by Rebecca York
Alex had been in the van, listening. He’d known she was in trouble and he’d come to her rescue.
She should push herself away from him. She should act like she was perfectly fine. Instead she closed her eyes as his hands soothed over her back and shoulders, calming her. To her horror, she felt herself shaking and couldn’t stop.
“It’s okay.”
She gulped. “I screwed up.”
“How?”
“I said something about his tattoo.”
“There was no way you could win. It was either the scars or the tattoo. And if you hadn’t answered the question, he would have slapped you around for defying him.”
“I…”
“Shh,” he soothed. “Don’t beat yourself up.” He brushed his lips against her cheek, then loosened his hold on her.
She didn’t want to be alone now. Panic leaped inside her chest, until she realized he wasn’t going to let her go. He was only locking the door—which was a good idea, considering the way the maid had come bursting in on them the last time they’d been together here. And considering she’d been so off balance that she hadn’t even thought about that with Pedro.
He ushered her back across the room, so that the two of them were standing near the window.
“Did you see the scorpion on his chest?” she asked.
“Yes. And I heard you.”
She nodded.
“Let me talk to Rich for a minute,” he said, then addressed the other agent in the van. “Stay on post. Get whoever’s on backup tonight to watch the door. I want to know where Pedro goes when he leaves the club.”
There was no answer, but she had to assume that the other man had gotten the message, since Alex had obviously heard loud and clear what was going on in this room.
She watched the expression on his face carefully. “You want to follow him, don’t you?” she asked.
“We don’t know when he’s leaving. And I want to stay here with you.”
“But?” she pressed.
“I just remembered the backup guy tonight is Mason Bartley.”
She tipped her head to one side. “You don’t think he can handle the assignment?”
“I’d like someone more reliable.”
“Then go back out to the van and make some alternate arrangements. You don’t have to baby-sit me,” she said quickly because she didn’t want any special favors.
“You’re forgetting that I have to stay here for a while, since I made a big deal of wanting to screw you tonight,” he snapped.
PEDRO RODRIGUEZ PAUSED on the landing. With an effort, he controlled his features before descending the stairs. He was damned if he was going to let anyone know he had backed down.
There were still a few putas in the parlor—the stragglers nobody had chosen, he thought with a scornful look. The man who had lined the merchandise up was gone, but the madam came hurrying forward when she saw him standing in the doorway. He took a moment to enjoy her discomfort.
“Señor? Is there some problem?” she asked.
He shrugged elaborately. “Another man came in. He claimed that the girl named Gillian was already promised to him.”
“Gillian? Another man is with her?”
“Sí,” Pedro snapped. “This is supposed to be a high-class house. She should be more careful about her schedule,” he said.
“I’ll certainly dock her pay,” the woman said.
Pedro nodded in satisfaction. “She’s too full of herself. You should whip some humility into her.”
He saw the women still in the room listening avidly, although most of them were pretending they hadn’t heard a thing. One of them, a redhead, nodded in agreement.
The madam made a sound that might have also been agreement. He hoped so. “Keep an eye on her,” he advised, knowing he was getting her into trouble.
“I certainly will. I’m so sorry about the mix-up,” the madam said. “How can I make it up to you?”
His gaze flicked to the remaining whores. But he could see they were all ears. “You can make it up to me by giving me two of the others for my pleasure,” he suggested. “That should be more fun than having the stupid one for a bed partner.”
“Of course. That’s an excellent suggestion,” the woman approved quickly, probably relieved that she’d gotten off so easily.
“I want the redhead,” he said, looking at the girl who had been so interested in the conversation. “And the brunette.”
“Certainly.” She motioned to the girls, and they hurried over.
“Our guest wants both of you to entertain him.”
“Oh, that sounds like fun,” the redhead murmured, looking from him to her colleague and back again. “Let’s all go up to my room and get comfortable.”
The brunette nodded. “Yes. Let’s go. I’m Lisa and this is Babs. We make a very good team. You’ll love what the two of us can do for you.”
“Bueno.”
The brunette gave him a knowing smile, a smile that made him start getting hard.
He let her lead him to the steps, his hand caressing her ass as she preceded him, squeezing a little bit hard to see how she’d react. She wiggled herself against his palm, and he decided that this was going to work out after all, especially when the whore in back of him started playing with his ass. He only scowled once, when he caught sight of the closed door where the guy was inside with the nosy bitch.
He jerked his head toward the door. “You know that girl, Gillian?” he asked.
“Yes,” the one in back of him muttered, and from the sound of her voice, he knew the two of them weren’t friends.
Keeping his own tone even, he said, “She’s trouble. And that guy with her.”
“You’re right about that,” the whore said, her voice low and nasty, and he had the feeling she would jump at the chance to get even with Gillian for some slight he didn’t know about. She’d given him an idea, a very good idea.
GILLIAN LOOKED AWAY from Alex, her posture stiff, and he was instantly sorry that he’d spoken harshly to her.
“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” he said. “I’m on edge. We both are.”
When she remained silent, he added, “I mean, we’re both trying to get through a damn nasty assignment the best we can.”
She started to take a step back. Before she could escape, he put one hand on her shoulder. With the other, he tipped up her chin so he could inspect the cheek that Pedro had slapped. His fingers had also caught the edge of her eye. “The bastard hurt you.”
“I’m okay,” she said in a thin voice. “You should leave.”
She was trying to act tough, but he knew she was still shaking inside.
Clearing his throat, he said, “You’re going to have a bruise if you don’t get some ice on that.”
When she gave a small nod, he turned her loose and strode to the bathroom where he retrieved a hand towel. Next he crossed to the small bar and opened the ice bucket that sat next to several bottles of whiskey, soda and the pitcher of fresh orange juice, which were available to guests.
“Lie down,” he directed as he made a compress of towel and ice cubes. Then, because he wanted to be alone with her, he turned off the lipstick microphone.
Gillian lay down on the bed and he eased onto the mattress beside her. Gently he positioned the towel over her cheek and the edge of her eye.
Gillian rested there with her eyes closed for a few moments. Then the eyelid he could see snapped open again.
“He looks like he’s ruled by his emotions. Pedro, I mean. But he’s smart,” she said.
“Because he chose not to blow me away?”
“Yes, thank God.” She’d kept her arms at her sides. Now she reached for his hand and knit her fingers with his. “Alex, you were taking a chance coming in here like that.”
“He hurt you once. I didn’t want to find out what else he was going to do behind your closed door.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“You would have done the same thing
if I were in trouble,” he said, his voice gruff.
“Yes,” she answered without hesitation, then dragged in a breath and let it out in a rush. “I should have gotten more information from him.”
“Too dangerous,” he snapped. “Look what happened when you mentioned his tattoo.”
She answered with a tight nod.
Alex opened his mouth to speak, but she pressed her fingers against his lips. He knew she’d been struggling not to show him any vulnerability. Now she whispered the first request she’d made since he’d come into the room.
“Just hold me,” she said.
CYNTHIA DUPRÉ LOOKED at the two girls still in the parlor. Really, she should stay in case any customers came in. But there was something important she had to do. “I’ll be in my office. Let me know if any more guests arrive,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Sandra answered.
After another moment’s hesitation, she left the public area of the club and headed down the hall. Gaspard had inspected the food and the liquor. Thank the Lord he had approved of her choices and left when the men had gone upstairs. Apparently he was satisfied with the way the evening was going.
But sometimes he had a habit of popping back in to see how things were running. Well, she’d just have to take a chance that he wasn’t coming back any time soon.
First she picked up the appointment book where the girls made note of any dates they’d made. Then she headed for her office.
Stepping into the comfortably decorated space, she carried the book to her desk, sat down and flipped to the day’s appointments.
Gillian Stanwick had listed nothing for that evening. Had she made a date with a customer and forgotten to write it down? Which was why the man upstairs with Gillian assumed she’d be free? Or did they have some kind of private arrangement? That would certainly never do.
Marching to the bookcase, Cynthia activated the monitors.
At the present, she saw scenes of various girls with the Latin American men who had come here as a special treat paid for by a benefactor in the city.
It was tempting to take a peek—or a longer look—at what was going on. One of the ways she amused herself was to watch the various sexual acts being performed upstairs. Well, it wasn’t just for fun, she added quickly. By watching the girls, she was able to tell who was good at what and whether they were giving the customers their money’s worth. And she was also able to check on various complaints.
But now there was only one complaint that concerned her. Frank had told her the camera in room eight had been fixed that morning. So she switched to the view in Gillian’s room.
When the picture flopped up and down, she bit out a curse.
“Now what?” she fumed.
Yet she knew she was looking at a picture of Gillian Stanwick and a man lying on her bed.
Reaching for the horizontal hold, she stabilized the picture and leaned forward, trying to assess exactly what was going on in the bedroom—a prostitute servicing a john or a private tryst with a special friend bold and brash enough to interrupt a whore with an important customer?
A SMALL BUZZING SOUND barely registered at the edge of Alex’s consciousness. It might have been from a fly trapped in the room. But when he felt Gillian stiffen, he realized she knew something he didn’t.
“What?” he murmured.
She lowered her mouth to his ear as though she were nuzzling him. “That’s the sound of the camera coming on,” she whispered.
Alex froze. “Where?” he asked in a gruff voice, figuring that the question wouldn’t give too much away even if someone heard what he was saying.
“In the frame of the picture. Over by the armoire,” she replied, the words barely audible.
He turned his back to the large piece of furniture. Rearing over her, he blocked the view from across the room, then carefully whispered another question, “Didn’t you use that equipment we gave you to turn it off?”
“Of course,” she breathed. “I keep doing that. And they keep coming in and fixing it. I was sure it was still disabled. I guess Frank got to it while I was out.”
He considered who might be watching and what they might be seeing. A man and a woman on a bed. But they weren’t doing much yet.
“Okay,” he practically mouthed the word, adding, “Then we’d better make this look good.”
Panic bloomed on her face.
“Relax. You’re in good hands,” he whispered, then moved to the side to provide a view of Gillian’s body as he began slowly undoing the buttons that closed the front of her dress. He tried to do it smoothly, but the sudden tension had made his fingers clumsy.
Gillian lay there on the bed, looking up at him questioningly, and he hoped she didn’t know how badly his nerves were jumping.
He bent his head, pretending to be absorbed in the job of unfastening the dress. But his mind was spinning. The camera had been turned off until a few minutes ago, but now somebody was curious about the present occupants of the room. Probably because that hulking bastard Pedro had charged directly from Gillian’s room and complained to the madam when he hadn’t gotten satisfied.
Well, Alex should have been expecting that. Only he’d been too wound up with Gillian to be considering anything going on outside the room.
He kept sliding buttons open, unfastening the dress all the way to the hemline, telling himself that they had to make this look like what the watcher expected to see. But really, most of his attention was focused on the woman who lay on the bed with her arms at her sides and her eyes dark and heavy-lidded as they regarded him.
Her bra and panties were modest, yet sexy-looking at the same time. Unable to stop himself, he stroked the opening he’d made, dragging his hand slowly along her skin, stopping to dip his finger under the edge of her bra, then reaching down to draw little circles on her abdomen.
Her breath turned shaky, making him want to go further. Much further. All he had to do to bare her breasts was adjust the cups of her bra.
He shifted so he was blocking the camera’s view, then folded down the cups, revealing the hidden treasures beneath.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, stroking the silken curves he’d uncovered, then moving one hand back and forth between her nipples, feeling them harden enticingly under his fingers.
Despite the circumstances, she was aroused, and that fueled his own passion. It felt like he had wanted to make love to Gillian forever. And now here she was, in his arms, on a bed.
She made a small, needy sound, asking for more. Glad to oblige, he bent his head, still blocking the camera’s view as he swirled his tongue around one of those hardened tips, then taking it gently in his teeth, before sucking it into his mouth. The texture was wonderful. And when she arched into the caress, he pressed his erection against her thigh.
Her hand reached to find the buttons on his shirt, opening some so that she could slip her fingers inside and run them through the hair on his chest, her touch turning him molten.
So much blood had drained from his brain that he was rapidly losing the ability to think. Except to wonder how he had managed to walk away from this woman two years ago. He would go mad if he didn’t make love to her now. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to do it in front of an audience.
“Come on,” he insisted.
Her eyes blinked open and she stared at him as though she’d just surfaced from twenty thousand fathoms. “Where?”
He wasn’t sure what he’d been going to say. But he heard himself coming up with an interesting story. “I’m hot and sweaty, and I didn’t get a chance to shower before I came here. I’d like you to do that for me.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Standing, he reached for her hand, then pulled her off the bed and led her across the rug to the bathroom.
“Privacy,” he growled as he closed the door.
“What about…about…?”
Marching to the tub, he turned on the shower. “The water will block out the microphon
e in the other room,” he said over his shoulder.
Reaching for her again, he swept the dress off her shoulders and threw it onto the black-and-white-tiled floor before folding her into his arms. Lowering his head, he covered her mouth with his.
The kiss blazed white-hot between them, born of frustration and fear and need. They might be in big trouble, but all he could think about was devouring her mouth, even as she helped him tear off his clothing. By the time they were both naked, the room was rapidly filling with steam and his erection was jutting out from his body like a telephone pole.
Turning to the shower, he left the water running but adjusted the temperature so that the atmosphere in the bathroom was a little more bearable. Then he closed the toilet seat with a thump, sat down on the cover, and reached for Gillian again. She came willingly, eagerly standing with her legs on either side of the seat as she leaned over him, sensuously caressing his back and shoulders, kissing the side of his face and brow.
He played with her breasts, kissing and touching them with one hand as the other slid down her body to find the hidden, feminine core of her.
“Oh, Alex,” she sobbed as he touched her there, then quickly bent her knees.
They both exclaimed something incoherent as her hot, tight channel closed around him. He reached to clasp her to him, holding her still for a long moment, reveling in the feel of her body clasping his. But that wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
“Let me,” she breathed.
“Oh yes.”
She rocked her body over his, up and down, as they exchanged more scorching kisses.
When he began to caress her breasts again, she called out his name, her movements becoming more frantic by the second.
Gigantic rolling waves of emotion and physical sensations swept them to a quick, shattering climax. She collapsed against him, her head on his shoulder, and he stroked the damp skin of her back. It had been a wild, all-consuming ride. But it had been over much too quickly.
“Oh, Alex,” she murmured, gathering him close. “Alex.” Her voice broke as she said his name the second time.
