoying something other than juggling a hundred headaches for once.
Perhaps there’s something to be said for old fashioned. Even when we were young, Mona was like this, thoug
h it took Estelle and I a while to fully appreciate it. Playing board games, turning off the TV to read books, baking cakes from scratch, those were things that seemed disdainfully dull to the adolescent I was at the time. Now, I sometimes find myself longing for the days of such tranquil simplicity.
Especially as all of this nears to an end.
“And then what? It seems all you know how to do is destroy. Have you tried living?”
Sloane’s words have the effect of irritating me out of those absurd fantasies. My life certainly wasn’t cut out for white picket fences, or summer picnics, or playing with puppies, or whatever else it is the shiny happy people of the world get up to.
I still have a hunger that needs feeding.
I pick up the phone and call Sloane.
“Monsieur Reinhardt, how can I be of service today?”
An amused smile curls my lips. “I think after last night, we’ve moved beyond the formal address, don’t you?”
“Well, I serve at the pleasure of His Majesty. I’ll call you whatever you prefer,” Sloane replies in a nonchalant manner.
Who knew she’d be so skilled a huntress?
“Magnus will do.”
“As you wish.”
I knew calling her would sate something in me. Just hearing her voice combined with whatever curveball she’s throwing my way at the moment eases something inside of me that I wasn’t aware was balled into a knot.
It also stirs up feelings that might be something more than simple admiration for her.
Then, of course, there was what happened last night. Even after such a satisfying night, she still managed to make me hungry for more. Dropping those sheets, knowing damn well she had no intention of allowing me access to her body again. Cock tease. Blue balls. The Americans have such a way with words. Allumeuse seems more fitting for someone so…very like Sloane Alexander.
“We’ll be having dinner again at eight p.m. At the same restaurant.”
“Should I give you a few minutes so I don’t interrupt any new criminal enterprise this time?”
The Monte Carlo Shark: An International Legacies Romance Page 18
