The elevator numbers glowed and a chime sounded as the car progressed slowly upward through the floors. Conrad bent low to drop a kiss on my nose before nibbling my ear. His wasn’t the technique of a callow college boy. This kid had the moves. I slid my hands inside his jacket, pressing into his embrace. His back muscles were firm and there wasn’t an ounce of extra flesh on him. Frat parties hadn’t done him too much damage yet.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. With a final kiss, Conrad ushered me out with an elegant flourish into a marble floored lobby. There was only one door.
“You have the whole floor to yourself?”
Conrad shrugged and slid a key into the lock. “I share it with Hatch and Grunfeldt.”
His bodyguards. “Do we, uh, need to put a sock on the knob?”
His brow furrowed, not understanding.
“What do guys in Europe do when they want privacy from their roommates?”
His expression cleared and he gestured for me to precede him into the condo. “Privacy won’t be a problem.”
The marble floor continued into the foyer of the apartment, then stopped at the edge of an ultra-modern living room. Black wall-to-wall carpeting took up where the marble left off. Chrome and white leather furniture populated the room, punctuated by a kaleidoscope of brightly colored pillows, and floor-to-ceiling windows showed off the San Diego skyline. It looked more like a photo out of Architectural Digest than a frat boy’s pad. For a moment I wondered if anyone really lived here, then I spotted signs of life: a used ashtray on the glass topped table and a pair of scuffed Nikes underneath. Conrad threw the deadbolt and came to stand behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist.
“Wow, this is great.” I twisted to look up at him with a speculative look. “Where are your etchings?”
Conrad smiled and turned me gently. “There’s one.”
On the wall behind us hung a pointillist rendering of a jungle waterfall framed by exotic flowers. The water almost looked like it was in motion. I didn’t have to fake my enthusiasm; Conrad was truly talented. “Far out! You’re really good!”
He squeezed me. “You think so?”
I caught myself reaching for the painting even though we stood a good four feet away. I pulled my hand back. “It makes me feel like if I touched it, the water would be wet.”
He smiled as if that were the best compliment I could have given. “I painted that in Tahiti.”
I turned in his arms, arching my back to see his face. “I can see why you love it there.”
“I do.” He bent to kiss me briefly. “But right now I love being here.”
What a line. But it was a good one, so I kissed him back.
His hands stroked my back and the tingle his caress incited grew, flaming from my lips with a cascade of heat over my shoulders, to my breasts and downward through my body, pooling between my legs. My body pressed closely to his of its own accord and my mind grew fuzzy with desire. The man knew how to kiss. He was a good six years my junior, but nothing about him felt young or inexperienced. Any reservations I’d had about taking advantage of an innocent vanished. Conrad bent over me, pulling me against him and I clung to his shoulders for balance. My nipples pressed hard and hungry against his chest. I was breathing fast by the time he pulled back to smile at me with slightly glazed eyes. I noted happily that he was breathing just as deeply as I was.
“I’m not being a very good host,” he murmured as he dropped little kisses from my jaw to my collarbone. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
I dropped my head to the side to give him better access. We’d already had two bottles with dinner and after, but Conrad didn’t seem drunk. I needed him to be reckless, forgetful. “Yes, please.” I half groaned the words, and even I wasn’t sure if I was talking about the kisses or the wine.
He pulled me with him into the kitchen. Again it was clear from the finishes and the appliances that no expense had been spared. Conrad handed me two balloon goblets, and pulled a Cabernet from the rack. He presented it to me with a flourish. “Will this do, Madame?”
I pretended to examine the label. It could have been Ripple for all I knew about wine. “Oui, monsieur. It will do.”
He pulled the cork with deft expertise, then towed me back into the living room to a sheepskin rug in front of a gas fireplace, which he turned on. Flames leapt up to dance around the ceramic logs. Conrad poured us each a healthy glass then tugged on my free hand to sit on the rug. Each act was smooth and confident, if perhaps a little clichéd. I wondered how many times he’d used this same routine to score with other women. It didn’t matter, as long as I left with what I came for.
We sat facing each other, close enough to touch, and sipped the full-bodied vintage. I licked my lips.
Conrad’s eyes were hot and intense over the edge of his goblet. He set his glass aside. “I’m not really interested in more wine. Are you?”
“No.”
Conrad took my glass and set it next to his on the end table. “Good.” He kissed me again, wrapping a hand behind my neck and sending a shiver of anticipation down my spine. When he pulled back I realized he’d untied the straps of my halter top. He tugged them down tenderly, exposing my breasts, trailing his fingers over my puckering nipples. Then he leaned over, supporting my head as he gently lowered me so I was lying on the thick wool rug, kissing me all the while. When he finished the kiss, he sat back, taking in the view instead of rushing on to third base.
“You’re beautiful.”
“Am I?”
I felt my breasts swell as he traced a delicate figure eight around one nipple to the other and back with a single finger. “You know you are.”
I wanted more. Needed more. I thought of how he preferred experienced older women and decided to take the initiative. I kicked off my shoes and shimmied my dress down over my hips until all I had on were my lace panties. Then they followed the dress. I stretched my arms over my head. “Prove it, then. Take me.”
A small part of my brain was stunned that I was doing this, even after all the planning and coaching. Then Conrad barked a short laugh and leaned forward to brace his hands on either side of my head. He dipped his lips to mine for a deep kiss that made me forget everything. All I knew was that I needed to touch him, and wanted him touching me. I unbuttoned his shirt and savored the smooth hot skin of his back with my fingers.
“Clothes. Off. Now.” I said when we stopped to draw breath.
He didn’t argue. A few moments later we were skin to skin, pressed together chest to hip, legs tangled, lips locked. My body writhed of its own volition, trying to get closer. I felt his erection against my thigh and spread my legs.
“Not yet,” Conrad whispered against my breast before he drew my nipple into his mouth. Hot desire shot to my belly, and lower, as he tugged with his teeth. I grew wet with anticipation as his hand stroked slowly downward to cup my mound. Any other twenty-year-old male would have been in me by now with an invitation like that. He had to be the only guy his age who wanted to practice his foreplay instead of getting it on. Not that he needed the practice.
I was trying to think of how to move things along when he slid his finger into me.
He knew exactly what to do to make me lose my mind. I was supposed to be making Conrad lose his, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop him. And then I was convulsing, the world exploding as a fireball of pleasure filled my body.
The last of my awareness dissolved in a fuzzy, post-orgasmic cloud. Conrad’s mouth left my breast and he moved away. Then the sound of a foil wrapper being torn open brought me back to reality with a snap.
“We don’t need that.” I sat up and put my hand over the condom he held. “I’m on the Pill.”
He hesitated, then shook his head. “I’d rather.”
“Really? Most guys don’t like wearing raincoats.” I stroked his erection and it twitched enthusiastically.
I could see him wavering, but then he said, “No. I’d better wear it.”
I
couldn’t argue further without raising suspicion, but there wasn’t a man alive who would turn down a blow-job. “Let me give you a kiss first, then.” I pulled the rubber from his unresisting fingers. Conrad lay back on the sheepskin, propped on his elbows, cock jutting at an angle toward the ceiling.
I leaned over to kiss him on the mouth. Even with the tingling vestiges of my orgasm sparking along my nerves, I felt that strange surge of hunger as our lips met. I liked the way he kissed me back with utter concentration, as if he wasn’t impatient for me to kiss something else. He thrust his tongue rhythmically between my teeth and I sucked at it, wanting to take another part of him into my body. I began kissing and nipping my way down his torso.
A part of my mind marveled, I was really here, really doing this. Why had I been nervous? Conrad was a nice guy, a considerate lover. For a second I wondered if his dad was really as bad as Foxworth had painted him. But then I remembered Mark. Mark and all the others who had died or gone missing because of what the Golden Path had done. I licked the tip of Conrad’s erection and took him into my mouth.
His groaned softly and he watched as my lips slid down and back up, moistening his shaft. I watched him out of the corner of my eye and he grinned back at me. “You’re very good at that.”
I chuckled and stopped just long enough to say, “Is there such a thing as a bad blow job?” Then I resumed my attentions.
Conrad laughed too. “No. But some are better than others. And this is better.”
I teased and stroked with my tongue while maintaining a slow, leisurely rhythm. At first he watched, then his eyes closed in concentration and he lay flat on his back.
“God, that feels so good.” His voice was husky and his hips twitched.
I liked being in control of his body, his pleasure. I grew hotter and wetter with every one of his moans.
His breath grew short and his body tense. I pulled away and swung my leg over his, pressing the blunt tip of his shaft into my opening. He slid in without resistance or objection.
The feel of him inside me was almost as good as an orgasm, but not quite. I had to move, had to have more of him. I rode him slowly for a few strokes, but then he pulled me down to his chest, holding my hips in place as he pumped into me with quick, fierce strokes. He swelled within me and my own need rose with his. I shifted my hips slightly to improve the angle and suddenly he came with three hard thrusts. His cock was rigid, spurting his seed into my greedy womb. Something like lightning flashed over me. I saw nothing but light, heard nothing but a sharp guttural cry, and distantly wondered if it was his or mine.
I wasn’t sure how long I floated there, sated and satisfied with my head pillowed on his shoulder, his softening cock still inside me. The world didn’t exist beyond the two of us. I saw nothing, heard nothing but his heart beating beneath my ear, until another sound intruded.
The scrape and click of a key turning in the front door lock.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DAN
Dan paced the five steps into his miniscule kitchen, snagged a beer from the fridge, then paced back into his equally small living room to continue not watching Saturday Night Live. Mackson was an ass for bailing on Marianne at the last minute, but Dan understood too well why the idiot had backed out of the assignment. Letting Marianne walk out the door with Conrad was one of the hardest things Dan had ever done.
He wasn’t worried for her safety. Not really. Conrad had no history of abuse, and there was no reason anyone working for him would hurt her, either. If everything went as planned, she and Conrad would have a nice dinner, go back to his place, and get it on. Dan wondered what they were doing right now, then stopped himself. Thinking about how Conrad might be touching Marianne would just make him crazy. Whatever she was doing, she was fulfilling her mission—setting events in motion that would eventually free a Gaian. What she was doing required resolve and commitment. Mackson had failed her. Dan wouldn’t—even if he didn’t like what she had to do.
Dan grimaced and took a swig of his beer. He really had no reason to feel possessive. Knowing that didn’t make waiting any easier, however.
The phone rang, and Dan jumped to answer in case it was Marianne.
“Hey, Danny-boy! What’s shakin’?”
Ringo. Dan hadn’t heard from his Army buddy for over a month. They’d had each other’s backs through some pretty hairy shit during the war, and the occasional crazy adventure as civilians. Glad that Marianne wasn’t in trouble, Dan tamped down his illogical swirl of disappointment that it wasn’t her on the phone. “Nothing much. You?”
“You want to meet me in Vegas next weekend? I’ll have a break between jobs, and some R and R will be in order.” Ringo’s job as a repo-man could get a little wild at times.
“Can’t do it this time. I’m a little tied up. I’m getting married.”
“What? You call that, ‘nothing much?’ And you didn’t tell me? When did this happen? Who’s the poor girl you suckered?”
Dan laughed silently at his friend’s reaction. “I didn’t tell you because I haven’t actually asked her yet, but I’m pretty sure she’ll say yes.”
“This is kind of sudden isn’t it? You haven’t mentioned getting serious about anyone. Hell, you haven’t talked about dating at all.”
“I only met her six weeks ago.”
“You don’t waste any time, do you?”
“You snooze, you lose,” Dan answered.
“So why can’t you go to Vegas? Is she a prissy little thing that won’t let you have any fun?”
Dan laughed at the idea of Marianne being prissy. “No, she’s not like that. But we’ll be busy this next month planning the wedding and stuff. Vegas will have to wait.”
“This month? You’re getting married in a month? What’s the rush? Oh, man, Danny, what did you do? Knock her up?”
“Will you be my best man?”
“Of course. I’ve got your back. Just tell me where and when. But … are you sure she’s the one? Marriage is a big deal.”
Even though his friend couldn’t see him, Dan nodded. “I’m sure.”
“Then you’ve told her … you know … about what happened over there?
Dan hesitated. “Not yet.”
“I suppose you don’t have to. It’s in the past, after all. But man, if she’s going to be your wife you ought to be able to tell her anything, don’t you think?”
“I’ll tell her. The time just hasn’t been right.” He’d only been on the fast track to the altar for three days, after all, and Marianne had been preparing for her mission. She didn’t need the distraction. “I’ll tell her,” he repeated.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MARIANNE
Both Conrad and I jack-knifed upright, then shot to our feet. If ever it would have been nice to have had a warning from one of my “feelings” this would have been it.
“Merde!” Conrad leapt across the room, his mad dash revealing well-honed reflexes and a beautifully tight ass that I couldn’t really appreciate because I was scrambling into my panties. The door was just opening when he reached it and slammed it shut again with the flat of his hand. “Damn it, Hatch! I told you to keep out tonight!”
There was a brief silence.
“Hatch failed to copy me on the memo.” The voice from the hallway was deep and cultured, sharing the same faint accent Conrad had.
“Father!” Conrad exclaimed, then whispered, “Bedroom!” and pointed sharply down the hallway.
I snatched up my dress. Some part of my mind was still working, and I yanked the condom out of the open wrapper as I fled. The first door I came to was a bathroom decorated with black and white tile with gold art nouveau accents. I wasted no time admiring the decor. I cleaned myself and flushed the condom. There’d be no evidence that Conrad had gone au naturel. Then I shimmied into my dress. I felt like a college kid again, caught necking in a parked car by campus police—only this was worse. The man in the next room was Lucius Altesse. The man who held Aldwyn prisoner. The man
who had helped take Mark away from our family.
“I see you are entertaining.” I heard Altesse say. “Sorry to interrupt.”
He didn’t sound sorry. He didn’t sound particularly surprised, either. Since Conrad had probably opened the door stark naked, I had to give Daddy Dearest points for understatement.
“It would have been nice if you’d called first, sir.” Conrad’s voice was tight with irritation.
“I am not accustomed to seeking permission to visit my own property.” Altesse’s arch tone carried from the other room. I could imagine the arched brows that went with it. “I trust you used protection?”
Dan had briefed me about Conrad’s dad. As the CEO of Le Premier Industries, and a member of the Council of Five of the Golden Path, Lucius Altesse had at least a rudimentary knowledge of the occult, but how powerful a practitioner he was no one knew. I hadn’t needed to know. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be in Europe. Why hadn’t Kincaid let me and Dan know he’d boarded a flight for the US? For San Diego? Christ, his flight would have departed long before our date began. Was the Trust’s intel that inadequate?
“Yes, of course I did!” Conrad lied with convincing indignation and without hesitation. He didn’t want his father to know he’d let lust override caution. Or maybe that mind-blowing orgasm had obliterated the memory that our liaison had been without a rubber.
I figured Conrad had gotten dressed by now, and I wasn’t going to hide in the bathroom until Altesse went to bed. I smoothed my hair, then walked barefoot into the living room with as much dignity as I could muster. My toes curled into the thick black carpet as both Conrad, now fully clothed, and his dad turned to me, their argument set aside for the moment.
“Father, this is my friend, Mary Potter. Mary, my father, Lucius Altesse.”
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