by Cherry Adair
Motioning that she continue moving on the bed, he got up silently and went to the window, rummaging under her clothes until he found the belt he’d insisted she wear that morning. It felt like months ago. Tory sat up and curled her legs under her panty-clad bottom. Every now and then she jumped up and down a little and tried to make sexy noises. She felt absolutely ridiculous.
Marc came back and slid across the bed. Tunneling his fingers through her hair, he whispered at the side of her face, “Can you communicate with Lynx and let him know what I’m doing?”
Tory nodded. The bedsprings rang out as he moved rapidly and let out a satisfied moan. Tory almost giggled hysterically, but he shot her a warning look. “Ahh…do that again. No. Harder, darling. That’s it. Yes.”
He moved cautiously to the end of the bed, lifting his leg onto the small upholstered bench at the foot. He raised his pant leg, and then motioned with his hand for her to keep moving.
Tory slithered around on the bed and made satisfied noises as he pulled a small eight-shot Sauer automatic pistol from his ankle holster.
“This damned bed is too soft,” he said harshly. Pulling Tory off the mattress, he indicated the window.
“I don’t mind the floor.” Tory obediently followed him to the window.
“Tell Alex exactly what I’m doing.” Marc pressed at a hidden device on the belt buckle and the backing opened. “God, woman, you’re killing me.” He checked the contents, pulling out a thin line, which he fixed to the buckle of the belt. Then he attached the gun to the line through the loop.
“Do you like this, darling?” Marc’s husky voice was loud in the quiet room. Tory couldn’t believe he could sound so aroused while performing totally unrelated tasks. It was hard enough for her just to concentrate on what to tell Alex. She scowled at him as he finished tying off the belt. “And this?” he said in a normal tone. “Answer me, sweetheart,” he said very, very softly.
“Yes!” Tory hissed through clenched teeth. Marc opened the window quietly and started lowering the line down the outside wall.
“Tell Lynx to be watching his window. The belt and the Sauer are on their way down…. Lift your hips, darling. There, that’s it. Does that feel good?”
Tory shivered as cool night air rushed in through the open window. “Y-yes.” She tried to focus on what she was telling Alex. Marc gave her whispered instructions for Alex, while making lovemaking noises as he carefully lowered the belt.
She couldn’t forget that someone was listening to every word. Tory wrapped her arms around her shivering body, and the moan she supplied was heartfelt and very real—the breeze billowing through the sheer drapes was icy on her bare skin.
“He’s got it,” she whispered, as Marc straightened, then drew the window shut. “He said he’s as ready as he’s ever been. He’ll be waiting for you in two hours as instructed.”
“Good,” Marc whispered back. “Now, scream.”
Tory looked blank. “Scream?” she mouthed, puzzled.
“As in climax.”
Tory’s face flamed. “They’re listening.”
Marc smiled and touched the side of her swollen jaw. “That’s the general idea, princess. Scream your head off as if you are having the time of your life. Now.”
Tory produced a mangled scream. Marc’s credible shout bounced off the walls. Still clutching her bare midriff, she shivered.
Marc pulled her half-naked body close and wrapped his arms around her. “Good girl.”
He let her go and padded silently to the bedside table, picking up both glasses. He came back to her side and pressed a glass into her hand. Tory gulped down the wine until she felt its warmth stealing into her bloodstream. “Now what?”
“Now we take a shower.” Marc’s voice was thick as he took the glass out of her hand and set it on a nearby table.
“A sho-shower?”
She followed him into the bathroom and waited mutely as he closed the door, turned on the hard stream of water and started stripping off his clothes.
He unsnapped the front closure of her bra and tossed it on the floor. Her panties and stockings followed. Tory felt hypnotized as he tucked a hand towel around her cast and pushed her unresisting naked body under the warm spray.
“Now we can talk,” he said with satisfaction as water sluiced down his face and over his broad shoulders.
The water plastered her hair against her skin as she stared blankly at Marc’s hairy chest. How on earth could he switch on and off like this?
She gave a muffled, choked sob and tried to open the clear glass door. Marc pulled her back against his chest. Turning her in his arms he said huskily, “You were terrific, princess.”
Tears filled her eyes and she bit her lip. “Petrified. I was absolutely petrified.”
Marc’s lips lowered to sip the water off her cheek. “This one is for us.” His mouth slanted across hers and Tory choked back a sob as the sweet insistent pressure of his mouth opened hers.
The wet heat of his tongue and the familiar roughness of his chest sliding against her wet, naked breasts made her forget everything else. Desire flared in her, and her heart beat erratically as her nipples pressed against the familiar roughness and the hard muscles of his chest.
“Mmm.” She couldn’t get enough of him as she stood on tiptoe, her fingers clutched in his wet hair. His mouth ravished hers—too slowly, and she pressed her breasts flat against him, straining to get closer.
Her skin felt ultrasensitive as his hand traveled down her body, testing the shape of her nipples, the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips. He pressed her against the cool marble wall.
She slid her hand up the slick skin of his rib cage, tangling her fingers in the crisp damp hair on his chest. He smelled delicious and she darted her tongue out to taste him. She felt his nipple peak against the tip of her tongue and heard his groan of pleasure.
“The bed…?” she asked hopefully.
“We’d never make it.” He nibbled at the tendons in her neck. “Besides—” he sucked her skin into his mouth, laving it with his tongue “—the first time we make love in a bed, it won’t be with God-only-knows-who listening in.” His breath fanned her neck deliciously. “Lord, I want you.”
“You have me.” Her body burned, yearning for his until she was almost incoherent. She felt the compelling pressure of his large hands cupping her hips, pulling her more tightly against his erection.
Tory managed to hook one leg behind his, pressing him closer, to the aching juncture of her thighs, then rotating her hips until he moved his hands to grip her buttocks.
As he lifted her, pinning her against the wall, she wrapped her legs around his waist. With one thrust, he entered the willing, wet, warmth of her. Tory moaned low in her throat as his thrusts became more intense, the in-out movement of his hips sliding her between the cool marble wall and the blazing heat of his body.
She closed her eyes as the heat and pressure built. Marc rubbed his coarse black chest hairs against her nipples, drawing a tortured whimper from Tory. She tried to press her hips closer, but Marc slowed his thrusts until he was barely moving.
“Slowly, sweetheart, slowly. I want this to last.”
Tory was beyond waiting. She used her heels to clutch his bottom and pulled with all her strength, undulating her hips until his body movements matched hers.
At last the unbearable waves of pleasure crested. With a cry, she climaxed. An instant later, he followed.
Water sluicing steadily against his back, Marc slowly lowered her to her feet and pushed soaking strands of her hair over her shoulder. His arm came around her waist as he soaped her and helped her rinse. Dizzy, she leaned her head against his chest while he washed himself.
Her knees felt weak, and her heart pounded, yet she couldn’t meet his eyes as he helped her out of the shower and handed her a towel.
Steam filled the bathroom as the shower roared behind the closed glass door. Marc took the towel out of her hand and quickly rubbed her dry. He
slipped his hand under her chin. “You okay?”
“Yes.” But she knew she would never be okay again. Today had shown her just how very different they were. She would never in a million wishful years, be able to fit into his life. He certainly wouldn’t fit into hers.
She was scared out of her mind, yet sexually aware of him all the time. A mere glance made her want him. She loved the touch of his hands and mouth. She loved the way he enjoyed playing with her hair. She loved the way his pale eyes ignited when he touched her.
She loved. And that was the problem.
Marc Savin was hazardous to her health.
“When can we leave?” Tory asked, keeping her voice low under the sound of the water and wrapping the towel around her body, and another around her head.
Marc ran his towel over his hair, using his hands to pull it back and tie it.
“I have to get Lynx out and to the chopper.” He pulled on his pants and picked up his shirt off the floor. Ignoring the water marks on it, he shrugged it over his shoulders and started buttoning the studs. “Remember? I had you tell him I’d come down in two hours.”
He took his watch out of his pocket, strapping it to his wrist. “That gives me about forty minutes to get you organized.”
“I’m always organized,” Tory said, sitting on the edge of the tub. “What do you want me to do?”
“I’m going to get you out first. Contact Angelo to pick you up, then come back for your brother.”
“Alex has to be taken out first, Marc. You know that. If they keep torturing him I don’t kn—I don’t know how much longer he can hold on. Please. Please get Alex out first. I’ll be fine until you come back and get me.”
Marc pulled on his jacket and looked down at her. His face was savage as he cupped her bruised cheek with a gentle touch that made her chest ache. “I’m not fucking leaving you here alone. Right now you’re nothing but a means to an end for them. What do you think they’ll do to you when they decide you’re no use to them?”
Scared out of her mind, Tory clutched his arm. “I’ll come with you. I’ll help you with Alex…”
“Tory—” his voice was gentle “—you told me yourself that he’s badly hurt. I can’t watch out for both of you. I’ll end up getting us all killed. You can go back to the grotto and wait f—”
“I’ll stick to you like glue,” she begged. “I’ll do everything you tell me to do. I swear. You can give me a gun…”
“Tory,” Marc said reasonably. “I’m going to have to haul Alex out of here on my back, you know that. It’s going to take everything I have to carry him and keep the two of us from getting our asses blown to hell. I can’t watch your back at the same time. I’m not Superman, sweetheart.”
Yes, you are. “Then take Alex first.”
“This isn’t up for debate. I don’t have time to argue. Let’s go.”
As much as she wanted to run like hell, she couldn’t do it. She’d come all this way to save her brother. “Alex first,” she told him, keeping the tremor out of her voice with supreme effort. Bile rose in the back of her throat. “Go. The quicker you leave, the quicker you’ll be back to get me out of here. They think we’ve just had wild sex and we’re sleeping. Nobody is going to come in here until morning.”
She prayed nobody came into her room until after she and Marc left.
“I’ll be back to get you as soon as Lynx is secure.” He rubbed his jaw. “If there was any other way, I’d take it. I hate like hell to leave you with those animals for even five minutes,” he said, his voice grim.
She’d have to make do with that. She knew that it was the sensible, practical thing. But she was terrified what could happen to her being here alone.
CHAPTER TWELVE
TORY WOKE to early-morning sunlight streaming through the window. The wet towel lay beside her on the bed, and her hair, still damp, was tangled around her. After Marc had left she’d tried to sit up against the headboard to wait. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the dark room, coupled with the exhaustion and stress of yesterday, had taken their toll.
Alex was gone. Thank God. He’d let her know he was safe. The relief she felt was like a physical lightening of her body and spirit. Tory didn’t doubt for an instant that soon Marc would be on his way back for her.
She’d be ready.
The princess hadn’t owned a pair of jeans, at least that Tory could find, so she’d pulled on a pair of beautifully cut black linen slacks and a white man–style shirt last night after Marc had gone. A pair of leather flats had been kicked off beside the bed last night, and she quickly slipped them back on.
She almost jumped a foot when the door opened and she spun around to see the malevolent gaze of Mario. He was carrying a cloth-covered tray.
“Breakfast? Good, I’m starving.” The very thought of food made her sick to her stomach, but she knew she should appear as normal as possible. She thought she was fine until she saw who was standing behind Mario. Oh, God.
Ragno stepped aside and ushered Samuel Hoag into the room. With a single look from Ragno, Mario set down the tray, left the room and presumably went to wait outside. “You’ve been a naughty girl, Miss Jones.” Ragno’s malicious voice would live forever in her nightmares.
Tory felt bone-deep cold and the small hairs on her arms prickled as he moved closer. He was wearing an overpoweringly sweet and cloying aftershave that made her stomach heave. She swallowed down bile. Marc? Hurry.
“What do you mean?” Stay calm, she told herself. Just stay calm. Marc will come—
“I mentioned your little tryst with Sir Ian to my other guest last night.” Ragno shook his head, his pink scalp shiny under his hair. “He was not pleased.”
Tory raised her eyebrows. She wasn’t quite sure which “other” guest he was referring to. The other man with him, or Alex? She lifted a go-to-hell brow as she’d seen Marc do. “Really?”
Ragno’s sausagelike fingers tightened on the silver-headed cane he held in his right hand. “In fact he was quite furious.” Ragno circled the room, picking up a dusty perfume atomizer off the dressing table, lifting it to his nose and then putting it down.
The footboard stopped her backward movement. They were trying to play Alex and Marc against one another, thinking they were both her lovers. Tory hadn’t a clue why they would care. But since it was clearly an issue, she was afraid to blink in case she missed something.
She glanced from Ragno, near the dressing table, back to Hoag at the door. “That doesn’t surprise me, he’s rather…possessive.”
“Where is he, Miss Jones?” Ragno moved closer. She cringed inwardly as he stroked the icy metal head of the cane down her cheek.
Her heartbeat was manic, her eyes dry as she stared up into the man’s empty gaze. “Where is who?”
The silver knob pressed against her cheekbone—hard. “Your former lover.”
This time she knew he meant Alex. “I have absolutely no idea. He probably didn’t like your hospitality any more than I have.” The moment the angry words were out of her mouth, Tory knew she’d made a very bad mistake.
Cristoph Ragno tapped the cane harder against her cheekbone. It brought tears to her eyes. She bit the inside of her cheek, edging sideways.
Grabbing the hair tied at her nape, he said in a deadly voice, “We have two guards dead and another three wishing they were.” He forced her head back and stared coldly into her terrified eyes. “Now, where are they, Miss Jones?” Samuel Hoag had moved from the door and closer to the bed to block her retreat. She tried to pull Ragno’s fingers from her hair. “I…I d-don’t know.”
Sweat glistened in the pink lines around Ragno’s mouth. “We know both men are agents, Miss Jones. Not just any agents, but T-FLAC, to be precise. They have been messing in our business for years now. Poking their noses into things that are no concern of the United States. I am going to put a bloody end to that organization one way or another.”
His fingers clenched her hair close to her scalp in a stingin
g grip. “I’ll start by cutting off T-FLAC’s head. It’s taken us five years to catch even one agent. The man we’ve held all these months couldn’t be broken. We still don’t know his real name. If you hadn’t arrived those weeks ago we’d have had to kill him. But we knew you’d be even better bait, Miss Jones. We had no idea just what your connection was, but Samuel was sure you would net us some results if we let you go and allowed you to run whimpering back to the States. And Samuel was, as always, quite correct.”
Oh no, she thought. My fault.
“All you have to do is tell us which one is the Phantom.”
Her mouth went dry.
“Now, you can do this the easy way—” he twisted a hank of her hair around his wrist and gave an excruciating tug “—or the hard way. I can assure you that either way will be satisfactory to me. Now I must admit that I’m the more—how shall I put this?—I’m the more physical of the two of us. But I can assure you that you will not enjoy Samuel’s methods any more than you do mine. You are wearing my patience thin, Miss Jones. Consider this your last opportunity to speak.”
That was what she was afraid of. Tory licked dry lips. “I have no idea w-what you’re talking a-about. I don’t know anything about spies, for goodness’ sake…I swear, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She was paralyzed with terror as she realized that, unless Marc was hiding behind that closed door right now, she was on her own. Falling apart and crumpling into a whimpering little ball was not going to save her. To hell with it. Either way, she was going to have to get herself out of this mess.
“If you don’t let go of my hair right this minute I’m going to scream this pile of stone down and every government agent from every country on this planet will come and annihilate you! There are at least a dozen people who know exactly where I am and who I’m with. Now let me go!”
She screamed as he twisted her arm behind her back. He forced her arm higher, and the pain was exquisite.
Tory lashed out instinctively with her cast. The sound of it connecting with his face was blocked out by her own shriek of agony as he twisted her hand impossibly higher against her back. A thin trickle of blood oozed from his nose where her cast had connected.
