by Kylie Brant
Her entire body seemed encased in ice, and she barely resisted the urge to rub her hands together to generate some heat in her frozen limbs. It was ridiculous, she thought a little wildly, as they stepped closer to the customs and immigration official. She’d never been in O’Hare before. It shouldn’t inspire such panic.
But she knew it wasn’t the airport that caused her reaction, but its proximity to Victor Mannen.
“Relax,” Nick murmured, and her gaze flew to his. He stepped forward, showing his papers to the man behind the counter, and Sara had a sudden thought that perhaps hers wouldn’t pass inspection. A wild hope began to bloom at the thought, even as Nick moved on and Sara laid her documents on the counter. What would happen if they suspected hers were forged? They’d have to take her off somewhere and question her, wouldn’t they? And she doubted even Nick could arrange it so that he could be in the room with her.
Being separated from him would be the first step toward obtaining her freedom. A freedom that was becoming increasingly crucial with every second she spent in Chicago.
Her documents were stamped and pushed back toward her. Even as she reached for them, Nick casually picked them up. “I’ll keep those for you, Raeanne. You know how you are about losing things.”
Their eyes met, and she thought for an instant that he’d been able to read her mind a moment ago. His expression was shuttered, and she realized abruptly that it wouldn’t be necessary for him to have any paranormal powers.
She’d never made a secret of the fact that Chicago was the last place on earth she wanted to be.
The limo pulled to a stop in a curved drive a full quarter mile from the front gate of the estate. Sara stared through the window in disbelief. Kim, too, was making no secret of her shock.
“Who’d you have to bribe to land this place?”
“The owner is out of the country indefinitely. I was able to sublease it, fully furnished.” Nick looked at Sara. “Are you all right?”
“Of course,” she replied coolly. Not for a moment would she admit that her heart had been galloping since their plane had landed. They got out and walked up the steps, Nick producing a key and ushering them into the house.
“Some layout.” Kim poked her head into rooms, strolling from one to another. “What did you say this guy does?”
“The owner? From his extended stay in Greece, I suspect he spends much of his time evading the Internal Revenue Service.”
The limo driver followed them inside, depositing the bags on the marble floor in the front hall. Kim looked at Nick, her brows raised. “Do you suppose this place is as clean as it looks?”
“I’ll let you check and see if it meets with your approval.”
With a slight frown, Sara wondered at their exchange. Kim nodded, squatted down in front of one of the bags and unzipped it, withdrawing some equipment.
Nick stepped forward, took Sara’s arm. “Let’s have a look.”
The owner’s taste ran to the avant-garde, with sparse furnishings highlighting the structure. They walked into a large room that boasted acres of polished parquet flooring, with mirrored octagon-shaped pillars dotting the space. A bar covered by the same mirrored panels was tucked away in one corner, and a fireplace spread across one wall.
Kim walked into the room behind them, with a wand-shaped instrument in her hand, and moved slowly through the room, holding the tool in the air. When she got through the space she gave Nick a quick look and a thumbs-up.
Noting the exchange, Sara asked, “You’re afraid this place is bugged?”
“It seems unlikely, but it would be foolish not to check.” Nick considered her from where he stood across the room. “If we find anything, most likely it will be the owner’s. It’s doubtful Mannen knows of my arrival date, much less where I’ll be staying.”
His words were anything but reassuring. She, better than anyone, knew the length of Mannen’s reach. As well as his ability to manipulate lives—or end them—at a whim. A shudder worked down her spine.
Seeing her reaction, Nick moved closer, trailed a finger lightly down her arm. “There’s no reason to be afraid. I’ll be right by your side every minute.”
His words elicited another shiver. Because, of course, that was one of the things she feared the most.
“Tell me again where we’re going. And why.”
“It’s a fund-raiser…for battered women, I think. There’s a celebrity auction at the end of the night. Until then it’s mostly meet and greet. Cocktail conversation. Nothing to worry about. Stop fidgeting.” He reached over, covered the hands that were twisting on her lap.
“I’m not.” The denial was a matter of pride. So was pulling away from him and deliberately stilling her fingers’ nervous movements. She was more practiced than most in the art of pretense, but Raeanne Backstrom would be expected to be at home gliding from one group of people to another, making small talk and looking bored. In situations like that, Sara had more experience serving drinks and trying not to slug the men who grabbed her butt.
She took a deep breath. It helped when assuming a new identity to visualize the person’s life. To think about the places she would have been, the things she would have done, her likes and dislikes. A woman like Raeanne would be used to traveling in limos. She wouldn’t have immediately noted that it was the same car and driver who had brought them to the house from the airport. She wouldn’t have observed the driver at all. Her eyes, her attention, would be on the man at her side.
Sara turned to look at Nick again. Michel. He was dazzling in a tux, wearing a collarless black shirt beneath. His hair was gelled back, emphasizing the difference in his hairline. With the scar curving beneath his eye, all he needed was a deck of cards and a glass of whiskey to complete the picture of dashing riverboat gambler. A charming rogue who was equally adept with the ladies as he was with the six-gun strapped to his side.
Nick was minus the deck of cards, but he wore his customary ankle holster. And she knew that the seductive threat he presented was all too real. “You didn’t tell me why we’re going to this.”
“It’ll give you a chance to get used to your role, and provides our first opportunity to be seen together in public.” Lazily, he stretched his arm out on the seat behind her, his fingertips brushing her bare shoulder. His gesture made her exquisitely aware of the amount of skin her dress left bare. “The gown suits you.”
“It suits Raeanne.” Certainly Sara had never worn anything like it before. The royal-blue color was a shade she’d never have chosen. She’d spent too many years trying to avoid attention to be comfortable in bright colors. And its strapless bodice seemed alarmingly skimpy. The dress clung to her figure and ended several inches above her knees. It allowed for only the barest of undergarments. She had pajamas that were less revealing.
To complete her outfit, Nick had presented her with large teardrop diamond earrings, a glittering matching necklace and bracelet, and two rings. The jewelry felt like dead weight against her skin. She imagined its combined worth would keep a large family comfortably for several years. Wearing it only added to the nerves fluttering in her veins.
“We’re almost there.” He brought her hand to his lips, skimmed his mouth over her knuckles. “Remember, we’re besotted with each other.”
Heat pooled in her belly at the intimate contact. “That’s going to be a reach.”
His face drew closer, his lips brushing hers as he whispered, “Not for me.”
When the limo pulled to a stop before the brightly lit building, Sara’s pulse was still rocketing. She started to get out of the car, remembering at the last moment that she would be expected to wait for her escort to aid her. Nick took her hand, and she was certain he could feel the evidence of his effect on her. She looked at him, saw the smile of anticipation on his face. Leaning toward her, he whispered, “Let the games begin.”
Games, Sara thought two hours later, would hardly be the description she would have chosen. Warfare would be more accurate, couched in
pleasant tones and highlighted with plastic smiles. Words used as nasty little weapons designed to draw blood. A case in point was the pair of glittering women at her side air kissing each other’s cheeks.
“Monique…what a lovely little outfit! Is Isolde still dressing you? Aren’t you the most loyal thing! You must be one of the few clients she’s managed to hang on to.”
When she paused to draw a breath the other woman cooed, “Oh, Lisbet, you look marvelous. You must give me the name of your surgeon. When I’m your age I’ll want to look just as stunning as you do.”
Sara hid her grin by lifting her wineglass to her lips. Check and mate, she thought, amused. Apparently life could be a battlefield regardless of the surroundings.
Her attention shifted as Nick introduced her to the couple he was chatting with. “This is my very good friend, Raeanne Backstrom.” He used the word friend, but his tone, the possessive hand on her back, screamed lover. She tensed infinitesimally and held out her hand in greeting. “Ah’m delighted to meet you.” As she spoke to the couple she was all too aware that Nick was still touching her. His hand rested at the base of her spine. And the weight of it there was doing curious things to her ability to concentrate.
It was more difficult than it should have been to speak to the woman, whose name she’d already forgotten, about the beastly heat in Savannah this time of year. Yes, she agreed, as Nick’s fingers turned caressing, Athens had a wonderful university, but her mother had graduated from Wellesley and it had been important to her that her daughter attend there, as well.
Nick’s hand lowered, cupped her bottom, and her fingers went numb.
“Careful, chérie.” With quick reflexes he managed to keep her wineglass from spilling. His smile encompassed the group as he righted it. “The champagne here flows freely, but we do not want it to flow that freely, do we?” There was polite laughter, and when the couple drifted away after another few minutes of chatter, Sara released a breath.
“Relax, you’re doing fine.” Did his whisper have to be delivered in that intimate tone, so close to her ear?
“How fond are you of your hands?” A casual smile was on her lips as she delivered the question, while her gaze drifted over the assembled crowd.
“As it happens, I’m attached to both.”
She ignored both the laughter in his voice and the bad joke. He didn’t need any encouragement. “Unless you want to go home minus one of them, I suggest you keep them to yourself.”
He dropped a kiss on one of her bared shoulders. “I’ve always had a weakness for dangerous women.”
It was apparent from the surreptitious looks coming his way that there were plenty of women in the room who also had a weakness for dangerous men. Sara had lost count of the number she’d noticed staring their way. To be the recipient of that avid attention would normally make her uncomfortable, but it was only too easy to recognize the source of their interest. Nick made an attractive package, his imperceptible aura of mystery compelling. He’d muted the dangerous power of his personality for this outing, but she still had to remind herself more than once that his acting ability was superior even to her own. Although his pose was loverlike, his gaze when he lifted it to scan the room was shrewd. Assessing.
“I understand a few local artists will be auctioning off some of their work, as well.” With a deft touch, Nick guided her to a semisecluded corner of the room, where various paintings and sculptures were showcased. “Do you see any you like?”
She studied the artwork as an excuse to avoid looking at him. “I can’t say I care for the pieces that don’t look like anything.”
“Abstract art is an acquired taste. What do you think of this one?”
It was hard to focus on the painting he indicated while he had his arm draped lightly across her shoulders. His index finger traced the skin above her bodice and then dipped beneath it.
Swiftly, her head turned to his, her lips parted. He was gazing at her mouth, his eyes heavy-lidded. She had an instant to be grateful for the privacy of the corner, an instant of mingled anticipation and dread, before his mouth met hers.
This wasn’t the featherlight brushing of lips he’d given her in the limo, but a kiss that was possessive and rawly carnal. A man branding his mate until such time as he could make the act that much more intimate. Sara struggled with the emotions crashing and careening inside her as he pulled her into his embrace. Her hands slid around her neck, the memory of the last kiss they shared all too vivid. Thought fled then, to be replaced by sensation.
His taste was darkly sensual, and evoked an answering hunger. And in that instant she knew he’d been holding back from her the other times. He kissed her deeply. Intensely. The way a man kissed a woman he intended to make love to a moment later, his mouth ravaging hers.
Helplessly, she clutched his shoulder with one hand as the other twined more tightly around his neck. And for the first time since she’d met him, she returned his kiss without the inner guard that was usually second nature for her. When his tongue probed her mouth, she welcomed it, played with it. And when he pressed his body closer to hers and she felt the evidence of his arousal, it evoked an answering tumult of desire.
Until he lifted his head, waited for her to open her eyes, try to focus. “Would you like to leave early?”
It wasn’t his words that had the passion-induced haze suddenly clearing from her brain. It was the look in his eyes—clear, focused, despite the obvious passion also visible there. She stared at him for a minute, trying to make the adjustment he had, and failing miserably.
A cool, cultivated voice sounded beside them. “The artwork is hardly museum caliber, but it’s all for a good cause, isn’t it?”
As Nick turned to greet the newcomer, Sara took another moment to calm her raging pulse. So it was delayed comprehension that punched in when she saw the elegantly groomed gentleman speaking to Nick, belatedly recognizing the voice she hadn’t heard for six years.
Victor Mannen.
Ice filled her body so suddenly, so completely, she imagined steam should rise as frigidity met what had so recently been heat. There was a roaring in her ears, and she knew she would have swayed if not for Nick’s arm wrapped around her waist.
“Darling.” His arm tightened. “This is Victor Mannen, the business associate I mentioned.”
Somehow, a smile formed on her lips. As if detached from her own body, she watched her hand raise, felt, with a distant horror, him encompass it with his own.
“Miss Backstrom. A pleasure.”
Her heart was kicking in triple time and she thought she might hyperventilate. “Mistah Mannen,” was all she could manage to say.
“I didn’t realize you had arrived in the city, Michel.” Mannen’s attention had switched back to Nick, and Sara, stunned, was left to battle her other turbulent emotions.
He didn’t recognize her.
There hadn’t been as much as a flicker of recognition in his expression before he’d addressed Nick again. Had it been so long? Was she so changed? Or had she been so inconsequential to the man that her looks had never registered with him six years ago?
The answer, she thought, fighting the nausea rising in her stomach, was probably a combination of the three.
With effort, she forced herself to focus on their conversation, and on her role. She pretended to sip from her glass, although she knew better than to try and swallow. Her throat had seized up the first moment she’d recognized the man.
She used his focus on Nick to give herself a bit of time to recover. If she had changed in appearance, he hadn’t. His hair was still thick, silver and perfectly groomed. He looked born to a tuxedo, the severe black accentuating his aesthetic looks. Her gaze traveled lower, and fixed on the hand with which he held his glass. The diamond flashing on his little finger was familiar. The brilliant jewel had winked as he’d made a dismissive gesture, ordered the stranger’s murder.
I think we’re done here, Peter. Kill him.
When her gaze r
aised again, she saw that Mannen had noticed her interest. Quelling panic, she manufactured a smile. “Ah was just noticing yoah ring. Ah’m afraid Ah’ve a weakness for jewels.”
“Beautiful women deserve flawless gems.” Mannen’s words were delivered with just the right amount of flattery.
Nick reached over and ran a light finger along her necklace. “My thoughts exactly.”
“You’d be dazzling even without adornment,” Mannen said.
She gave him a coy look that would have done the confidently rich Raeanne proud. “You’re very gallant.” She tilted a look up to Nick. “Isn’t he gallant, Michel?”
His fingers grazed her hip as he gave her a possessive look. “He only speaks the truth.”
She placed her hand on Nick’s arm, caressed it a little. “If you two gentlemen would like to discuss business, Ah’ll just disappear to the ladies’ room to freshen up.”
“I wouldn’t think of interrupting your evening,” Mannen interjected. “I just wanted to take the opportunity to welcome you to Chicago. Falcol.” He nodded to Nick. “I’ll be talking to you soon. Miss Backstrom—” his pale gray gaze landed on Sara, and ice water splashed through her veins “—it was a pleasure meeting you.”
He walked away, joining another group standing some distance away, and Sara felt her knees weaken as reaction set in.
“You were wonderful.”
“Tell that to my heart. It’s in my throat right now.” She started away, glanced at Nick as he accompanied her. “I really am going to the rest room, and I don’t need an escort.”
His voice was imperturbable. “I don’t mind.”
Her lips tightened. “Afraid I’ll go out the window?”
“It’s been known to happen.”
Because the words were no less than the truth, she didn’t bother to answer. But she was glad the rest room door represented a barrier that even he would have to respect. The space was a haven in which she could take a few precious moments to recover. A haven, she ascertained with a few quick glances, without windows or another exit.
