Naughty and Nice

by Sarah J. Brooks

  The Billionaire’s LEGACY

  Unbelievable Revelations

  Sarah J. Brooks

  Cassie

  “You need to eat something,” Brad said from behind me. His voice startled me and I jumped a bit.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I just ate a little while ago.” I didn’t turn away from the computer screen. The light from the monitor spilled onto the skin on the back of my hand, and I focused on it when Brad put his hands on my shoulders and began to rub them. I resisted the urge to lean into him, but I felt my body wanting, craving, his touch.

  “That was seven hours ago,” he said gently. “Let me at least make you a sandwich. I’ll bring it to you.”

  I sighed quietly and looked up at him over my shoulder. He was looking down at me, a concerned look on his face. “Okay,” I said, more to get him out of the room so I could get back to work than anything else. I wasn’t the least bit hungry and, more, didn’t believe for one second that I’d sat there not moving for seven hours. Where had the time gone? “That sounds good.”

  He smiled gratefully, as if he had been anticipating an argument, and he squeezed my shoulders, leaning in to kiss my neck. His lips were warm, and I felt my body begin to respond to the softness of his kiss.

  “Okay, then,” he said and left the room. I sighed and leaned back in my chair, his interruption causing me to take a breath and realize that my eyes were hurting from the strain of staring at my computer screen for so many hours. It had been a week ago that Patrick had been killed, and, since then, I’d done nothing but try to figure out who was responsible.

  I shuddered as I remembered back to that day, to the explosion that had rocked the hotel where Patrick had just hugged me goodbye. The hours afterward, the chaos. The next morning when I had checked my email and found the message Patrick had sent before his death. He had sent it in the moments between when I’d said goodbye to him and when he’d gotten into his car. I imagined him walking to his car, his phone in his hands, shoulders hunched, tapping quickly at the keys. An email, not a text. Had he known? I would never know the answer to that question. I’d woken up the day after his death and turned on the computer seeking a sense of normalcy. Instead, I’d found his message.

  Cass,

  Don’t forget our conversation. Don’t forget the names we discussed and their relationship to one another. In the event that you are reading this after something has happened to me, don’t let fear or sadness stop you. You have friends; they will make themselves known to you as needed. You are protected.

  Patrick

  It was such a cryptic message, still, and, though I found it impossible to believe that he had known he was going to die, a part of me believed that he’d had an intuition about it. He had never emailed me before; I didn’t even know he knew my email address. But, NCA agents can figure out probably most anything, I guessed… except for the connection between Manuel Brown and Mavin Toller.

  I heard rustling at the door behind me and quickly closed out of Patrick’s message. I would have no way of explaining it to Brad, and I didn’t want to cause a fight. A moment later, Brad came into the room with a sandwich and a glass of water on a small tray. A rose in a vase and silverware on a cloth napkin made it seem as though the meal was from room service, but I knew from the look of the sandwich that Brad had made it himself.

  I smiled at him gratefully. “Thank you,” I said.

  He kissed the top of my head and pulled me toward him. “I’ll leave you alone, please eat.”

  He left, and I stared at the sandwich as a bizarre mix of hunger and sadness filled my stomach. I didn’t know what our relationship would end up being. So much had happened to pull us off track, and it didn’t seem like either Brad or I knew how to bring things back to where they should be. It was as though the obstacles between us were insurmountable. I thought back to the first night in Belize when we had talked, how drawn I had been to him, how curious and insatiable our initial contact had been. Now it seemed like it was a contest as to which of us was pulling away more, faster.

  I had been surprised, though I shouldn’t have been, that he had accompanied me to the funeral. I’d never been to the funeral of a decorated agent of anything before. The outpouring was incredible. NCA agents, as well as representatives from Scotland Yard and the FBI populated the church and burial. Brad had stood by my side from beginning to end, introducing himself in a way that no one really knew exactly who he was. I wondered, based on Patrick’s ideas, if he had done this out of compassion for me, or if he had been worried about being arrested.

  I took a bite of the sandwich and my stomach rumbled gratefully. I looked at the website on the computer screen. I’d tried a thousand different searches, sent out several different feelers to contacts, dug deeply into every journalistic instinct I had—and, still, I kept coming up against dead end after dead end. I could find references to Mavin Toller, and, thanks to a contact of Patrick’s, I was able to look at some parts of his former CIA file.

  Manuel Brown was a ghost. I found one mention of a Manuel Brown, but, without any other corroboration, it was impossible to tell if that Manuel Brown was the same as the one I was looking for. No birth date, no pictures, no references past or present. No articles, family trees, or even the most basic google information. It was as though he existed in name only.

  Still, I was determined to find the truth. If something could happen to Patrick, something could happen to Brad, or to me. I knew Brad was involved in something; I had known that, at least on some level, since day one. It was time to figure out what that was.

  Had I missed an opportunity with Patrick? I chewed my sandwich and thought back to the funeral. To all of the people who had said Patrick was the best friend a guy—or girl—could have. He had no family, no wife, no children, parents deceased. I chewed another bite of my sandwich and wondered.

  Three days later, I was still wondering. I was dressed in a ball gown standing in front of a full length mirror in a dress Brad had had delivered hours earlier. The dress fit beautifully, and he had brought in a velvet covered box after I’d told him I had the dress on.

  “The sparkle in your eyes will make this shine more brightly,” he said, and he’d opened the box to reveal an emerald necklace with diamonds. It popped from the black dress and, as I looked in the mirror, I realized he was right; it made my eyes shine.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, wrapping my arms around him and kissing him. “Thank you.”

  “I know a benefit is the last thing you want to be doing right now,” he said, pulling back from me and looking into my eyes. He gripped my forearms with his warm hands, and I felt a shiver move through me. “But, it’s important for you to be there; and I want to be able to show you off.”

  He smiled, then, and I had no choice but to smile back. When we’d first met, the idea of a billionaire wanting to show me off to his friends would have blown my mind. Now… after so much had happened, I didn’t know what showing me off would accomplish.

  “I know it’s important to you,” I said. “And we don’t have to stay all night, do we?”

  “No,” he said. “We’ll cut out early, I promise.”

  We drove to the benefit and arrived in time to be a part of the opening red carpet walk. Camera flashes and shouted questions pummeled me and assaulted my senses as I realized I hadn’t been out of the hotel at all since Patrick’s death. Brad covered my shoulders with his arm and protected me, hurrying me past the photographers and into the building. Once we were in, he relaxed. I felt grateful for his protection and his care. He was, at the very least, a consummate gentleman.

  It was that feeling that carried me through the evening. I watched him talk, network, schmooze, whatever, with benefactors and clients, working the room like he was born to do it. His tux fit him like a glove, and he moved in it as though it was a second skin. His smile was natural and unforced, yet it had an energy behind it that seemed to reach out and grab people; even the crankiest person in the world could
n’t have resisted.

  I watched women lust after him, seeing it happen in a way I never had before. Because I was on my own for much of the night, sitting at the bar or walking around talking to Simon and the other business associates of Brad’s that I’d met, most of the flirters didn’t know he had come with a date. I watched women flock to him, flutter around him, and slip back like insects gently shooed away, daunted but not deterred. Every few minutes, he looked over at me. Sometimes he smiled or waved, but most often it was just his gaze traveling across the room and burning into me.

  I remembered telling Patrick that Brad would never abduct anyone. He wouldn’t need to, I thought as I watched him. Any woman—and a lot of men—would follow him straight into hell if he asked them to accompany him.

  Was that what I was doing? Was I following Brad straight into hell?

  “You know he only has eyes for you,” Simon said next to me. I turned to him.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You have a very sad look on your face,” he said kindly. “I couldn’t help but notice.”

  I liked Simon a lot. He was intelligent, soft-spoken, and kind. He was Brad’s partner, but he seemed to have naturally, over time, fallen into more the role of an assistant. I got the feeling that both he and Brad preferred it that way.

  “I was thinking about…” I shook my head. “I don’t know what I was thinking about.”

  “You may have been thinking it was about time for the evening to wrap up,” Simon said. “I understand Brad promised you an early night.”

  I nodded. “He did, but he’s obviously very busy. I know this is an important night for him.”

  “You’re important to him,” he said easily. “Excuse me for one moment.” He stood up and put his hand on my shoulder, smiled at me, then walked toward the restrooms.

  “Another cocktail?” the bartender asked.

  “Sure, why not?” I said.

  I’d had only a few sips of my martini when Brad broke away from the throng of people around him and walked over to me.

  “Are you ready?” he asked. His voice was low and rumbling in my ear, and, despite the fact that I’d been feeling such distance between us, I felt my body warm, a faint tingling beginning in my stomach and moving between my legs. I felt my nipples harden against my dress.

  “I’m ready,” I said, smiling. The martini had been delicious and strong, and I felt its effects as Brad escorted me across the room toward the door. I kept my face straight as I noticed the disappointed looks on the faces of more than just a few women. Did they really think that he was available? I shushed myself, realizing that he could very well be available; it was him committing to me that made him unavailable to all of these women, who were far wealthier than I was and had far more business being with him than I did.

  The night air hit my face as Brad opened the door for me, and I leaned into his arm.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  “Freezing,” I responded quietly, and he drew me closer. The car pulled up and he opened my door for me. I slid in, and he followed, closing the door behind us. The privacy glass was up between the back of the limo and the front, and he put his hand on my thigh. I crossed my leg over the other toward him, and he leaned toward me.

  “I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” he said.

  “Do what?” I asked, putting a mock innocent tone into my voice.

  He leaned in and kissed me, sliding his hand between the skirt of my dress and my bare leg.

  “This,” he whispered. He trailed his fingers along the line where my thighs came together, and, when he reached the apex, I uncrossed my legs and he slid his hand under the hem of my panties. “Mmmmm,” he groaned. “You’re wet.”

  I felt a shivering stab of arousal push through me, seeming to magnetically connect with his fingertips. I spread my legs, giving him greater access, and slid down a bit on the bench of the limo.

  “Lie down,” he commanded softly. He moved my knees apart as I slid down onto my back, and he lifted my dress to my waist. My knees bent, he ducked between them and began to kiss my inner thighs. His lips felt like soft, pleasurable stings on my skin, and I sighed, feeling my body relax for what felt like the first time in my memory.

  His fingers stayed working; his thumb traced my labia and the slit of my pussy until he slowly spread my lips apart and guided his fingers inside me. He continued to kiss my thighs, moving closer to the center of my pleasure—then pulling back again.

  “Such a tease,” I said, my voice muffled by the sigh of pleasure that followed as he glided his tongue across my clit. “Oh…”

  “You taste so good,” he said. “I could eat you all night.”

  “I’m inclined to let you,” I breathed. He took my clit in his lips, rolling it carefully, then he flicked it softly with his tongue. I gasped… and he did it again, over and over, until my breath became nothing more than one ragged gasp after another.

  “I saw you watching me tonight,” he said, his tongue retreating just as I was on the cusp of orgasm. “I want you to know that the only thing I was thinking about all night was doing this to you, right now.” He circled my clit with his tongue once again, this time pulling it into his mouth and sucking it, hard, harder, harder, until I exploded in a spasm of heat and saw stars. I cried out, pressing my knees apart, drawing him deeper. He rode out my orgasm with me, and, when I felt the sensations begin to ebb, he gently pulled my dress back down and drew me to him.

  Brad

  I watched Cassie as she slept; the lull of the airplane engines combined with the exhaustion I knew she was feeling had put her to sleep the moment we’d taken off. I sipped my wine and opened my iPad. I knew I needed to focus on the schedule for our time in Morocco; everything needed to go according to a plan that didn’t yet fully exist. Yet, I was distracted. I couldn’t focus on anything except for Cassie.

  It had taken some convincing—no, that’s not right; it had taken some of my best negotiation skills—to get her to accompany me to Morocco.

  “No,” she’d said flat out. “No, I’m not going. And, if you go, I can’t guarantee that I’ll be here when you get back. I’m done with all of this bullshit, Brad. People are dying. Dead. Do you get that?”

  I’d taken a deep breath. The only woman who had ever been able to get away with telling me what to do had been Lorinda. I had to go back to Morocco. The site was nearing completion, and there was a huge amount of highly sensitive inventory that was going to be coming in; I needed to be there.

  “Listen,” I’d said, knowing that the truth was impossible, “I think that you’ll maybe find some answers there. It’s where you were abducted. It’s likely that you will find some leads, some connections…some… something that will help lead you to the answers that you’re not finding on a computer screen. If you come with me, I’ll be able to help you.”

  She’d looked like she was about to object. About to tell me that she was making progress on her own, finding answers, that she was one step closer. But, she closed her mouth in the same way she’d opened it, fast, like a fish gulp.

  “I want you to find answers,” I’d said gently. “I know you, and I know you won’t rest until you do. Yes, I have some business to conduct in Morocco. But, that’s not the only reason I want you there. I want you there for both of us, of course, but mostly for you.”

  I watched her body language closely, watching for the moment when I knew my persuasion was working. What separated Fortune 500 CEOs and people who earned billions from those who considered themselves ordinary citizens was less a talent for verbal negotiations and more the ability to discern body language. To know where the tipping point was. To lead someone right up to it, then take one more breath, say one more thing, just enough to push them over. Nothing more.

  “Patrick’s death should show you that your life was, at least at one point in time, in extreme danger. I am here to protect you, and I will protect you with my life. But, I know that’s not enough for you. I know you want to be a
ble to protect yourself. You’re a journalist; you live to investigate and find answers. I want to help you with that.”

  Maybe it was Patrick’s name, or maybe it was acknowledging that I want to protect her. Whatever it was that I’d said, it had worked. And, now I sat staring at an encrypted calendar while she dozed beside me.

  She slept the entire flight from what had to have been sheer exhaustion. We landed at first light, and I told her she could sleep in the hotel and I would go conduct my business.

  “Where are you going?” she asked sleepily from the bed. “I’ll come with you.”

  “I’m going to a building site,” I said. “For a new hotel.” As always, the lie rolled smoothly off my tongue. I assuaged my guilt by reminding myself that I wouldn’t be lying to a woman I was fairly certain I was falling in love with for much longer. Part of the reason I’d brought Cassie to Morocco with me was to confess some of the information about my past to her. Even the thought of doing so pushed my nerves into overdrive, but I had felt her distancing herself from me and I knew that, if I wanted to keep her around, I was going to need to start giving her some of the answers she was seeking—as I’d promised I would.

  I rolled my eyes thinking about Simon’s reaction. “You thought you could outsmart her,” he’d said. “But she’s no bimbo. That one, well, you got into trouble with that one from the moment you laid eyes on her. She’s too smart for her own good, and she’s definitely too smart for yours.”

  That she was.

  “I’ll be back in a few hours,” I said, and kissed her forehead. She moaned softly but was already sleeping once again before I’d stood up straight. I gathered my things and walked quietly but quickly out the door of the suite. I wanted to hurry. I knew Cassie was safe in my suite at Legacy, but I also knew that her life was far from secure anywhere in Morocco. The faster I could get my business done and get us back to London, the better.

  The drive to the site was short, and, when we pulled up, I felt, for the first time in what seemed like ages, a sense of hope.