by Kylie Brant
The realization didn’t shame her. She’d grown accustomed to blaming herself for Carter’s restrained lovemaking. She’d just assumed that she wasn’t the sort of woman to drive men to rough hands and desperate need. But her experience with Sully had proved her wrong. He’d wanted her just that frantically, been driven to take her over and over. In doing so, he’d also managed to topple one or two of her inhibitions.
Of course, she mused wryly, her womanly self-esteem would have improved even more if he hadn’t seemed to revert to their former relationship so effortlessly.
“Still want it right here?” Sully hefted the wheel and set it down in one corner.
She nodded her head in satisfaction. “Perfect.”
As soon as the landlady had opened the door to this place, she’d known it would be hers. Gleaming hardwood floors without a carpet in sight stretched across an apartment easily three times the size of her old one. But it hadn’t been the size that had captivated her; it had been the light streaming in through the triple set of windows.
She’d been able to picture her wheel in the corner where Sully had just set it, the kiln on the far wall. Her furnishings looked meager in the open area, but she was pleased to have the space to operate her wheel without covering everything in the room to protect it from spattering clay. Her drop cloth would save the hardwood floor, and she could work whenever it suited her now, and not worry about the cleanup afterward.
The phone rang then, startling both of them. It had been hooked up only the day before. She picked up the receiver, expecting to hear Monica’s voice, then got a little weakkneed when the caller identified himself.
“Simon, hello.”
Sully watched her impassively as she carried on what was essentially a one-sided conversation with Simon Boze. He talked, she listened. Except for a dazed “That sounds wonderful” repeated several times, she had no memory at all of what she said.
“Next week, then,” she repeated his parting phrase, and hung up the phone, stunned.
Sully approached her. “Good news?”
She slumped against the wall and looked at him blankly. “Simon’s going to take them. Every piece. And not on consignment, either—he wants to buy them outright. And he wants to know if I have an agent. I don’t even know where to find agents, or what they do, or... And he has a contact he said might be interested in more pieces....” Her eyes flew to Sully’s then, panicked. “Oh, my Lord, I don’t have any other pieces. I gave them all to him. What am I going to do when he asks again for more and I have to tell him that...?”
His low voice was soothing. “If you need more, you’ll make them. Just like always.” He crooked a smile then, endearingly appealing because it was so rare. “You made it, kid.”
She stared at him a moment longer, then reality broke through the haze and she let out a whoop. “He bought all my pieces!” She launched herself at him, and he had no choice but to catch her as she threw her arms around his hard middle and hugged tight. She was laughing out loud, and his answering chuckle was a rumble in her ear. “You’re not going to be able to stand me now that I’m a big shot, Sullivan,” she teased, tilting her head back to look up at him.
He heaved a mock sigh. “Yeah, I can see you’re going to be a real pain.”
Her hair brushed against her bare shoulders as she shook her head dramatically. “You’ll be doing my bidding constantly, fetching and carrying for me....” Another laugh gurgled out of her as her gaze swept her apartment. “But then, that won’t be much different, will it?”
Her gaze bounced back to his, inviting him to share the joke, but the amusement had faded from his expression. And his eyes...she swallowed once, hard, and suddenly her merriment faded away, as well. Because in his eyes was such longing, such intense hunger, that she was staggered.
Her heart kicked once, hard, then settled into a staccato beat. A solid ball of heat formed in her stomach. She knew now that it would take only a touch of his lips for that heat to explode, sending fiery ribbons unfurling through her system. Her head fell back, her eyes slid half-closed, partly at the memory, partly in invitation. Sully’s hand left her waist and rose to hover near her shoulder. She forgot to breathe when he lifted the hair that brushed her bare skin and rubbed the strands between his fingers.
When the doorbell pealed, she started, moving closer to him. For an instant the heat from his body seared hers. He stiffened, then both hands went to her shoulders and he deliberately set her away. When she saw his face, she could have wept at the loss. The shield was firmly back in place.
She took another few seconds before turning around. It had been so easy for him to let her go, just a mental click, and he seemed able to shut those feelings off. And there had been feelings there, dammit, she knew she hadn’t been mistaken. She may be naive, but she wasn’t totally stupid. Although at this moment she felt both.
“Well, hello there.” The feline purr could only belong to Monica, and Elizabeth turned reluctantly, pasting a wan smile on her face. Her friend was sizing Sully up like a horse breeder looking over a new stallion, and the analogy wasn’t amusing. For the first time since she’d met her, Elizabeth had an urge to pluck out Monica’s perfectly coiffed hair. Strand by strand.
“Careful. I don’t think he’ll stand for you checking his teeth.”
Monica slanted a look at her, and what she must have seen on her friend’s face had her eyebrows climbing. Her gaze went back to Sully, even more assessing this time. She flashed her perfect smile. “Hello, I’m Monica Pruett, single, unattached and very available. And you are...?” Her sentence dangled delicately.
Elizabeth tucked her fingers into the pockets of her shorts, where they wouldn’t damage her friend’s face. “Monica, this is Sully, a very good friend of mine.”
Monica’s gaze traveled between the two of them. “How good?”
Elizabeth’s voice was firm. “Very good.”
She made a moue of disappointment, then shrugged good-naturedly. “I’d sure like to see where you find your friends.”
Sully nodded to the woman, then crossed to pick up some boxes. “I’ll just take these into the bedroom and stack them up for you.”
“Good idea,” Monica murmured, watching him appreciatively. When he was gone she said, “Quick, lock the door behind him.”
“Monica, honestly,” Elizabeth said shakily.
The other woman strolled into the apartment. “Hon, I’m just saying that particular type of man is perfectly suited for the boudoir.” She craned her neck, scanning the rooms comically. “You don’t have any other ’good friends’ around here, do you? Ones who just might be partial to tall, gorgeous blondes with a weakness for muscles?”
“Sorry.”
“Well, there’s no reason for you to be sorry, Elizabeth. None at all. In fact, I’d say there’s plenty of reason for you to...celebrate!” In one smooth motion she pulled a bottle of champagne from the bag she was carrying, and beamed a dazzling smile. “I talked to Simon earlier, and girlfriend, you have made it!”
Elizabeth returned her enthusiastic hug. Monica’s real pleasure for her made her ashamed of her earlier uncharitable urges. “You found out quickly. I just talked to Simon myself.” A thought struck her then, and she pulled back, a frown teasing her brow. “You didn’t have anything to do with this, did you? I mean, when you called Simon...”
Monica waved her anxiety away. “I pulled the info out of him—you know how I am. But if you’re thinking I swayed his decision in your favor, don’t worry. This is his business, and I never had that kind of influence over him, anyway. Not that I ever gave it my all, you understand.” One eye closed in a suggestive wink, and Elizabeth felt a pang of relief. She appreciated her friend having given her Simon’s name, but it was important to her that these sales be deserved, and wholly based on her ability.
Her voice was warm with sincerity. “Thank you so much, Monica. If it hadn’t been for you, I never would have heard of Simon Boze.”
Monica made
a dismissive gesture. “I just pointed you in his direction. You had the talent, and that’s the biggest part.” She held up the bottle. “Where should I put this? It’s partly for your celebration, and partly for a housewarming gift.”
“We could open it now if I had any idea which box the glasses were in.”
Monica walked over to the kitchen counter and set the bottle on it. “Nope, I can’t stay. Have a hair appointment in about an hour, and then my masseuse is going to spend the rest of the afternoon working out the kinks I get from those damn high heels Nathan insists on.” Briskly she walked back to Elizabeth, kissed her on the cheek and turned for the door. “But I will be back this evening to take you out to celebrate in style.” She turned before leaving and added, as if in afterthought, “Feel free to bring tall, blond and studly in there along with you. I’ve never been one to believe that three’s necessarily a crowd.” Her smile smug, she sailed through the door.
Sully entered the room in search of more boxes, then straightened when he saw Elizabeth was alone. “Your friend gone already?”
“Lucky for you,” she informed him. “I think she wanted to strap you down and clone you. Have any DNA you could spare?”
He frowned and muttered something about a man-eater.
“She’s not. really.” Elizabeth defended her friend automatically. “She’s just been hurt and that’s her...defense.” She couldn’t interpret the look he gave her, but she was struck again by how much her two friends were alike. Both guarded, in different ways, although compared to Sully, Monica was a rank amateur.
“She’s taking me out to celebrate tonight,” she informed him, “and you’re invited.”
He bent down and lifted two of the boxes, rising effortlessly and striding to her bedroom. “Can’t.”
“Scared?” She trailed after him.
“Terrified. But I really do have an appointment later.” He put the boxes down with a grunt. “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
She stood aside as he passed her to get more boxes. There was something about watching a man work, she mused. All those muscles tightening and releasing. Sully’s were gleaming with a light glaze of perspiration, and she went to the thermostat and lowered the temperature to the air conditioner. She didn’t doubt that he would have found a way to refuse, appointment or no. After what they’d shared right before Monica came, he’d be backpedaling again, as fast and furious as he was able.
A tiny smile formed on her lips. An infinitely feminine intuition told her she no longer had cause to doubt Sully’s feelings. Oh, he might still deny them, but that was twice she’d surprised that look on his face, desire layered over desperation. She’d told herself she’d been willing to give him his space, up to a point. If he insisted on a return to their platonic relationship, she’d almost convinced herself she could do so.
But not now. She wouldn’t push, not yet, but eventually... once he got used to the idea... The smile lingered, wouldn’t fade.
There would come a day in the very near future when Sully’s willpower would be put to the test. She’d be willing to bet on it.
Sully’s cheeks flexed as he pulled in smoke and held it for a moment, letting it fill his lungs. His gaze was watchful, missing nothing. The stores that lined the street had closed hours before. In the crime-ridden neighborhood he’d chosen, it was too dangerous to stay open after dark. The hooker and her client in the rusted-out car across the street hadn’t come up for air for ten minutes. Idly Sully gave them only another five before the woman went on her way. A working girl couldn’t afford to waste much time. The coked-up punk in leathers and chains who’d passed by twice hadn’t done a good job of hiding his interest. He was sizing Sully up; wondering how easy a mark he’d be. Sully hoped the kid wouldn’t try his luck. He didn’t need a would-be mugger screwing up his plans.
Headlights speared through the darkness as a car turned the corner and came toward him. Sully took one last drag and dropped the cigarette, grinding it beneath the toe of his boot. Almost soundlessly the black car pulled up to him and stopped. The back door came open, and Sully ducked inside.
“Roarke.” Toby’s gravelly voice greeted him. He leaned forward and spoke to the driver, who pulled away from the curb, and headed for the freeway.
Sully relaxed against the Rolls-Royce’s soft leather upholstery, and stared out the window. It was tinted; at night there was little to make out but a blur of lights as they moved swiftly toward their destination. He didn’t give more than a fleeting thought to the device in his pocket. If it worked as well as O’Shea had promised, Constantine and Hansen would be trailing at a safe distance. If it didn’t... He gave a mental shrug. Either way, he was walking into the lion’s den alone.
He made no attempt to break the silence in the car. When he’d been contacted by Conrad, he’d arranged to meet near the freight company. It was a small thing, but he didn’t want them to pick him up in his own neighborhood. He’d wanted to be as far away as possible from anyplace Ellie might venture.
They rode for nearly an hour. Sully thought they were heading toward the Keys. O’Shea’s information said Conrad had a place in Key Largo. He could feel nerves make an appearance, collecting at the base of his spine. Tonight he would meet with the man Conrad answered to, the man responsible for no less than twenty percent of the cocaine smuggled out of Colombia into Miami. He’d worked for two years for this moment, and every instinct he had was honed to almost-painful readiness. Earning the trust of a man like Conrad paled in comparison to impressing the man’s boss. Sully knew that if he failed to do so, he wouldn’t be making the return trip home tonight.
The driver drove through security gates and up a long driveway before stopping before a one-story, sprawling white mansion. Floodlights were placed strategically around the grounds, their function as much for security as to highlight the home’s magnificence.
Sully waited for Toby to get out of the car and open his car door. He followed the silent man up to the massive double carved oak doors, and into a cathedral-ceilinged foyer as large as his entire apartment. When Toby muttered, “Wait here,” Sully obeyed, surveying the marble floor and inside fountain cynically. Conrad indeed lived well, better then Sully had expected. He crossed to one of the sculptures sprinkled about the foyer, and stared at it through narrowed eyes. It looked like a tangle of brass and copper to him, but if Conrad had it, it must be worth a small fortune.
“Roarke, welcome.”
Sully tamed, and clasped the hand Comad extended to him for a brief handshake. “Mr. Conrad.”
The man was dressed far less formally than Sully had ever seen him. With the tight-fitting black pants and billowing white open-necked shirt, he looked like what he was—a cutthroat, modern-day pirate.
“I hope you haven’t eaten,” he said, leading the way through a wide hallway. Sully glanced curiously at the walls, which were adorned with artwork befitting a museum. “I have a marvelous chef, and he’s prepared lobster bisque and Peking duck, with a chocolate souffté guaranteed to make you weep.”
“Sounds good.”
Conrad’s laughter bounced off the high ceiling. “I can assure you, it will be better than merely good. I make it a point to settle for nothing less than the best.”
The dining room was huge, and the dark, gleaming table would easily seat thirty. Only three places were set at one end, however, and Sully’s attention immediately focused on the man seated at the head.
He wasn’t tall. Although he didn’t stand at their entrance, Sully estimated him between five-seven five-eight. His age was harder to guess. He was somewhere between fifty and sixty, with a halo of faded dark hair that circled his balding pate, giving him a saintly look. Until one looked at his eyes. Glittering slits of brownish gold, they were almost lost in the folds of his eyelids, reminding Sully of a sleepy crocodile. He didn’t need the reminder that this man was potentially much more dangerous.
“Roarke.” The man’s voice was cracked and dry, like the sound of autumn
leaves underfoot. “Sit.”
Sully seated himself at the man’s left, as indicated. He silently returned the older man’s survey until he spoke again.
“Thomas has kept me informed of your progress. He’s been very impressed with your talents.”
Conrad displayed none of his usual smooth grace when he seated himself awkwardly in his chair. “It’s with Roarke’s help that I’ve opened up new markets through Florida, Mr. Vargas, and he...”
That strange reptilian gaze shifted to Conrad, and the rest of the sentence died in his throat. His jaw worked uncontrollably, and he turned his attention to the servant who had just entered the room. Silence reigned until the man had put bowls before them and sidled out, as soundlessly as he’d entered.
Sully took a cautious sip at what he assumed was soup. Unlike any he’d ever had, it tasted like it had just come from the refrigerator. No doubt it was gourmet something or other, but he’d take a steaming bowl of vegetable beef over chilled mystery broth any day.
Replacing his spoon, he looked at the man next to him. “I get the feeling that pleasing Mr. Conrad matters less than pleasing you.”
Vargas’s eyes flickered. “You’re an astute man. One hopes that you are as intelligent as you are talented. However, I dislike discussing business over dinner. I’ve always found it bad for the digestion. Let’s enjoy our meal, shall we?”
Conrad had obvious difficulty relaxing enough to find pleasure in the food. As he’d promised, the meal was excellent, and after the first course, Sully ate heartily. Vargas, too, appeared to appreciate the dinner, although he spoke sparingly, and only to respond to Conrad’s forced coversation.
After the dessert dishes had been cleared away, the same servant filled wineglasses to set before each man, then, leaving the bottle on the table, left the room. Vargas picked up his glass and swirled the contents gently. “You seem to have had remarkable success in your role for Mr. Conrad, Roarke.” He took a small sip of wine, and closed his eyes appreciatively for a moment. In the next instant he was staring at Sully again, the brownish gold gaze strangely hypnotic. “I must admit to being a trifle impressed myself with the way you moved our packages out of Colombia.” He drank again, his eyes never leaving Sully. “How did you manage it?”