Notorious in Nice

by Jianne Carlo

  While Uncle James ordered their drinks, Su-Lin concentrated on the panoramic view of the azure Mediterranean fronting the restaurant. She inhaled the mixture of aromas -- tangy sea brine, fish, and smoke -- and allowed the scents to soothe away the surge of irritation Aunt Emma never failed to raise.

  “Make sure you wear one of your new outfits tonight, Jennifer. Your uncle’s classmates and business colleagues will all be there. We haven’t seen them in years. Don’t wear that oriental thing you insisted on packing. You’re going to be mingling with British aristocracy. Dressed appropriately, with those green eyes, maybe no one will realize you’re of mixed blood.”

  It took all of Su-Lin’s self-control and discipline not to bound to her feet and shout at her aunt. Instead, she geared her fury into a rushed, gritted pronouncement.

  “Uncle James, Aunt Emma, I prefer to be called Su-Lin. That’s the name I’ve used all my life. No one’s ever called me Jenny or Jennifer, and I really don’t like it. My name is Su-Lin.”

  Aunt Emma’s dark eyebrows slashed together; then she pursed her lips and opened her mouth.

  Uncle James elbowed his wife and shot her a shut-the-dickens-up frown.

  He faced Su-Lin and nodded, sending a ripple down his multiple chins.

  “Of course, love, if that’s what you’re used to.” His large, moist hand patted her small one, and she tamped down the wave of revulsion his touch provoked. “If I slip tonight, correct me. I want everyone addressing you the way you prefer. And if you do decide to move to Hong Kong and live with us, the oriental name will come in handy.”

  Live in Hong Kong? With them? Had he mentioned that before? Su-Lin searched her nonchronological memories of the past few weeks. Even if he had mentioned her living in Hong Kong, she hadn’t agreed, thank the Fates.

  “Have you three ordered?”

  Su-Lin jumped, and her head swung in the direction of Terrence O’Connor’s deep, husky voice. One moccasin-clad foot edged the chair adjacent to hers away from the table, and he sank into it, his long legs stretching out and disappearing under the pristine white tablecloth.

  “Just our drinks,” Uncle James replied. He snapped his fingers and said, his voice clear and ringing over the low murmur of conversation and laughter swelling on a cool gust, “Garçon, garçon.”

  She swept a glance at Terrence and caught his stifled wince, the brief shuttering of his eyes, and the slight pursing of his mouth. As if he’d felt her gaze, his gray eyes held hers, and the warmth and intensity blazing there made her lungs stutter.

  He straightened in the chair, shifted, rested his elbow on the table, and propped his stubbled chin in a cupped hand. “My first mate’s working on an itinerary, James. You did say earlier that you wanted to include the Greek isles in the cruise?”

  “Definitely. Haven’t done this excursion in over a decade. The wife and I are looking forward to it.”

  “And what about you, Jenny? Are you looking forward to it?”

  Distracted by the way the sun’s rays tinted the auburn in his hair to a fiery red, she startled at his words.

  He turned so his back faced her relatives, blocking her view of them. Su-Lin’s hands flexed; she slanted a gaze at the tablecloth fluttering over the tight black jeans he wore, the snow-white linen caressing his bunched thigh muscles. She wondered if the pulse shattering every thought in her brain beat loud enough for him to hear.

  “Yes.”

  “Sir, you’re ready to order?”

  “About time. Three of your biggest, juiciest hamburgers and double portions of french fries. What will you have, Terry?”

  Su-Lin sucked in her breath as she felt his gaze on her.

  “Ditto. Add a Heineken to the order, will you? Jenny, would you like something more substantial than that glass of water?”

  She shot a surreptitious glance at Aunt Emma, and her shoulders slumped at the woman’s pinched features. When her aunt had found her having a glass of wine at the hotel’s bar last night, she had made more than one remark about young women drinking alcohol.

  “James, Emma!” came the shouted greeting from across the restaurant.

  Su-Lin didn’t recognize the couple coming toward them, but then again, six weeks ago she hadn’t known of her relatives’ existence, far less their friends’. The noonday sun outlined the couple, and even shading her eyes, she could only make out their silhouette.

  Aunt Emma’s lips spread into an unaccustomed smile, baring a chipped canine and two rows of ivory-rimmed yellow around the perimeters. She stood up, hands outstretched.

  Tanned to a shade darker than a Brazil nut, the woman approaching appeared all angles and planes, her small head perched on a long neck and an even-longer torso and legs. She looked like a cutout body with a mismatched face. Su-Lin stifled a giggle, but a peep of sound escaped.

  Terrence, in the middle of rising to his feet, swept her a glance.

  Guilt at her unkind thoughts washed over her, and she clamped her lips together.

  When Aunt Emma made the introductions, Su-Lin remained seated. She muttered hello even though she hadn’t caught the couple’s names.

  After shaking hands with the man and woman, Terrence slouched into the overstuffed wicker chair, shifting it closer to Su-Lin’s. The slight grate of wood on concrete went unnoticed.

  “Aren’t you itching to try out another head on that body?” he whispered into her ear, his warm, smoky breath fanning her neck. “One more birdlike?”

  A surprised smile twitched her lips upward, and she slid sideways on the cushioned seat to fully face him. And just like that the world faded away, and she drowned in those gray lagoons, tumbling into an Alice in Wonderland parallel reality.

  His hand slid along the wooden back of her chair, and one finger trailed her shoulder blade. “I need to kiss you, darlin’. Go visit the powder room. I’ll be there in a second.”

  Amid a stream of introductions, vacuous chatter, and drink orders, Su-Lin tried to decipher if she’d really heard those words, if this god of a man actually wanted to kiss her. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t follow the conversation, and her eyes couldn’t leave his face, his mouth.

  As he settled back into the chair, he said, “I’ll go first.”

  She watched as he threw his napkin on the table, white on white, thick fingers brown against the fabric, and followed his tight butt and warrior shoulders as he stalked to an alcove across the room. When he turned around under the shadowed arch and crooked a finger, she rose to her feet, muttered an excuse, and headed in his direction.

  He’d disappeared by the time she reached the arch and uncertainty tangled her feet, making her stumble. Su-Lin rested a palm on a faux-aged oak door to prevent a fall.

  It whipped open.

  She gasped.

  Terrence curled an arm around her, lifted her off her feet, and whirled about so his broad back held the door shut.

  One hand tipped her chin up.

  She blinked.

  Her mouth went dry.

  Excitement and fear crested and fell, climbing higher as their locked gaze strained over tens of seconds.

  “We can hook up tonight, darlin’. But I need something to tide me over.”

  His voice sounded gruff, clipped, as if words proved an effort.

  Su-Lin’s knees buckled and the arm circling her waist firmed, curving her into his body.

  His tongue lapped at the seam of her mouth. It felt so delicious and mysterious and magical. She went slack in his hold, eyes closing, senses racing to where his tongue made contact, savoring the way blood raced to each touch of his mouth against her wet lips.

  “Open,” he ordered, and she smelled smoke and oak and salt and sea.

  She obeyed, the submissive female part of her craving his domination. His tongue slid in and out of her mouth, tangling with hers, tickling a heady sensation on the roof. Her hands fisted his shirt and she wanted to be horizontal, feel the weight of him on her, rub against the hardness grinding into the V of her torso.<
br />
  “Is anyone in there?”

  A burst of knuckles rapping against wood seeped in small increments at the edges of Su-Lin’s mind. His lips left hers, he murmured something, and the feather touch of his mouth over his words flamed her body. She didn’t want this to stop. Her fingers crimped the soft linen covering his chest.

  “Jaysus.” He tugged her tight to his pectorals, and one warm hand slipped under Su-Lin’s blouse to stroke the small of her back. “Answer the fricking woman, darlin’. Say you’ll be a few minutes.”

  Voice shaky and wavery, Su-Lin did as he commanded.

  All at once, she realized what would happen when the door opened, and she couldn’t prevent a slight groan. “Oh no. My aunt, my uncle, if they knew…”

  Chucking her chin, he met her gaze and muttered, “I’ll take care of it. They won’t know. Where are your parents, Jenny? Why are you with your relatives?”

  The questions slid like a glacier through her soul, filling crevices with a familiar dread, one she’d lived with all her life. Gymnastic training stiffened her spine, and she concentrated on the next second, the next surprise, the next obstacle. “My parents are dead. This trip is my graduation present, and my uncle and aunt are my only relatives. I don’t know them very well, but my aunt will disapprove, I know it.”

  His thumb stroked the frown between her eyebrows. “I said I’ll take care of it, and I will. Now, I’ll go out first, and if the road is clear, I’ll knock once on the door. Wait a few seconds and then make your way to the table. Got it?”

  He balanced her chin on the tip of his forefinger forcing Su-Lin to meet his eyes.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be at the cocktail reception tonight. We’ll finish this later.”

  Finish?

  He set her away from him, his hand lingering under the curve of her breast. “We have three weeks together on the cruise, darlin’, and you’re in the cabin next to mine.”

  Su-Lin stood staring at the closed door after he’d left. She pinched her forearm hard, felt the sharp pain, waited for the skin to color a dusky rose, and still didn’t believe the events of the last few minutes had actually occurred.

  The reflection in the mirror above the marble sink told a different tale. Lips swollen and red, her slanted jade eyes glazed, her taut nipples poking against the sheer black top broadcast her arousal. Each touch, each scrape against the material made her nipples burn a notch higher.

  She splashed water against her hot cheeks, dried her skin, and held her breath when she heard the slight graze of knuckles on wood, Terrence’s signal. She opened the door, letting oxygen out in a whoosh when the alcove proved empty. In a studious attempt to regain control, Su-Lin focused on the smooth turquoise surface of the sea and a majestic white sail billowing above a sleek navy boat.

  Terrence stood when she reached the table and slid her chair away from its edge. She sat. He nudged her back into position, and her knees and thighs slipped under the white tablecloth.

  His hand curled around one leg about two inches above her bent knee and Su-Lin almost flew out of her chair. He must have felt her muscles tensing, for he gave a soft chuckle and rubbed a slow, rhythmic circle right there. Heat flooded her veins and a slight sheen of perspiration broke out on her forehead. She gulped down the entire glass of water.

  Conversation subsided as the waiter appeared with a busboy in tow.

  A sensual fog mobbed her brain and warped the twenty minutes that followed.

  Her uncle and aunt and their friends chatted and laughed.

  Aware of only the man at her side, his hand caressing her thigh, Su-Lin became oblivious to her surroundings. Even the bloody meat on her plate didn’t faze her. Bemused, she followed his one-handed consumption of the hamburger and fries, his every movement fluid with the grace of a powerful man comfortable in his own skin.

  “You’re not eating,” he said, and his thumb punctuated the statement with a soft press on her leg. “Shall I feed you? My lips to yours?”

  “Oh,” she gasped and checked right away to see if anyone had noticed, but her relatives and their friends proved unmindful of the two of them. Sending him a sideways glance, Su-Lin picked up a french fry and nibbled on the crisp potato.

  The strident tones of Chumbawamba’s “Tubthumping” splintered the tactile tranquil ambience of the Eden Roc restaurant. A violin strummed, the lyrics, “I get knocked down,” crashed into a sudden quiet.

  “That’s me, I’m afraid,” Terrence grouched, and he glared at a metallic BlackBerry lying next to his white plate. “Excuse me.” He swapped the phone for his crumpled napkin, rose, and strode over to the balcony.

  Taking his seat again a few minutes later, he shifted to face Su-Lin, one arm along the back of her chair. “I have to go, darlin’.” One forefinger slipped along the scooped back of her shirt, shooting sparks across her flesh. “Remember, tonight you’re mine. Say it for me.”

  “Okay,” she whispered. It was time, and fate had chosen him as her first lover. A heady thrill had Su-Lin entranced. She followed the progress of the slow, satanic curling of one corner of his mouth, the way his slate eyes darkened at the edges, and she wet her lips, ravenous for another taste of him.

  “Perfect.” He rose and threw his napkin to the left of his plate.

  “James, Emma. I have to cut short this delightful lunch. I’ll see you later on this evening at the reunion cocktail party. It’s been a pleasure.”

  Much to her disconcertment, he walked away without a backward glance.

  Chapter Two

  From the second he set eyes on Jenny, Terrence O’Connor’s prick saluted. Before the battle even engaged between brain and cock, the little head that ruled any sexual male thickened in triumph, and from that point on, predatory prehistoric lust directed his every caveman-staking-a-claim action. He’d followed her out of the steam room, through the empty pool area, and into the women’s locker room.

  A throng of gray- and blue-haired women had immediately surrounded him. And like vultures pecking away at carrion, they poked and prodded his chest, his biceps, his belly button. As gnarled hands captured prick and butt cheeks, Terry vaulted out of range and sprinted to the safety of the men’s room.

  Superman never donned garments so fast. Her glistening pussy, those moist sable curls lovingly caressing dusky rose folds, was imprinted on burning pupils, and he wasted no time.

  European security meant upscale hotels like the Eden Roc required photo IDs for all their guests. Since a fellow Royal Marine managed the hotel, Terry had her name within minutes: Jenny Su-Lin Taylor. The credit card against the account listed one James Lockheed and the address of a Hong Kong enclave he recognized from his aristocratic boyhood.

  A surge of leprechaun luck heralded his pursuit when the concierge informed Terry the same James Lockheed had inquired about chartering the Glory. He could almost feel his prick ramming into her tight sheath.

  “When did he inquire?”

  “When he checked in yesterday.” The concierge cleared his throat. “He, um, said he’d read about you.”

  His gut nose-dived. “Has there been a newspaper article about me recently?”

  The other man’s complexion paled, and Terry’s jaw clenched. “When? Do you have a copy?”

  “Sunday last, and yes, I kept it for you. Was going to give it to you before you left.”

  Terry cricked his neck left, then right, while the man reached under the desk and retrieved a folded paper.

  LE MEURTRIER LIBÈRENT TOUJOURS, the Nice-Matin’s headline read, the words centered above a grainy black-and-white shot of him four years earlier.

  “I guess I should be grateful it’s only in the Local section,” Terry mused, his lip curling. “This the only copy you kept?” He doubled the newsprint, hiding the black letters, which spelled out “murderer” in French.

  “On the boss’s orders.”

  “Thanks. This Lockheed couldn’t have read it then, not if he arrived yesterday. Where’d he come
in from?”

  “He and his wife list a Hong Kong address as their home, their niece lists somewhere in Ohio.”

  “Niece? About five-four, waist-length black hair?” Terry asked.

  “That’s her. Amazing eyes.”

  He flipped his wallet open and handed the man a couple of five-hundred euros.

  “I noticed. Room number?”

  “Penthouse, honeymoon suite.”

  “How apropos,” he murmured, picturing her lying on the circular oversize bed, one leg bent, luscious curves and folds on display. “Thanks.”

  A surge of desire overwhelmed him; he wanted to abduct the exotic beauty, take her someplace where the world wouldn’t intrude, and screw her brains out. Let those tight little curls between her legs know the minute his gaze flitted to that secret place, she should be hot, wet, creaming for him.

  Nothing in life to date had prepared him for his reaction to this Jenny Taylor.

  His Asian aphrodisiac.

  Two, maybe three minutes in the steam room, and his world had changed, focused on a single goal, getting inside her, pounding his possession.

  Leprechaun luck shone its merry green light again, and he’d managed to engineer the three-week cruise less than half an hour later.

  Three weeks.

  His cock broke into a heady jig, weeping precum onto his belly. Jaysus, he’d spent the night before servicing two women, gotten less than thirty minutes of sleep, and the mere thought of Jenny had him randier than a billy goat condemned to celibate purgatory. And to think he’d felt jaded, disgusted with his pointless, soul-depraved life minutes before she sashayed into the steam room.

  That black cloud of hair, those startling Irish mountain emerald eyes, that diminutive Amazon-toned body. One glimpse and he’d flashed to a firestorm. And still blazed, whirling in the dust-devil turbulence she’d raised.

  That kiss at the restaurant had been intended as a teaser. He wouldn’t have stopped if they hadn’t been interrupted. He’d have taken her in the john; he’d been so fired up, so fricking close to coming in his pants. Terry headed straight to the shower and jerked off.