SeductiveIntent

by Angela Claire

  “When you say it like that, it does sound kind of ridiculous.” He grinned, shaking his head, and reached for her hand. “Don’t mind me. I’m just being paranoid, or maybe listening to somebody who is. Forget it.” He brought her hand to his lips. “I really am not myself with you, Miss Sophia Whoever. I’m usually a very relaxed, very fun guy.”

  “And I bet you didn’t know the last names of half the girls you’ve ever slept with.”

  “Ouch.”

  She laid her hand along his chin to soften the comment and he turned his head to kiss her palm. “Well, I promise you one thing. I’m going to know yours.”

  “Why is that so important?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know, Miss Mysterious. Maybe because you’re the first girl I’ve met in a long time who I could envision wanting to change it one day.”

  His blue eyes were brilliant.

  She dropped her hand. “Now that’s a good line.”

  “Yeah. Too bad it’s not a line.”

  She took a deep breath. Who was conning who here?

  But when he called for the check, she didn’t object.

  “You can take your burger to go,” he said, not explaining his sudden urgency. He didn’t have to. She felt it too.

  Chapter Six

  There was enough twilight to see both Sophia and the aquamarine waves of the ocean stretching beyond the open balcony door of his bedroom. But he was only interested in looking at one of them. God, she was beautiful with her hair piled up on her head, leaving the rest of her free for him to see and touch. He traced the delicate bones of her shoulders and upper back and the inward curve of her waist as she sat on his lap, facing away, his cock buried deep within her.

  The usual restlessness he felt after long bouts of sex was somehow not there. He was in the only place in the world he wanted to be right now.

  His hands gripped her hips as she lifted a little, coming up on her knees and gently swaying back against him. Kissing her neck, he let her set the pace as her arms stretched up to cradle his head from behind, running her fingers through his hair.

  The lyrics of that old Elton John song drifted through his mind and, as was often the way, he began to sing them, low and soft, without really meaning to. Music was just like that to him. It was like some kind of other dimension that was just always with him, always speaking to him, whether he let it into this dimension or not.

  But sometimes he did. Sometimes he couldn’t help it.

  “Oh, you make me mellow, oh you make me mellow, wrecking the sheets real fine, heaven knows what you sent me, Lord, but God this is a mellow time…”

  He could hear the piano in his head, running his lips against the curve of her neck even as he half-mumbled, half-sung the words. She tightened her grip on his hair and turned her face to kiss him lightly, still moving against him.

  “You have such a beautiful voice,” she murmured.

  He sucked her tongue and then pulled back to tease, “I know it’s cheesy, but I can’t help bursting into song when you’re fucking me.”

  She smiled. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  Turning back to face away from him again, she braced her palms on his outstretched legs and leaned forward, coming harder into the rhythm. He kissed her lower back and brought his hands to her ass as she moved.

  “I can’t think of any other girls when I’m with you. I feel like there were no other girls,” he murmured.

  She laughed, low, sexy, glancing back at him. “Oh, you are dangerous, Brendan Beckett.”

  He smiled. “What?”

  “Your lines keep getting better and better the more times I sleep with you. Is that how you do it?”

  The funny thing was it wasn’t. In fact, once he fucked a girl he rarely used any lines with her. And never one that would make her think she was somehow special. Hell no. The whole point was to remind her that she wasn’t.

  Not that he was a prick about it or anything. He didn’t want to hurt a girl’s feelings. He wanted to please her, to pleasure her, to amuse her. Basically, he wanted to have fun with any girl he fucked and he wanted her to have fun.

  But never to think she was special. That just would lead to more misunderstanding when he was done having his fun.

  So why the fuck was he implying he wanted to change Sophia’s last name—Christ, had he actually said that?—or that she was the only girl for him, as they say?

  Maybe because right about now, he felt as if it was true?

  She came down on his cock hard, still watching him over her shoulder, and he groaned.

  “Is it, Brendan?”

  “Is it what?”

  “Is that how you charm girls into falling in love with you?” she asked, all breathy as she just sat on him, not moving again, but turning her head away so he could no longer see the expression on her face. No longer see if she was kidding, if she ever had been.

  He reached his arms around to her tits, taking them in his hands, feeling the weight of them, plucking at the hard nubs. Then it was her groaning.

  “No,” he said simply, not sure what he meant by that.

  His attentions prompted her to move again, sliding up and down on his throbbing cock, her juices more than lubricating the way for the movement. Feeling the heft of her tits, he knew they were just perfect for tit-fucking, as the crude term for it was. He remembered that she had told him of how men had grabbed her and pawed her, and wondered now whether she had meant in that way. The idea somehow sickened him. He caressed her gently. He would never do anything she wouldn’t want. Someday, when she was more experienced, more used to sex and its infinite permutations, she might want that with him.

  And God, who the fuck wouldn’t want it with her? With these? He caressed her.

  But he wouldn’t rush her. They had all the time in the world.

  His hands came back to her hips. Right now, though, mellow or not, he wanted to come.

  So he took over and set the pace.

  The sound of the ocean through the open door wall called to him. He really wanted to take a midnight swim with Sophia like they had the night before. Although by now it might’ve actually been a five a.m. or so swim. He’d lost track of time. But he really had to let the girl get some rest. He’d been at her nonstop since they’d come home from town.

  God, he felt good, like he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  Brendan heard his cell phone ring from the dresser. He should just shut the fucking thing off. Sophia was sleeping peacefully beside him, the faint pre-dawn light filtering in. He got out of bed, though, and grabbed it to stop the sound from waking her up.

  Taking it out into the hall, he answered in a low voice, seeing from the caller ID who it was. “Hey.”

  He wished he had never started with Kendon on this whole thing. But now that he had…

  The guy didn’t have much small talk, but given the time of night, or morning rather, Brendan appreciated that he got right to the point. “I ran the picture you sent me through Interpol’s database.”

  Brendan went downstairs, still speaking quietly. “Which you have access to how?”

  Ignoring the question, Kendon continued. “Your girlfriend doesn’t have a record.”

  He opened the door wall in the living room to step outside, but halted. “She doesn’t?” He realized he had more than half believed what Kendon had suspected and this news came as a huge relief to him. “She doesn’t. Good. Okay. So that’s the end of it then.”

  “I’m afraid not. She doesn’t have a record, but she sure as hell has a file. That just means she’s too good to get caught at what she does.”

  Brendan stepped outside, closing the glass behind him. “And what’s that?”

  “Con guys. Specifically, rich guys. She has a number of aliases, Mary Patterson, Alison Donaldson, Victoria Vickery. No Sophia anything that we know of, though. Works with a guy, but there’s even less information on him.”

  Brendan said nothing, the coldness he was feeling at this news a
rctic enough to counteract the warm tropical morning breeze.

  “Beckett? You there?”

  “Yeah. So what now?”

  “Well, we can’t really tie her to the break-in definitively enough to hold her. And crashing a wedding isn’t exactly illegal. What we need to do is get her to tip her hand.”

  Brendan thought of the sleeping girl upstairs. “Fine. How do we do that?” Although he had a few ideas himself.

  Throttling her being only one of them.

  * * * * *

  “You incompetent moron.”

  Arthur shut the door of his flee-bag hotel room, unfortunately only after his unwelcome visitor stepped inside. “Nice to see you too, Vinita.”

  “You call me that one more time, and I’ll sneak up on you someday real soon and slit your throat.”

  “Although it’s always a pleasure, to what do I owe this particular visit?” He dropped wearily into the one armchair in the corner, the bed being the only other seating place in the room.

  She stood.

  “To your incompetence, as I said at the beginning of this conversation. I take it you have nothing to give me.”

  “We’re still working on it.”

  “No, you’re not. That girl of yours has been irreparably clumsy.”

  “If she has, it’s only because you didn’t let me do it our way. If you force the timing, there are risks. People get suspicious.”

  “Yes, well, I take it an inquiry to Interpol by a private investigator hired by Beckett is one of those risks.”

  Arthur felt a frisson of apprehension. He knew Beckett had hired a private detective. He just didn’t know he suspected Sophia enough to link the two. “How the hell does a private eye have access to Interpol files?”

  “That’s not really your concern, is it? I trust your girl—“

  “You can say her name.”

  That shut Vinita up.

  “And no, Sophia doesn’t know about your involvement in this.”

  “Good. Well, I suggest that you pull her out and find some other way of getting this.”

  “I’ll pull her out all right, especially if she’s been compromised.”

  “It may be too late already.”

  “You say that so calmly. You really don’t care, do you?”

  “I think I’ve demonstrated that pretty effectively.”

  “Fine. Once I’ve gotten Sophia, I’ll try to figure out another way to get it.”

  “You better.”

  Sometimes, he wished she’d just say the fucking “or else” already.

  * * * * *

  Brendan was gone when she woke up. His note said only that he had business in town and would be back later. She didn’t know what time that would be, but it gave her a free opportunity to search the place that she should not pass on.

  She did. Pass on it, that is.

  Not questioning why, she simply changed into a suit and headed out to the sand. When she put sunscreen on this time, she remembered Brendan’s application the first day she had gotten here. That had been much more fun.

  Flopping back on the towel, she dove into the romance she had bought in the airport upon arrival. At the time she told herself that it would be good cover, but what the hell…she knew she just wanted to read it.

  It was one happily-ever-after and two swims later that Brendan finally got home.

  Home. It had come into her head so naturally. She smiled and waved as he came out on the balcony.

  “Do you like boats?” he called down.

  “Sure.”

  “I want to take you out on our boat today.”

  She stood up, gathering her things around and met him as he was coming downstairs.

  “You keep a boat here?” She leaned up to kiss him and he turned his head at the last minute.

  “Not always here. When I knew we were coming to the Caymans, I contacted the captain and asked him to get it here. I thought it might be fun for us to go out on it. Luckily, it wasn’t too far at the time. It’s here now, docked in the harbor. So how about it? Would you like to go out today?”

  Sophia nodded. “Sure. What is it? A sailboat?”

  “Not exactly. Bring a few things, okay? Maybe we’ll stay on board overnight.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll go down and start getting it ready. Cab it down when you can and meet me at the docks.”

  He was gone so swiftly, she didn’t have time to question that. By the time she packed a few things, called a cab and made it to the harbor, it was late afternoon.

  Brendan was talking to the harbor master only a few feet away when Sophia felt a hand on her arm just as she slammed the cab door shut and it sped away. Turning swiftly, she was stunned to see Arthur at her elbow, not even donning a disguise of any kind. “What are you doing here?”

  “Come on. We have to get out of here.”

  Brendan was glancing their way now.

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  “He knows.”

  Sophia’s heart fell. Brendan turned away just then. “He doesn’t. He’s taking me out on his boat. I think I can find out what we—”

  “It’s over, Sophia. Someone’s accessed your file at Interpol. The investigator Beckett hired to look into the break in.”

  She never questioned how Arthur knew certain things. Never. It was a given. But she did now. “Who told you that? I don’t believe you.”

  “This is a very dangerous conversation to be having out here right now.”

  “Sophia? Everything okay?” Brendan came over and Arthur didn’t even melt away. This must be serious. Brendan gave him a cold stare. “Friend of yours?”

  “Are you coming?” Arthur prodded, not even bothering to acknowledge Brendan.

  “No.”

  Arthur nodded and then he was gone.

  “Who was that guy?”

  “Just somebody I, ah, used to work for.”

  “What was he doing here?”

  “Can we just go?”

  Brendan nodded, leading her down the dock, rows and rows of sleek motor boats and sail boats along each quay. When she saw the one they were heading to, she laughed. “Just a little boat, eh?”

  She knew something about boats in her line of work. Rich guys often had one. This one was a beauty. Ninety feet or so long, she figured, it was a yacht, not a boat. Gleaming white, there were at least three levels to it that she could see, the windows tinted black for privacy.

  Brendan gestured for her to precede him up the stairs.

  “How fast can it go?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “Twenty-eight knots.”

  A gray-haired middle-aged man, fit but weathered, came out to greet them on deck.

  “Sophia, this is Scott Michaels. Scott captains The Ann for us.”

  She shook the captain’s hand. She hadn’t noticed the name of the yacht. “The Ann?”

  “Named for Mr. Beckett’s mother,” the captain offered.

  Through the door into the helm, Sophia could see three crewmen, dressed like Captain Michaels in khakis and a white polo, busying themselves with controls that resembled a spaceship’s.

  “Would you like to show Miss Sophia around?” the captain asked Brendan.

  “No thanks. Not now. We’ll just go below.”

  “Certainly. A word about the arrangements when you get a moment.”

  “Sure. I’ll just show her the cabin and pop right back.”

  They went down the stairs into a luxuriously appointed room, which Sophia believed was called the main saloon in a yacht like this. Cream-colored sofas and dark polished wood were everywhere, and the walls sported banks of windows looking out to the harbor and the open sea, respectively.

  Brendan led her through without comment.

  “Who’s the maker on this?” she asked, as they walked through the saloon past a formal dining set and chairs and then through the back to a sitting room that led to a sunken bedroom.

  “You know a lot about yachts?” he asked, wit
hout answering.

  “Not really.”

  A huge built-in bed with a low headboard dominated the room, an adjoining bathroom and walk-in closet completing the suite. She dropped her bag on the bed. “I’ll get my suit on.”

  “Don’t bother. Just wait here a minute. I have to go talk to the captain.”

  After he left, she sat on the bed, trying to face the enormity of what she’d done in an instant.

  Arthur was never wrong about these things. And yet she’d come with Brendan anyway. Did that mean she didn’t believe Arthur or that she believed in Brendan?

  Neither probably. Just that she was stupid.

  * * * * *

  Arthur melted back into the crowd of tourists.

  The idiot. The stupid little idiot. She was more like her mother than he had ever cared to admit. Soft and stupid.

  He didn’t have the luxury of watching Sophia go aboard the yacht and walk off to her doom. He’d spotted the tail almost as soon as he touched Sophia’s arm—as if he needed any more evidence that they had been found out. He and Sophia may have had a hard time ditching the tail together, but since the little fool had decided to stay with her lover-boy, Arthur would have no trouble ditching the tail, whoever he was, on his own.

  He’d been so careful with Sophia that she had never had to learn the hard way what it meant to get caught, like he had in the old days. Maybe he should have taught her that lesson. Maybe she wouldn’t have pulled this stupid stunt. For just a second, the thought of Sophia in jail—subjected to the criminal justice system of whatever jurisdiction Beckett intended to have her extradited to—froze him. He turned back, quickly, almost running, paying no attention to the tail, but it was too late.

  The yacht was pulling out.

  And his hesitation had cost him. A hard arm caught him and shoved him against the side of a warehouse building. The few people walking by looked askance, but the man assured them, “Don’t worry. I’m a cop. Keep walking.” He extracted handcuffs and cuffed Arthur’s arms behind his back, shoving him farther back out of sight of the road.

  Arthur tested the cuffs carefully. Okay. This was okay.

  “Yeah, I know. These won’t hold you for long. I don’t need long.”