All or Nothing

by Catherine Mann

  “I am a bastard, and I am far worse.” He took her face in both hands, willing her to hear him, damn it, to finally understand how much she’d meant to him. “But I’m also a man who would have been there for you every day of your life.”

  She searched his eyes, her mouth so close to his their breaths tangled together. Something in her expression stopped him.

  “Every day, Conrad? Unless it’s one of the times you can’t be reached or when you call but your number is blocked.”

  Damn it. He pulled away, slumping back in his seat. “I have work and holdings around the world.”

  “You’re a broken record,” she said, her voice weary and mad all at once. “But who am I to judge? You’re not the only one who can keep secrets.”

  A chill iced the heat right out of the air. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Do you know what finally pushed me over the edge?” Her eyes filled with tears that should have been impossible to hold back. “What made me walk out?”

  “It took me a couple of days to return your calls, and you’d had enough.” He’d fired the secretary that hadn’t put her calls through. He’d honestly been working at being more accessible to Jayne.

  “Seven days, Conrad. Seven.” She jabbed a finger at him, her voice going tight and the first tear sliding down her cheek. “I called you because I needed you. I’d gotten a suspicious report back on a mammogram, and the doctor wanted to do a biopsy right away.”

  Her words sucker punched everything out of him, leaving him numb. Then scared as hell.

  He shot upright and started to grab her shoulders, only to hold back at the last second, afraid to touch her and upset her even more. “God, Jayne, are you all right? If I had known…”

  “But you didn’t.” She pushed his hands away slowly, deliberately. “And don’t worry, I’m fine. The lump was benign, but it sure would have been nice to have you hold my hand that week. So don’t tell me you would have been there for me every day of my life. It’s simply not true.”

  The sense of how badly he’d let Jayne down slammed over him. He closed his eyes, head back on his seat as he fought down the urge to leap out of the car and shout, punch a wall, anything to ease the crushing weight of how he’d let her down.

  One deep breath at a time, he regained his composure enough to turn his head and look at her again. “What happened to the puppy?”

  “Huh?” She scrubbed the backs of her hands across her wet cheeks.

  “What did you do with Mimi after you left?” Mimi, named for the heroine in La Bohème.

  “Oh, I kept Mimi, of course. She’s with…a dog sitter.”

  Of course she’d kept the dog. Jayne wasn’t the kind of person to throw away the good things in her life. He was.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, stared out the window at the churning night sea below and wished those murky waters held some answers. Jayne’s ocean-fresh scent gave him only a second’s warning before she took his face in her hands and kissed him.

  * * *

  Desperate to forget the past, Jayne sealed her lips to Conrad’s. Right or wrong, she just needed to lose herself in the feel of his body against hers. The roar of the waves crashing against the shore echoed the elemental restlessness inside her.

  With a low growl, he wrapped his strong, muscled arms around her. He took her mouth as thoroughly as she took his. The taste of coffee from dinner mingled with the flavor of him. And what a mix of the familiar and a first kiss wrapped up in one delicious moment. Goose bumps sprinkled along her arms, shimmering through her, as well.

  Her hands slid from the warm bristle of his face to his shoulders and she held on. Because, God, this was what she’d wanted since the second she’d sensed him walk up behind her in the casino, drawn by the intoxicating warmth and bay rum scent of him. The way his hands smoothed back her hair, stroked along her arms, stoked a familiar heat inside her. She’d been right to instigate this. Here, in his arms, she didn’t have to think about the pain of the past. To hell with peace and resolving their problems. Rehashing old issues just brought more pain. She wanted this bliss.

  And then goodbye.

  His mouth trekked to her jaw as he dipped lower, his late-day beard a sweet abrasion against her neck. Her head lolled to the side, a moan rolling up her throat. She stroked along the fine texture of his tux over bold muscles, up and into his hair. Combing through his impossibly soft strands, she urged him to give more, take more. She tugged gently, bringing his mouth back to hers.

  Bittersweet pleasure rippled through her, reminding her how good they’d been together. Her breasts ached for his touch and she wriggled to get nearer, pressing against the hard wall of his chest. She struggled to get closer, swinging a knee over and bumping the gearshift.

  “Damn it,” Conrad’s muffled curse whispered against her mouth but the thought that he might stop was more than she could bear.

  She shoved her hands under his tuxedo coat, sinking her fingernails into the fine fibers of his shirt. Three years of being without sex—without him—crested inside her, demanding she follow through. His hand skimmed up her leg, tunneling under her dress as he’d done years ago. The rasp of his calluses along her skin ignited a special kind of pleasure and the promise of more.

  Except that private theater box had been a lot roomier than his Jaguar. And she wanted more than just his hands on her.

  “Take me…” she gasped.

  “I intend to do just that.” His voice rumbled in his chest, vibrating against her.

  “Not here. Home. Take me home.”

  He angled back to look at her as if gauging the risk of pausing. He grazed his knuckles along her cheek. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.” As sure as anyone could be about making love with the person who’d broken her heart. She scored her nails down his back. “I know what I want. I won’t change my mind about being with you tonight.”

  It wasn’t a matter of winning or losing anymore. It was just a matter of stopping the ache and praying for some of that peace. Because wanting him was tearing her apart.

  Angling into him, she nipped his bottom lip. “Conrad, I think it’s time we break in your new furniture.”

  * * *

  Conrad hauled Jayne into the private elevator and willed the doors to close faster. He may have hoped to clear the air of past issues during their drive before jumping right to sex, but now that Jayne had taken that decision out of his hands, he was all in.

  He’d made record time driving back to the casino, determined to get to the penthouse before she changed her mind. God help him—both of them—if she backed out now. After tasting her again, touching her again, he was on fire from wanting to be with her. Wanting to bury himself heart deep inside her until they both forgot about everything but how damn good they were together.

  Until in some way he made up for how deeply he’d let Jayne down.

  He jammed his key card into the slot and the elevator doors slid closed. The mirrored walls reflected multiple images of his wife, tousled and so damn beautiful she took his breath away.

  “Come here, now,” she demanded, taking control in that way that turned him inside out. She grabbed his jacket and tugged him to her. “You’ve been tormenting me all night with the way you look at me.”

  He pressed her against the cool wall as the elevator lifted. “You’ve been tormenting me since the day I met you.”

  “What are we going to do about that?” She arched against him, her hips a perfect fit against his.

  “I suggest we keep right on doing this until we can figure out how we’re ever going to quit.” He angled his mouth over hers, teasing her with light brushes and gentle tugs on her bottom lip.

  “That makes absolutely no sense,” she whispered between kisses.

  Nothing about the way he felt for her made a damn bit of sense. But then he’d wanted her since the first time he saw her. That had never changed, never lightened up. He gathered her hair in his hand and—

 
“Conrad,” she gasped, “stop the elevator.”

  “You want me to stop?” Denial spiked through him.

  “No, I want you to stop the elevator—” she kissed him “—between floors—” stroked him “—so we don’t have to wait a second longer.”

  He slapped the elevator button.

  Jayne opened her arms, and he didn’t even have to think. He thrust his hands into her hair, the familiar glide of those silky strands against his skin as arousing as always. Images scrolled through his mind of her slithering the blond mass over his chest as she nibbled her way down, down, down farther still until her mouth closed around him… Desire pounded in his ears in time with the bass beat of the elevator music.

  As if she heard his thoughts, understood his need to have her touch him again, her fingers grazed down the front of his pants, rubbing along the length of him until he thought he would come right then and there. He gripped her wrist and eased her hand away. Soon, he promised himself, soon they could have it all.

  Her hips rocked against him, and he pressed his thigh between her legs, rewarded by her breathy moan of pleasure. The gauzy length of her gown offered little barrier between him and the hot core of her.

  Memories of that night at La Bohème seared his brain and fueled his imagination. He bunched up her dress in his fist, easing the fabric up her creamy-white legs until he reached the top of her thighs. Only a thin scrap of satin stayed between him and his goal. Between him and her.

  They were completely alone in the privacy of his domain. And even if someone dared step into his realm, he shielded her with his body. Never would he leave her vulnerable to anyone or anything. She was his to protect, to cherish.

  To please.

  He tucked a finger into the thin string along the side and twisted until…the fabric gave way. She purred into his mouth and angled toward his touch. He wadded the panties in his fist and stuffed the torn scrap into his pocket before returning to her.

  Stroking from her knee to her thigh again, he nudged her dress up until his fingers found her sweet, moist cleft. He stroked along her lips, swollen with the passion he’d given her. Without rushing, he stroked and explored, giving her time to grow accustomed to his touch, to let her desire build while he kissed her, murmuring against her mouth how damn much she drove him crazy. His other hand cupped the perfect curve of her bottom and lifted her toward the glide of his caress.

  Her gasps grew faster, heavier, the rise and fall of her breasts against his chest making him throb to be inside her. He slipped two fingers into the hot dampness of her, the velvety walls already pulsing around him with the first beginnings of her orgasm. He knew her body, every telltale sign. His fingers still buried deep within her, he pressed his palm against the tight nub of nerves and circled. She writhed against him in response, gasping for him not to stop, she was so close…

  He burned to drop to his knees to finish her with his mouth, to fill his senses with the essence of her, but he didn’t dare risk leaving her that exposed unless they were behind locked doors. But soon, before the night was over he would make love to her with more than his hand. He would bring her to shattering completion again and again, watching the bliss play across her face.

  Her head fell back against the glassed wall, her hands clamped to his shoulders, her nails digging deep. He grazed his mouth along the throbbing pulse in her neck just as she arched in his arms. Her cries of completion echoed in the confines of the elevator, blending with the music drifting from the speakers. And he watched—God, how he watched—every nuance on her beautiful face, her eyes closed, her mouth parted with panting gasps. The tip of her tongue peeked out to run along her top lip and he throbbed impossibly harder. For her. Always for her.

  Her body began to slide as she relaxed in the aftermath, her arms slipping around his neck. He palmed her back, bringing her against him, although his feet weren’t as steady as he would like right now. The music grew louder, sweeping into a crescendo until…

  An alarm pierced his ears, jolting through him. No wait, that was the floor lifting again, the elevator rising.

  “Conrad?” Her eyes blinked open, passion-fogged.

  He understood the feeling well.

  His head fell to rest against the mirrored wall. “That’s the backup system in case the elevator breaks.”

  “Oh…” She froze against him then wriggled, smoothing her gown back in place. “That would have been really embarrassing if we hadn’t noticed and the doors had just opened.”

  “This is only a temporary delay.” He cupped her head and kissed her soundly before stepping into the penthouse.

  She kicked her shoes off, her eyes still steamy blue, her pupils wide with desire. He flung her wrap over the wine rack and backed her down the hall. Except he didn’t intend to stop at the chair or in front of the fireplace. He wanted his wife in his bed again. Where they both belonged.

  Later, he would figure out why the notion of one weekend suddenly didn’t seem like near enough time with her.

  He reached for the light switch only to realize…

  Crap. The chandelier was already glowing overhead and he always turned the lights off when he left. Cleaning staff never came at night.

  How had he let his instincts become so dulled that he’d missed the warning signs?

  Someone was in his penthouse, and he should have noticed right away. His lapse could put Jayne in danger, and all because he’d let himself get carried away making out with her in an elevator. His guilt fired so hot her panties damn near burned a hole in his pocket. He moved fast, tucking her behind him as he scoped the living area and found his intruder.

  Wearing his signature gray suit and red tie, Colonel Salvatore lounged in a chair in front of the fireplace, a cell phone in hand.

  Conrad’s old headmaster and current Interpol handler set aside his phone and stood, his scowl deeper than usual. “Conrad, we have a problem.”

  Five

  Her head still fogged from her explosive reaction to Conrad in the elevator, Jayne stared in confusion at their unexpected guest sitting in the living room like family. She recognized Conrad’s old headmaster and knew they’d kept in touch over the years, but not to the extent that the man could just waltz into their home while they were out.

  Conrad’s home, she reminded herself. Not hers. Not anymore.

  Had her almost-ex-husband grown closer to Colonel Salvatore over the past three years? So much time had passed, even though their attraction hadn’t changed one bit, it wasn’t surprising there might be things she didn’t know about his life anymore.

  Although that wouldn’t stop her from asking.

  Praying she didn’t look as mussed as she felt, she walked deeper into the living room, all too aware of her bare feet and hastily tossed aside heels. Not to mention the fact that she wasn’t wearing panties. “Colonel Salvatore? There’s something wrong?”

  Conrad stepped between them, his broad back between her and their “guest.” He stuffed his hands into his tuxedo pockets only to pull them back out hastily. “Jayne, I’m sorry to leave, but Colonel Salvatore and I need to talk privately. Colonel? If you’ll join me downstairs in my office…”

  Except Salvatore didn’t move toward the door. “This concerns your wife and her safety.”

  Safety? Unease skittered up her spine, icing away the remnants of passion from the elevator. If this problem involved her, she wasn’t going anywhere. “Whoa, hold on. I am completely confused. What does your being here for some kind of problem have to do with me?”

  The colonel looked at Conrad pointedly. “You need to tell her. Everything.”

  Conrad’s shoulders braced. His jaw went hard with a familiar stubborn set. The tender lover of moments prior was nowhere to be seen now. “Sir, with all due respect, you and I should speak alone first.”

  “I wouldn’t advise leaving her here by herself, even for us to talk.” Salvatore’s serious tone couldn’t be missed or ignored. “The time for discretion has passed. She needs
to know. Now.”

  Jayne looked from man to man like watching a tennis match. Something big was going on here, something she was fast beginning to realize would fundamentally change her life. The chill of apprehension spread as her legs folded. She didn’t know what scared her more—the fact that this man thought she was in serious danger, or that she could be on the verge of finally learning something significant about her ultrasecretive husband. She sat on the edge of Conrad’s massive leather chair, her bare toes curling into the Moroccan carpet.

  Muscles twitching and flexing with restraint under his tux jacket, Conrad parked himself by the fireplace. He didn’t sit, but he didn’t protest or leave, either. Whatever John Salvatore wanted of Conrad, apparently he intended to follow through. The way the colonel issued orders spoke of something more official, almost like a boss and employee relationship, which made no sense at all.

  “Jayne,” Conrad started, scratching along the same bristled jaw she’d stroked only minutes earlier, “my lifestyle with the casinos gives me accessibility to high-profile people. It provides me with the ability to travel around the world, without raising any questions. Sometimes, authorities use that ability to get information.”

  “Accessibility to what? Which authorities? What kind of information?” Her mind swirled, trying to grasp where he was going with this and what it had to do with some kind of threat. “What are you talking about?”

  Salvatore clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “I work for Interpol headquarters in Lyon, France, recruiting and managing agents around the world.”

  “You work for Interpol,” she said slowly, realization detonating inside her as she looked at her husband, all those unexplained absences making sense for the first time. “You work for Interpol.”

  All those years, he hadn’t been cheating on her. And he hadn’t been following in his criminal father’s footsteps. But she didn’t feel relieved. Even now, he was ready to make love to her with such a huge secret between them.

  Anger and betrayal scoured through her as she thought of all the times he’d looked her in the face while hiding such intense secrets. For that matter, he wouldn’t have confided in her even now if his boss hadn’t demanded it. She’d had a right to know at least something about a part of Conrad’s life that affected her profoundly. But he’d rather ditch their marriage than give her the least inkling about his secret agent double life.