by Jianne Carlo
Convulsions hit her like a meteorite shower, soaring higher and higher, and he was relentless, mouth eating at her peaks, fingers forcing climax after climax.
Shouldering onto his forearms, he captured her mouth, slanting his lips over hers, devouring her, nibbling on her lips, biting the tip of her tongue until she exploded again.
Her eyes couldn't focus when the crown of his dick stretched her opening.
Delicious, more, more.
“Honey. Steph.” He thrust to her womb, his penis thick and hot and throbbing.
Looping her arms around his neck, she hung on for the ride.
A rodeo bronco ride.
Eli lifted her hips and rocked side to side.
“Oh yes. Oh more, Eli, more.”
She couldn't separate words and thoughts as he pumped into her, his cock driving hard and scalding and fierce. The tempo went galactic—plunge, withdraw, pound, pound—and he roared her name. His neck arched, eyes rolling back in his head, and he shot into her, a searing liquid stream, the beauty of his orgasm spiking her into another.
Shuddering, mind cocooned in ecstasy, she went limp, her bones liquefying, but her lungs hadn't caught up to her body's utter satiation, and she continued to gulp for air. Content, letting her thoughts butterfly-flutter from image to image of Eli—his passion while delivering a presentation, his Hermès shoes, his glowering at Iggie earlier—and she sighed into a wistful smile.
Maybe he'll fall in love with me after we live together.
Feathering her fingers across his back, loving the fantasylike aspect of their lovemaking, Stephanie refused to let reality seep into her princess dreams.
Eli shifted; his weighty heaviness dissipated as he rested on his elbows. He kissed her chin, licked her bottom lip, and said against her mouth, “Thank you.”
She smacked him on the shoulder. “Thank you? Thank you?”
“Aw hell, honey—for agreeing to move in with me.”
“Oh. Well then, thank you for asking me,” she muttered, unable to keep the grouchiness out of her voice, not liking this sudden tension and hating not knowing what to say, to do.
His audible sigh feathered sparks over her cheeks. Knuckling the side of her face, he said, “Let's not do this. Let's not stiffen up with each other. We're going to live together. We have to be honest. I don't want to play games with you. I care about you, Stephanie. A lot.”
“Oh, Eli.” She squeezed her arms around his back. “I care about you too.”
What do you expect, you idiot? I love yous? That's not how it's done. No one takes giant steps anymore.
Eli separated their joined bodies, moving to lie beside her, one hand stroking from shoulder to shoulder, lingering at the hollow of her throat. “Be right back.”
Huh?
He disappeared into the bathroom and came out a couple of minutes later clutching something in his hand. Sitting on the bed, he drew her to him, brushed his lips over hers, and muttered, “You can't go to sleep sticky, honey, and I don't want you to have to get up.”
Using the warm washcloth, he cleaned off the cream left from their lovemaking. It felt good, protective, and thoughtful in a melt-your-bones way, and a tinge of guilt at liking being taken care of marred the moment.
It's the twenty-first century. You're independent. Aaah, but it feels so wonderful. And he even used hot water.
Drowsy and languid and content beyond belief, she snuggled against his chest when he hooked an arm around her after depositing the washcloth on the floor and lying next to her on the bed. His fingers tousled her hair, and he idly combed a tangle out of one end.
“Where do you live?”
“A house on the bay,” he answered. “I like the way you always smell like spring and fresh air.”
Wow, he thinks I smell like spring.
Then his words registered.
“That must cost a fortune in rent.”
Her palm resting on a rib slipped as his muscles bunched. Her eyelids descended as she realized the reason for his sudden tension. “You own the house, don't you?”
“I meant what I said, Stephanie. I'll do what you want. We can find a new place together. Or move into your place. I don't care once we're living together.”
“You haven't seen where I live.” She'd purchased the cheapest condo in a decent area in Bradenton with the help of her parents. “It's just under eleven hundred square feet. Eli, I can't afford a huge rent. I don't know how this is going to work out.”
“We don't have to make any decisions tonight, honey. How about we wait until we're back east, and then we figure out everything?” His mouth touched her temple. “I have a feeling we're in for a rough day tomorrow. The news about the merger is going to put us in the public eye.”
Lisa. The divorce.
“You started to tell me about Lisa and Iggie earlier. What were you going to say?”
“Lisa's the one who's been having affairs, not Iggie.”
“What?” Stephanie pushed off his chest and sat up. “Lisa?”
“It's been going on for a while.” Eli reached up and dragged her back into his arms. “I think Iggie's been in denial. He's fifteen years Lisa's senior. Lisa was a prima ballerina dancing with the National Ballet of Canada until injuries forced her to retire. They married shortly after his first wife died.”
“I heard a little about Lisa's background. She was a rising star, wasn't she?” Absently she traced a pentagram on his belly.
“Yeah. Couldn't have been easy for her—going from being part of the Canadian aristocracy to living in Bradenton, Florida.”
“You think that Iggie's still in love with her.”
“I don't know that he was ever in love with her. Lisa looks like a younger version of his first wife who he was crazy about.”
Poor Iggie.
Will everyone be saying “poor Stephanie” in a few months?
The sandman claimed her as she debated that question, and the next thing she knew, Eli was gently shaking her.
“Honey, wake up for a minute.” His familiar scent brought her to full consciousness.
“Morning,” she said and smiled into his gray eyes before noticing his suit. She backpedaled into the headboard. “Oh shoot. What time is it? Am I late? Why didn't you wake me earlier?”
Just-awoken fog misted her brain, and she blinked to get the room into sharper focus. The iPod on the bedside table read 6:45.
“You're not a morning person, are you, Steph?” He dropped a kiss on her nose. “I have a coffee meeting with Sam and Bill and Iggie at seven. You have a whole hour before you need to be in the boardroom. I'll come back to get you, okay?”
Alert now and aware of the fact he'd donned his salesman's persona, she asked, “What aren't you telling me, Eli? Why are you so uptight?”
“Aw shit. Honey, can you just trust me for now?” Eli worried her hair, twirling a lock around his finger, avoiding her eyes. “There's a lot I can't talk about right now. It's not that I don't trust you—”
Cupping a hand over his mouth, she said, “It's okay. I understand. The merger and all that. You go.”
He lifted his gaze to hers; his thumb outlined her mouth. “Steph, I don't want you leaving here on your own. Wait for me to come get you, honey.”
“You think someone's after me?” He did, she realized.
“No, hon. Someone's after Valentine Voodoo, and you and Bill are the only two people who can recreate the movie in a snap. So promise me you'll wait for me.”
“I promise. You don't have to add me to your list of worries, Eli.” It occurred to her then that he worried about those he cared about constantly—his mom, his siblings—and he'd now added her to the list of people for whom he felt responsible.
Stephanie enjoyed tracing his movements, the way he knotted his tie with quick, certain twists and flips of the red silk. The navy pin-striped suit brought out the slate hue of his eyes; the slash of scarlet against his starched, snow-white shirt gave him an aura of power reserved for men twice h
is age. Pride seeped into her, igniting an ache in her chest. Eli left five minutes later and she stared at the ceiling for long minutes, her mind skipping from her parents to Eli's family, to the anticipated work gossip about the two of them.
She had to force herself out of bed, resisting the urge to burrow into the pillows and replay every minute of the night before. He'd promised slow the second time, and she'd discovered slow meant excruciating, exponential desire, but when their bodies joined, he'd crooned words and phrases, telling her how he'd felt the first time he saw her, how he loved the way she nibbled her pinkie, how much he'd envied her little finger.
Oh shoot. I'm in love with him. How did I get here so fast?
After showering, she debated whether to wear underwear but decided to be conservative. Anything could happen today, what with the merger. She'd run out of panties but always kept an extra pair in the inside compartment of her carry-on.
Digging into the nylon pocket, her fingers encountered a foreign object; she scooped it up, fisted her hand, and brought it out of the suitcase. When Stephanie unclenched her fingers, the blood in her veins and arteries frosted as she recognized the green bead dancing on her palm.
Chapter Ten
Bill, Iggie, and Sam were on their second cup of coffee by the time Eli made it to the boardroom.
“Sorry I'm late,” Eli mumbled. He prided himself on never being tardy, but every instinct in his body screamed that he shouldn't have left Stephanie alone, and he'd lingered too long in their suite. “Sam, did you arrange for the bodyguards for Steph?”
“I have two men stationed at the penthouse elevators. Didn't you see them?” Sam answered before chomping a huge bite of a powdered jelly doughnut, which promptly leaked slashes of cherry goop from its sides. Two swift dabs of a wadded napkin saved his shirt from the descending blobs.
Eli cricked his neck, and a couple of the knots in his trapezius muscle loosened. “Took the stairs. I guess I missed them.”
Sam swallowed. “We ready to proceed?”
“Full steam ahead,” Iggie replied with a wave of his hand.
“Lock the door before you sit, Eli,” Sam ordered as he picked up a remote and stabbed a button.
After he sweetened his coffee with two sachets of sugar, Eli ambled over to the double doors and secured the brass slide, and then he took a seat next to Bill.
The room smelled of coffee and fried pastry. Trays of doughnuts—bars, twists, pretzel shaped, the jelly-in-the-middle kind—lined the middle of the boardroom table. The sideboard opposite the table displayed healthier fare: cubed fruit, yogurt cups, and a bowl of strawberries.
An LCD screen descended from the ceiling. Sam aimed a laser pointer and stabbed at his laptop's keyboard.
“This is our network,” Sam said, focusing the pointer's infrared cursor on a series of diagrams. The image dissolved, and another appeared. “This is Dreamcoast's.” Another press of a key and a new visual with the two networks side by side filled the screen. “Here's how we connect. It's a server-to-server direct connection. We use a security encryption developed by the Mossad in Israel. I had the firm that developed our system scour both networks yesterday. What we found was this.”
A schematic showing five connections highlighted at each apex materialized.
“I don't get it,” Eli muttered.
“We've been breached by satellite,” Bill growled. “I'll have Shane's ass for this. This is so fucking obvious.” He slapped his palm to his forehead.
Man, Mr. Clean swore.
Eli'd been dealing with Bill Harris for five months and not once had he ever seen him lose his California, laid-back cool.
“Hindsight's twenty-twenty,” Sam said, his tone schoolteacher reproachful. “And I wouldn't be so fast to punish your VP. This is the most sophisticated operation I've encountered in fifteen years. We're tracing the transmissions as we speak. The first portal we identified was in Armenia; then the signal flows to Turkmenistan and then to India. That's where we lost it. Most satellite transmissions from India are routed to China.”
“Figures.” Eli gulped down mouthfuls of scalding, espresso-strength brew. “Anybody curious about the timing of all of this? I know, I know. We have Amy pinpointed as the leak, but aside from that one opportunity she had to steal the trailer, she had no access to the DVDs. Another Todd Technologies employee has to be involved. And Stephanie says that a copy of the trailer was on her desktop for a good two days.”
“Agreed,” Bill stated. “What about Jefferson Boyd? He has access, and I notice he's not here.”
“That's because he's undergoing chemo, and that's strictly confidential.” Iggie's black eyes locked their gazes one by one. “Jeff's not a suspect.”
“That leaves us, Christine, and Lisa,” Eli said, deliberately omitting Stephanie's name from the list.
“There's also Stephanie.” Bill linked his hands over his chest.
“For fuck's sake, Bill, you can't be serious,” Eli growled. “Iggie?”
“Per se, we can't knock her off the suspect list. Do I think for a minute she could have done this? Not on your life. Don't go off half-cocked, young 'un. I know you're nuts about the girl, and I am too. Shit, I'm resting the future of the animation division on her shoulders. The only reason I even contemplated the merger's because of the way she raved about Bill and Dreamcoast. And the fact that the two of them produced what I believe will be the equivalent of Fantasia with Valentine Voodoo.” Iggie flashed his new copartner an apologetic smile.
“Thanks for the kudos, Iggie. Let's take a step back,” Bill said. He shoved his chair aside and got to his feet. “Sorry, but I think best when moving.” Pacing a line up and down the length of the twenty-seat mahogany boardroom table, he continued, “Whoever's behind this planned this months ago.”
“And several people are involved.” Eli twisted his chair sideways, stood, and stalked to the sideboard, carrying his mug with him. “I don't think we can rule out that someone in Dreamcoast is also involved. And we can't forget about that voodoo shit at the château that first night. Genevieve's head of PR for the estate; she managed to be conveniently caught in traffic.” Eli snaked quotation marks around the last phrase. “And she claims no knowledge of the whole event. I don't buy it—not for a single second.”
Bill halted while Eli was speaking. Arms akimbo, he darted a ferocious, Harry Potterish scowl at Eli. “The reason Genevieve wasn't there was because she was with me. For the whole night.”
You may be a Mensa member, Bill, but you sure as shit know nothing about women.
“That doesn't clear her,” Sam said. Slouched in his chair, chin resting on twined fingers, he studied the ceiling for a few seconds and then continued. “If I'd planned that particular event, I'd make sure I had an iron-tight alibi. She could easily have hired the whole crew. By the way, we haven't been able to locate any of the players from that night. It was a stupid move to burn those dolls, Eli.”
“It weirded Stephanie out. I had to do it.” Eli didn't mean to sound sullen.
“His little head did the thinking that night, I'm guessing,” Iggie commented, his mouth curving. “Back to the subject. We have the voodoo night, the acid in Steph's purse, her ransacked hotel suite—the first two we could attribute to Genevieve, the last, no way. Steph's room was tossed while you three were at Dreamcoast. That means we have a third person in the picture besides Amy, and possibly Genevieve.”
Iggie's cell jingled and vibrated on the table. He grabbed the phone and splayed a wait signal with one hand. “Yes.”
Eli's Rolex showed five minutes to eight. “Sam, it's almost time. Everyone else will be arriving in a minute.” He spoke in a lowered tone so he didn't disturb Iggie's conversation. “I have to get Steph.”
“Go,” Sam said, sotto voce. “I'll handle the prep for the meeting.”
Eli closed the door quietly and then headed to the emergency staircase. One flight separated the boardroom level from the penthouse suites. The elevators in the hotel were not
oriously slow, and he didn't want to wait. His internal alarms rang like Big Ben's chimes for the millennium, and he wanted to get to Stephanie pronto, though he couldn't pinpoint why. His mind worked as he took the stairs two at a time.
Why isn't Iggie concentrating on the DVDs?
Why the big focus on security?
What am I missing?
His feet hit the landing, and he froze, dread jumping bile up his gullet. A crowbar jammed the stairwell door. Sam had guards on the elevators but not on the emergency exits.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Eli muttered as he pried the iron out of the handle.
When the bar finally slipped free, he slapped the handle down, elbowed the door open, and tore down the hallway. Precious seconds elapsed as he fumbled in his jacket pocket for the key card and then slipped it into the slot.
Red.
He did it again.
Green.
He turned the knob and burst into the room.
“Steph,” he shouted. “Steph?”
A swift glance showed the living area was empty. Gut nose-diving, Eli sprinted to the bedroom, yelling, “Stephanie, answer me.”
Nothing. He raced to the bathroom and skidded to a halt when he found it empty. Eli slumped on an icy marble wall, flipped open his cell, and hit Redial.
Stephanie's phone went straight to voice mail.
“No. No. No.” Eli stabbed Two, preprogrammed for Sam.
Calm down, Gallagher. Panicking won't bring her back.
He gulped a deep breath.
“Sam Taylor.”
“Stephanie's missing, Sam.”
“Calm down, Eli.” Sam's voice took on a clipped edge. “Don't jump to any conclusions. She may have gone to the lobby. Check with the guards.”
“I will, but you don't understand—the stairwell door was jammed with a crowbar.” Eli tore his hand threw his hair. “She's not in our suite. Her phone goes straight to voice mail. This doesn't look good.”
“Sod it.” Eli heard Sam's fist slamming the table. “I'll be down in a second. Talk to the guards.”
Eli headed straight to the elevator.
