Flirting With Danger

by Suzanne Enoch

  The name sounded vaguely familiar to Samantha, but Rick’s jaw clamped shut. For a second she thought she’d been worried about restraining the wrong guy when he lurched to his feet. “I’ll make certain the authorities know you’ve cooperated,” he said in a hard voice. “But for your own sake, you’d best hope you never get out of prison.”

  “Rick—”

  Rick strode to the door and rapped on it. The officer pulled it open, and giving a stiff nod, Rick left. With a gasp Sam hurried after him.

  “Give me the keys,” he said, once they were in the parking lot. “I know you lifted them.”

  “No way. Get in, and I’ll drive us back.”

  “I want to drive.”

  She cocked her head at him. “If I looked like you, would you let me drive?”

  “Samantha—”

  “You’re pissed, you want to drive fast, and you want to kill this Meridien guy. I’ll drive fast, and you can still be mad back at the estate. In the meantime, you can tell me who Meridien is and how you know him. And I can remind you how brave I was to walk in there, and how it’s the first and last time I will ever do that again.”

  With a curt nod, he stepped back from the driver’s door and strode around to the far side of the car. “Drive really fast,” he growled.

  She drove really fast. Rick sat staring out the front window, still as a statue—or more like a volcano about to erupt. Meridien. The name had something to do with big business or banking or something, but she couldn’t place him any closer than that. When she’d heard the name she’d had her attention on something else, or she would have remembered. Rick would tell her, but if he didn’t do it soon, she’d still have to go. Not even for Rick would she risk being hunted down by the FBI.

  Frank Castillo watched as the officer put handcuffs back on Partino and escorted him from the interrogation room. He’d broken the tip of the pencil with which he’d been jotting down notes, but despite being mad enough to spit nails, he had to admit that Sam Jellicoe might have found a career as a detective, if fate and her father hadn’t pushed her in another direction.

  Harold Meridien. Some banker or something, he thought, but he’d check to be sure. Not local, or he would have recognized the name. At least when Addison used his influence and flirted with obstruction of justice, he got information.

  Wearily he climbed to his feet. Jellicoe and Addison hadn’t pushed for the name of Partino’s boss in the theft and forgery business, so they definitely had something else in mind. And Addison had recognized the name. Well, it looked like he’d be making another trip to the estate in the morning. Whether they were getting results or not, there were rules to be followed. Even if Addison and Jellicoe only wanted answers, he wanted a conviction. And it was time they stopped playing games.

  Samantha had barely stopped the car when Richard climbed out and strode up the front steps. He had some phone calls to make, and he didn’t give a damn what time it might be where he was calling.

  The front door closed behind him, none too gently. “Are you going to say anything?” Samantha demanded.

  “Later,” he snapped. “I need to be in Stuttgart tomorrow.”

  He was halfway up the first flight of stairs when he realized she wasn’t following. Forcing a deep breath into his lungs, he turned around. “This just became very personal, Samantha. I’ll explain later.”

  “Okay,” she said after a moment, her face for once unreadable. “Good luck.”

  That sounded final. Richard frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Just what I said. Good luck.”

  “I don’t have time for a tantrum, Samantha.”

  She tilted her head at him. In the dim light, he swore he saw a tear run down her cheek. “This isn’t a tantrum, Rick,” she returned, her voice cool and steady. “You have to go, and I have to go. That’s all. It’s just facts.”

  His heart stopped for a beat. “What? I’m just going to Stuttgart. I’ll be back in a day or two, depending on what I find there.” He descended a step.

  Samantha sighed, her shoulders rising and falling with her heavy breath. “Tomorrow when the FBI goes after Partino, he’s going to start spewing my name everywhere to try to cover his ass. I can’t be here for that.”

  Ice shot down his spine at the thought of her in one of those tiny rooms, facing that mirror. In less than a second he made up his mind. “Come upstairs,” he said. “And get packed. You’re coming with me.”

  “You could end up being charged as an accessory,” she returned, not moving. “That’s not what this partnership was about.”

  “What this partnership is about,” he countered, returning to the foyer and to her, “is not what it was about. I’m not letting you go. You don’t disappear into the night, and I never hear from you again.”

  “Rick—”

  He grabbed her shoulder, pulling her in and kissing her hard. She resisted for a bare moment, then flung her arms around his shoulders, molding her soft mouth to his. Richard held her tightly, the thought of what he’d almost allowed to happen leaving him cold.

  “No,” he murmured. “We’re not finished, you and I.” Reluctantly releasing her, he settled for taking her hand and pulling her up the stairs. “I have to call my pilot and arrange for my plane to be ready first thing in the morning. And I have to call a few people and make sure where Meridien is right now. And then we—you and I—are going to meet him for a little chat.”

  “Who is he to you?”

  God, he even hated confessing it to her. This was three now, three people he’d known and who had tried to take from him. And it was only a small consolation that he’d never particularly liked Meridien. What mattered more, though, was that the person he chose to trust in all this happened to be a professional thief. “He was almost my partner in a banking enterprise until two weeks ago.”

  Twenty-six

  Tuesday, 2:12 p.m.

  “Change of plans,” Rick said, an hour and a half into their flight. He hung up the phone at his elbow, the one he’d been on almost constantly since they took off.

  “What change?” Sam had given up pretending to be too jaded to be impressed by a private jet with plush carpeting, a private cabin attendant, and a private back room with a bar, conference table, sofa bed, and a television. She turned from playing with the remote of the main cabin television to look up at him. They’d left later in the day than she’d expected, but after four hours of peering out the jet’s windows and looking for cops, Interpol, FBI, and Eliot Ness, she was just glad to be airborne.

  “He’s not in Stuttgart. That was Tom, angry that we left without telling him.”

  “Neaner neaner,” Sam returned. “Where are we going, then?”

  “He’s at the London branch.” Rick sat back, sipping at the tea the attendant had wordlessly refilled every twenty minutes without prompting. “You know, I kept wondering why he wanted me to stay another day in Stuttgart, especially after the…extremely infeasible amount of money he wanted in exchange for controlling shares in his bank.” He blew out his breath, disgust in every line of his handsome face. “He even offered to arrange a tour for the two of us at the Mercedes-Benz plant.”

  “Give him some credit,” she returned. “He didn’t want you walking into the middle of a robbery.”

  “Which begs the question of whether he knew about DeVore and the explosives or not.”

  “If he did know, he didn’t want you blown up.”

  “Of course not; I wouldn’t be able to bail out his bloody bank if I were dead.”

  Sam cleared her throat. “How sure are we that Partino didn’t just feed you a name to get you off his case? Can you imagine Meridien doing this to you?”

  The frown he’d worn since last night deepened. “How did you describe DeVore? Larger than life, ambitious, not too squeamish about how he did business as long as the results were satisfactory?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, that’s pretty much Harry, too.
He’s tried to beat me to a deal a few times—and ended up taking some heavy losses because of it.”

  “Which is why he wanted you to buy shares of his bank.”

  He pushed to his feet. “Yes. I’ll be right back. I have to tell Jack we’re going to Heathrow.” As he passed her he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. “You should get some sleep. The couch in the back pulls out.”

  She could use some sleep. Before he could vanish into the cockpit, Sam reached up and touched his fingers, curling hers around them. “I’ve discovered something.”

  He stopped, facing her. “What?”

  “I…like having you with me while I sleep.” She scowled at his abrupt smug, arrogant expression. “It’s just that you’re nice and warm.”

  The smile curving his mouth deepened to his eyes. “Hm. And here I am, just remembering that you promised I could have my way with you.”

  Damp heat started between her legs. She could certainly think of worse ways to spend a few hours. Especially when last night she’d thought the partnership had ended. “What a coincidence.”

  “Isn’t it, though?”

  When he returned from the cockpit a few minutes later she’d found a werewolf movie to watch, but not much else. She smiled at the lustful look in his eyes. It was a good thing Godzilla Week was over.

  Rick knelt in front of her, sliding his hands slowly up her thighs and around her waist. “How long has it been since I’ve been inside you?” he murmured, gazing at her face.

  “Oh, about sixteen hours, I think,” she said, wishing her voice sounded a little steadier.

  “Far too long.” He leaned in, kissing the base of her jaw. Apparently he’d already learned that he could make her bones melt by kissing her there.

  “Holy cow. I’m practically having an orgasm right now.”

  “Well, allow me to join you, then.” He took her mouth, kissing her with lips and teeth and tongue.

  “Okay, buddy, in the back room. Now,” she said in as commanding a voice as she could muster.

  He slid an arm under her thighs and another behind her back and lifted her up. “I can’t believe how much I want you,” he said. “I always want you.”

  He plunked her down on the conference table, returning to the door to close and lock it. “That’s handy,” she noted as he returned to her, yanking the buttons open on his shirt as he approached. “Are you a frequent flyer in the mile-high club?”

  His mouth twitched. “I’m a member,” he returned. “How can you have your own jet and not be? But as for frequent-flyer miles, no, I really haven’t racked any up lately.” He parted her knees, tugging her to the edge of the table and going to work on her jeans zipper. “No time like the present, I always say.”

  Sam reached up, pulling him down on top of her as his hand slid between the jeans and her panties. She gasped, lifting her hips. No one had ever made her feel like this, like she was floating, just by looking at her. When he touched her, time simply stopped. How was she ever going to give this up, give him up?

  Rick leaned over her to push up her shirt, unfastening her bra and going to work on her nipples with his tongue and his teeth. She moaned, her hands clumsy as she unsnapped his jeans and shoved them down. He kicked them off, and slowly pulled hers down, kissing every inch of skin he exposed until she was panting for him.

  “Dammit, Rick, now,” she demanded, half-sitting up to grab his shoulders.

  He groaned as he pulled her forward, planting himself deep inside her, the sound alone making her come. He ground into her, hard and fast, until she wrapped her legs around his hips and sat up, sliding her arms around his neck.

  Still inside her, Rick lifted her in his arms, and they fell together onto the nearest couch. “God, you feel good,” he panted, running his tongue along her ear. He lifted off her. “Turn over, Sam.”

  With a breathless laugh she complied, and with a slow slide he mounted her from behind. Rick reached beneath her to fondle her breasts, and she drew tight and shattered again.

  “Rick,” she groaned, feeling every inch of him as he continued his assault.

  His pace increased, and with a growl he emptied himself into her. He collapsed to rest his head alongside hers, his weight warm and welcome.

  Whether it was lust or safety or some kind of mutual need, for that moment together they were…perfect. They lay together for a long time, dozing, until Samantha finally lifted her head to look at him, then apparently gave up and let it sink back onto the couch. “Food. I need food,” she grumbled.

  “I think today’s menu is fried chicken,” he said, shifting the two of them so he was on the bottom, her agile body sprawled across his. So beautiful, she was, and in ways he didn’t even think she realized. With his free hand he gently brushed hair from her temple.

  “Chicken good. Me hungry,” she returned, closing her eyes and resting her head on his chest.

  He chuckled. “I could call Michelle and tell her we’re ready to eat.”

  “Can’t move. Dead.”

  “Yes, I figured it’d be up to me.” Groaning, he stretched over to the end table and flicked the intercom button. “Michelle?”

  “Yes, Mr. Addison?”

  “Could you manage something for lunch for us?”

  “Is ten minutes all right, sir?”

  “That’s splendid. Thanks.”

  He released the button, drawing his fingers along Samantha’s arm. Even when he felt…satisfied, he still wanted to touch her, to hold her, to keep her safe.

  “Rick?”

  “Yes?”

  “You totally rock.” She curled her fingers around his as their hands met.

  “Open your eyes,” he whispered, looking up at her relaxed face.

  Long lashes fluttered, and moss green gazed back at him. Very slowly he leaned up and kissed her, relishing the soft warmth of her mouth against his.

  “Totally, totally,” she added, smiling as he lowered his face from hers again.

  “Samantha, promise me something.”

  “What?”

  “Promise me that you won’t leave without telling me, and without giving me a chance to change your mind.”

  She slid down his body. “I promise,” she said.

  He wanted to go straight from the airport to Harry’s town house. It was still early, though, for the banker to be home. Besides, it would mean having the limousine take them. Being driven to the kind of confrontation he anticipated wouldn’t be nearly satisfying enough. His own place, just off Cadogan Square, was only a few blocks from Meridien’s, anyway, so he settled for planning his attack and glaring through the bulletproof glass.

  “Is this yours, too,” Samantha asked from beside him, “or do you rent?”

  “It’s mine. Once I knew where we were headed, I had Ernest drive up from Devon to meet us.”

  “Devon. That’s your other place, right?”

  “That’s my actual home, I guess you would call it. I grew up there.”

  “What’s it like?”

  He turned from his view of London to look at her. “Are you trying to distract me?”

  She shrugged. “You look like you’re ready to explode.”

  “And that’s bad because…” he prompted.

  “As Khan in Star Trek once said, ‘revenge is a dish best served cold.’”

  Richard couldn’t help smiling at her. “I think someone else said it first.”

  “I know. But Khan’s cool. He even quotes Melville.”

  “Do you remember everything?”

  “Things that interest me, or are important to me, yes.”

  He wanted to ask what she remembered about him, but that sounded rather pitiful. He wanted to say something else to her, as well, had almost said it on the jet, when she couldn’t run away, but that hadn’t seemed fair. He wanted to tell her that he loved her. Don’t push, he told himself. It was a large enough risk in his own mind. To include her, as possessive as he felt of her, could be…dangerous.

  “It’s
not precisely revenge that I want,” he said after a moment, returning to his view. “I mean it is, but first I want to know how and why and—”

  The limousine slammed sideways. Metal crunched around them as Samantha hurtled against his shoulder hard enough to bruise. He grabbed her, bracing his legs on the floor and one arm against the bending sides of the car as they lurched in a sickening spin halfway into the air and smashed down to the road again.

  “What—”

  He caught sight of a large, heavy lorry through the broken window on Samantha’s side of the car just as it hit them again, sending them across incoming traffic and toward the river. The limousine engine roared and clanked, and they lurched forward, spinning again as the truck slid with the shriek of tearing metal down toward the boot.

  “Ernest!” he bellowed.

  “I’m going, sir! He’s trying to knock us into the Thames!”

  They were grinding forward again, lurching like a broken crab, and the lorry roared up behind them. On the right, dizzyingly close, the banks of the Thames dropped steeply down to the river.

  “Can we get to the trunk from here?” Samantha rasped, lurching against him again as the truck rear-ended them hard.

  “Through the seats.”

  He didn’t question as she dug into leather, looking for the latch. Instead he helped, yanking the seat forward and nearly falling to the floor as the truck rammed them from behind again.

  “Open the roof,” she snapped, diving into the smashed boot and reappearing with her hard-sided case.

  He slammed down on the button, but after sliding open an inch, the moon roof stuck. Richard jammed his hand into the opening and shoved, his attention on Samantha as she opened her case and yanked out three pieces of what looked like a gun with a bulbous belly. She screwed them together, knees braced against his side to hold her steady.

  “Grab my legs,” she yelled, hefting the monstrosity and standing up through the opening in the roof.

  He steadied her from below while she took aim and fired three shots in rapid succession. White paint exploded onto the windshield of the truck with enough force to crack the glass. It lurched sideways, swiping the side of a bus as it veered around blindly, windshield wipers smearing at the thick stuff.