Elizabeth stepped to his side. “Who are you calling?”
“Who do you think?”
“Don’t you think it’s a little late to call? Helen might be in bed. You’ll disturb them.”
“I don’t care if I disturb them. If Harold’s been speaking to Louis Ryan about my daughter, I want to know about it.”
“You know you can’t believe a word Ryan says.”
“I understand that,” he said. “But I also know my daughter. And you’ve seen how Harold’s been acting lately. There’s a reason behind it and this might be it.”
“Why didn’t you just confront him about it on the ship?” she said. “We could be beyond this now.”
The line started ringing. “Because I was too angry,” George said. “And making one scene was enough.”
“You’re not angry now?”
George shot her a look. The line clicked and Harold answered the phone. “It’s George. Can you come to my office? I need to see you. Yes, tonight.”
* * *
“What’s the problem?”
George turned in his chair and looked across his office at Harold Baines, who had just stepped inside and now was standing in shadow.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “But I think you can help me figure it out.” He motioned toward the chair opposite his desk. “Why don’t you have a seat? We have a lot to talk about.”
Harold hesitated for a moment, but then came across the room.
“Want a drink?”
As he sat, Harold looked at George. Although he was nervous, a part of him even frightened of this meeting, he somehow managed to keep his features neutral. “Are you having one?”
“I’ve already had several. One more isn’t going to kill me. What do you want?”
“What you’re having.”
George crossed to the bar.
Harold turned in his chair. He looked at his best friend and wondered if Jack Douglas told him what he’d seen on Anastassios Fondaras’ ship.
He was frightened. He wasn’t sure how he would handle the situation if it arose. Never had Harold been confronted with his homosexuality. Never had anyone called him on his drug problem. He always was discreet, careful. But recently, he had been preoccupied, forgetful. Sometimes, he felt as if he were losing control of his life. The deals with WestTex and Iran, his increasing dependency on heroin and coke, all were devouring what little structure and routine he once had.
For years he had been living a lie. For years he had been miserable because of it. The drugs and the sex were an escape from a life he was becoming convinced was no longer worth living. He did not love his wife or his children because he barely knew them. The only people he cared about were the people who had never let him down—George and Leana. And now he couldn’t face them because he had betrayed them both. What kind of a man was he?
“We’ve been friends too long for bullshit,” George said from the bar. “So, I’ll just get to it. I spoke to Louis Ryan tonight—or, rather, he spoke to me. He told me something I’m not sure I believe.”
Harold sat motionless in his chair. In the windows before him, the city gleamed.
George walked over with the drinks. “He said you two have become friendly. He said that, thanks to you, Leana’s going to be running his new hotel for him.” George stopped beside Harold and handed him his martini. “I want to know if that’s true.”
Harold put his glass down on the table beside him. If he lied to George now, he knew that it would destroy what had taken thirty years to build.
“Obviously, it’s not true.”
George sat in his chair. He leaned toward his desk and rested his head in his hands. He felt drained, exhausted—but relieved, as well.
“I didn’t think you had,” he said, straightening. “But I had to ask. I hope I didn’t offend you.”
“You didn’t offend me,” Harold said.
“I had to know.”
“I understand.”
There was a silence while the two men drank.
Harold returned his gaze to the view out the windows. As he sat there, numb, he watched two helicopters sail over a city he was beginning to hate. It was a city that, like so many other things in his life, held little appeal for him anymore.
He looked at George and knew that nothing could ever assuage the guilt he felt for having betrayed him and his family. Nothing could fill the deep emptiness that had become his life—not friendship, not love, not truth.
He wondered how much longer he could live a lie. He wondered at what point his world would begin to crumble.
“This takeover has been difficult on you, hasn’t it?” George said.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve lost weight,” George said. “A lot of weight. Helen tells Elizabeth that you’re not eating well. I noticed that at tonight’s dinner. You hardly touched the food on your plate. Is there something wrong? Are you not well?”
“It’s just my ulcers,” Harold said. “I admit I’ll feel better once this takeover is complete.”
“You’re sure there’s nothing else?”
“Nothing I can’t handle with a little thought,” Harold said.
George leaned back in his chair, curious to know what Harold meant by that. He decided to let it pass. “I met with Frostman today,” he said.
Harold looked surprised—and then perhaps a little vulnerable. “I didn’t miss a meeting, did I?”
“This time you didn’t. I met with him alone.” He finished his drink and stood. “Chase is onboard, but they’ve struck a tough deal. But so have I. I think it’s one I can live with. One we all can live with.”
“What’s their money going to cost?”
“Eight percent.”
Harold raised an eyebrow. “Not bad. Who gets senior debt?”
“We do,” George said. “But for that, they’ll end up with a thirty-five percent share of WestTex.”
Harold shook his head. “You’re going to have a hard a time getting board approval on that.”
“I know,” George said. “But that’s their deal and we’re running out of time. The board will have to accept it—or we lose billions.”
“What if this falls through?” Harold asked.
George seemed almost defeated when he said, “I guess we approach someone else.”
* * *
Later, when Harold left Redman International, the black Mercedes limousine that had been waiting on 50th Street started its engine, cut into traffic and cruised to a stop beside him.
Harold stepped away from the curb at the same moment the limousine’s rear door shot open and Vincent Spocatti stepped out.
Harold felt a shock.
Calmly, Spocatti pressed a gun against his side. “Get into the car, Harold. Your day isn’t over yet.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“How about a nightcap?”
Jack turned from the painting of irises he was admiring in the foyer of Celina’s apartment and moved into the living room, where she was standing at a bar. They had just returned from Anastassios Fondaras’ party and it was late.
“Do you have any beer?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” She bent to the small refrigerator that was at her feet, reached inside for something light, which she knew he liked, and then looked at Jack. In her eyes was a spark of humor. “Would you like me to pour it in a champagne glass?”
Although Jack smiled, he seemed distracted as he loosened and removed his black bow tie. “This time, the bottle’s fine.”
He came over to where she was standing and took it from her. He looked at her for a moment, moved to speak, but then sipped his beer.
Celina turned back to the bar and poured herself a glass of wine. She was confused about what happened earlier on the yacht and more than a little angry with Jack, but she didn’t want it to show. She wanted to make love to this man and yet she wasn’t sure if he wanted the same. Why did he stop it from happening at the party? He asked me to follow him b
elow ship and then he stopped it. Why?
“Nervous about tomorrow morning’s jump?”
Celina turned and saw that he had removed his jacket—it now was draped over the chair beside them. He waited for an answer, his gaze meeting hers levelly.
“A little,” she said. “It’s not every day I jump off a bridge with a rubber band strapped to my ankles.” She lifted an eyebrow. “What made you ask?”
“Your hands are trembling.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Tonight, on the yacht, you asked me to follow you below ship. I went with you because I wanted to be with you. But when we arrived at that stateroom, you stopped us from going inside. Why?”
Her question hung in the air. Although she didn’t enjoy being so blunt with him, she wanted an answer. She wanted to know why he hadn’t gone through with it—especially considering he had asked her to follow him.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Jack said.
“And what am I thinking?”
“That I didn’t want to make love to you. That I changed my mind.” He looked at her. “That’s not so.”
“Then what happened?”
“We couldn’t have entered that room even if we wanted to.”
“Why?”
“Because two other people had a similar idea.”
She hadn’t expected this. Surprise reflected in her eyes. “Who was in there?”
A shadow of indecision crossed his face. He wasn’t sure just how much he should tell her. If he told her what he had seen in that split second before he closed the stateroom’s door, it would not only destroy Harold Baines’ career, but his life as well. He made his decision. “I’m not sure who they were,” he said.
“But you said you saw two people.”
“It was dark. I couldn’t make out their faces, only that they were men and they were indisposed.”
Color rose in her cheeks. “They were having sex?”
When he shrugged, Celina laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe I’m jealous that they beat us to it.”
He put down his beer on the table beside him and took a step toward her, his last image of Harold Baines fading. “Anything you want to do about that jealousy?”
“Depends on what you have in mind.”
Wordlessly, Jack pulled her to him. They kissed and Celina knew from the passion in that kiss that there was no turning back now.
She placed her wine glass on the bar, put her hand in his and led him across the living room to her bedroom. There, the city glowed in the windows just beyond the bed. Celina turned to him. Jack moved to her, his mouth found hers again and they began to kiss.
Only this time it was a different kiss. This time it wasn’t as gentle as it was in the living room. Her hands went to his hips, his to her breasts and then to the small of her back. He pulled her closer to him and she felt his erection running up the length of his groin.
Things weren’t moving fast enough. Jack turned Celina and began removing her dress, his lips kissing each area of newly exposed skin. Celina shuddered at the roughness of his shaved chin, the warm breath and moist tongue on her back, the strong hands working their way down to the curve of her buttocks. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it any longer, he unfastened the last button and her dress rippled to her feet.
She turned to him, naked, her breasts full with anticipation. She felt vulnerable yet alive. Jack’s gaze roamed over her body and she saw on his face a flash of excitement. She wasn’t wearing underwear.
He leaned forward and brought his head down to her breasts. Celina’s head fell back and she moaned as Jack’s lips found one of her nipples. The waves of pleasure that assailed her were intense. As if sensing her impatience, Jack guided her to the carpet and lay on top of her. She felt how hard he was, how big he was, and suddenly it was she who wanted to be the explorer.
Pushing him off her, Celina straddled him, her breasts only inches from his face. She saw him smile—an intimate, knowing smile—and she heard him gasp when she gave his shirt a quick, brutal tug. Buttons popped and the material separated, exposing his muscular, hairy chest. She stared at him for a moment, her excitement rising, then she dropped her head to his chest and covered one of his nipples with her mouth.
Jack’s back arched. “Jesus,” he said.
She wanted him naked. She sat up, reached down, removed his shoes and socks, then unbuckled his pants. She grabbed at the material and tugged. Jack raised his hips and his pants came off. She threw them aside and they struck a table top, where they slipped into a framed photograph of herself taken years ago in London.
It fell to the floor. There was the sound of glass splintering.
Celina paid little attention to it—all she saw was Jack. His face was flushed. She knew he was excited and that fueled her to push the limits further. Lowering her head to the waistband of his shorts, she bit the fabric and pulled them off with her teeth. With a flick of her wrist, they sailed across the room, a shadow striking one of the windows.
His penis was unusually large. Celina stared at it, transfixed. Extending from a thatch of dark-brown hair, it lay an inch above his belly button and throbbed in time with each of his uneven breaths. She reached down to touch it. Jack’s breathing became hoarse, his body taut with anticipation. Watching her admire it seemed to inflame him.
But Celina didn’t touch it. Instead, she met his gaze with her own and licked the area of skin directly surrounding it. Jack grabbed a handful of her hair. Celina sank on top of him and her nipples brushed the base of his penis. She liked it a little rough. She sensed he did, too.
Suddenly, she stood and went to the table that was across the room. Incredulous, Jack watched her go. “What are you doing?” he said. “Come back here.”
“Wait,” Celina whispered. “Just…wait.”
When she struck the match, her face burst into brilliant, glowing bloom. She lit the candle that was in her hand, blew out the match and started toward him. With the city twinkling in the windows behind her and the candle burning in her hand, she was radiant.
She straddled him again and tossed her hair away from her face with a quick flick of her head. Her eyes seemed to challenge his when she looked down at him. “Do you trust me, Jack?”
Jack looked at her, then at the candle flickering in her hand. He knew what she had in mind and it thrilled him. “I trust you,” he said.
She held the candle over his chest, tipped it slightly and allowed the flame to melt the wax. “I’ve never done this before,” she said. “But I’ve always wanted to. Do you think it will hurt?” Before he could respond, she turned the candle onto its side and watched the shimmering droplets of wax rain down onto his chest.
Jack caught his breath and winced, the hot wax rolling towards his stomach in thin rivers. It pooled in his belly button and spilled onto the beige carpet. It wasn’t painful, but it was exhilarating.
And then Celina blew out the candle.
Rising up the length of his body, grinding her body hard against his, she found his mouth with her own and they kissed. Jack reached down and grasped himself. Celina raised her hips and parted her legs.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Probably not.” She touched his face. “Just go easy. What you’ve got down there should be studied.”
Just as he was about to enter her, they searched one another’s eyes. They were having the same thought, that if they went through with this, nothing would be the same between them again. While there was an attraction in the past, their lives had been professional up to this point. They would still have to work with one another at Redman International, still have to confer at board meetings, still have to act as though there was nothing between them, although there was more than just something there. They were in love.
And so Celina lifted her hips higher, allowing him to gently push inside of her. He’s too bi
g, she thought. But everything that happened after that initial pain became a blur to her. She wanted this. She wanted Jack. She wanted him in her life.
As they rocked together on the carpet, his thrusts became deeper, faster, more demanding. Spasms coursed through her. Her fingernails dug into his back. Her hand clutched a handful of his hair and she pulled. He pushed her hands away and pinned her arms at her sides. He covered one of her nipples with his mouth and bit gently. She arched her back. Her nipple was so full, it felt as if it might burst.
She looked up at his face and realized that he was as close as she was. Wanting him deeper inside of her, she countered each of his thrusts with her own until there was nothing but their release.
Later, after they showered together, they made love again. As Celina drifted off to sleep, her body secure in Jack’s arms, she realized how much she missed having a man in her bed at night. She moved closer to him and kissed his chest. His heart was still racing, but the sound of it soothed her to sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“You look a little piqued, Harold. Seem a little tense. Want a drink before we begin?”
Harold Baines turned from the window he was standing at and looked across the office at Louis Ryan, who was pouring vodka into a glass of crackling ice. “It’s a full bar,” he said. “I can’t imagine there isn’t something here that wouldn’t appeal to you.”
He put the bottle of vodka down and took a sip of the cold Absolut. “Or maybe beer’s more your style,” he said. “Isn’t that what they serve at those sex clubs you go to? Isn’t beer the choice of drink while someone’s pissing on you or shoving their fist up your ass? If it is, and if that’s what you prefer, then I’m afraid I can offer you none here.”
“Go to hell, Ryan.”
“I’m already there, Harold,” Louis said, and pointed to the chair opposite his desk. “Sit down. What I have to say won’t take long.”
The Fifth Avenue Series Boxed Set Page 24
