Rocking motions. A car?
Each bump sent her into renewed paroxysms. One climax flooded into another and another. Nonstop. Drained, she didn’t fight, merely twitched and gasped at each successive burst of light and sensation.
Naked flesh. A chill along her skin. The feather touch of whispered breath against her neck as someone held her close. The sound of running water. A wisp of air between her legs. Knees buckling as she came again—harder this time.
He held her up. Made soothing sounds.
Then she was falling.
Down…down…down.
Icy water pulled her to the surface of an orgasm and held her, suspended, mid-climax. She found her voice and screamed. Screamed until all the oxygen emptied from her lungs. Until light receded—became a pinprick—and disappeared.
Chapter Fifteen
“I’m going with you.”
Both men ignored her. Jenny watched as Günter snapped his napkin onto his lap and tried not to appear as if he were casing the Ritz restaurant and its guests. Simon tucked into his cured salmon and seemed not to listen, but she knew he registered every word.
Two days after her encounter with Bengal and bright lights still nauseated her. Tremors tore through her at intervals for a full day after trying the drug—whispers of light and sound sometimes sending her over the edge completely. Thighs aching, muscles tender, she almost refused to come downstairs to the restaurant for dinner tonight, but the men had gone out without her last night while she’d convalesced and they’d returned emptyhanded.
Needing to convince them she’d recovered, she’d showered, dressed and trailed them in a jaw-clenching attempt at fortitude. They needed her to gain access to the White Tiger—to shut down the fuckers. She had a new appreciation for exactly why Bengal needed to be kept out of the hands of an unsuspecting public.
“Look, I’m not giving up on this because of one bad trip,” she tried.
Simon sighed and she whirled to face him.
“I didn’t say a word,” he said, waving his fork defensively.
“Our contacts will grow suspicious if I don’t remain visible,” Jenny muttered out the side of her mouth.
Günter pursed his lips and placed his fork on the side of his plate. The circles under his eyes said he’d not slept for the past two days. Despite the lines of exhaustion on his face, he looked good enough to eat. The striking blue of his shirt matched his eyes, making his lashes appear like spikes of gold as his gaze rested upon her.
“Your visibility is our problem,” he said finally.
A sense of foreboding settled around her shoulders. She looked away, reluctant to meet his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“We haven’t been able to get any meetings since you tried the B,” Simon answered. “The press followed us to Iniquity. They were there when we came out. Your reaction was very public and very…intense. It caused a backlash of undesired attention.”
Public.
Jenny paled. “Where are the papers?”
Simon and Günter had a worried, wordless conversation. While she loved them both for their concern for her, they couldn’t coddle her forever. They needed to stop treating her as fragile.
“Give me your cell,” she said to Günter. “I’ll find out sooner or later.”
He fished in his inside pocket and handed her the square device. The password protection screen came up and she quirked a brow at him.
“Crack it,” he said.
The challenge in his voice sent a little thrill of pleasure down her spine. Didn’t he know after the poker she had a special knack for numbers and codes—luck notwithstanding? It was why accounting had seemed such a logical profession for her, in addition to being a financially dependable—if staid—career.
“Any numbers or special characters in it?”
He smiled. Mysterious.
She couldn’t help smiling back. “What do I get?”
He licked the seam of his lips as he considered her from under lowered lids. “The Tiger’s people are upstairs placing surveillance equipment in our room.”
Her eyes widened. He was agreeing to satisfy her voyeuristic fantasy at some point. Soon…
“You’re just letting them do it?” she asked, determined not to give him an immediate ego boost. The man was arrogant enough as it was.
“It’s another opportunity to prove ourselves.” Günter saluted her with his wineglass and the golden liquid danced with light.
Well, that made sense. For the first time in two days she had a role to play—a sense of purpose. Focusing on the phone in her hand she thought of what she knew about Günter.
“Who was it you bet on instead of United?” she asked.
A smile flirted about his mouth, but he said nothing.
“Liverpool, right?”
One blond brow quirked and the spark in his eyes increased.
A frisson of electricity tugged low in her middle. The natural sensation of arousal rang through her, fresh and exciting—nothing like the dark intensity the Bengal had demanded from her system. This man was more than enough drug for her.
Thumbs flying over the tiny keyboard she typed, Liverpool. Red text flashed on the screen. She tried Liverp00l and then L1verpool to no avail. Chewing on her lip she glanced at him. Elbow on the table, chin in his palm, he watched her attempts. A self-satisfied upturn to his mouth told her she was being too obvious, though she was on the right track…
“Who’s your favorite player?” she asked.
He blinked. On anyone else she’d not have registered the movement. From him it screamed surprise.
“Ha!” She laughed her victory and he sat back to cross his arms over his chest.
She thought about Suarez, but shook him off as too recent a sensation. Günter was loyal. He’d choose someone he could count on—had counted on—for a long, long time. Someone like…Gerrard.
Gerrard didn’t work, but she heard Günter’s worried exhale when she tried Gerr@rd. She was close. Very close.
“Simon?” she asked sweetly. “Can you look up Steven Gerrard’s jersey number for me on your cell?”
“That’s cheating.” Günter’s petulant rumble made her laugh.
“It’s not cheating and you know it,” she replied, gleeful.
“Eight. It’s eight,” Simon said and cast a shit-eating grin at Günter.
“Still fired,” Günter grumbled.
Gerr@rd8. She frowned up at Günter when the screen glowed red again.
A Cheshire cat grin spread across his face. He thought she’d never figure it out.
Thinning her lips she studied the screen again. The only thing she could think to change was the e. Some people liked to use a 3 instead. Günter would be just the type to make his password so complicated.
G3rr@rd8.
The main screen opened and she let out a whoop that had their waiter frowning in her direction.
“Jenny…” Günter’s voice sounded worried and he tried to pluck the phone out of her hands.
Snatching it out of his reach, she held it aloft. “You promised.”
“It’s not something you need to see.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry I offered. I didn’t think you’d crack the password.”
“Thank you for trying to protect me, but I can’t hide from whatever it is.”
She opened a browser and typed in her name. Links for all of London’s gossip magazines flashed onto the screen.
In the first glossy photo she clung to Günter, staring up at him with a vacant expression. Not so bad…
She clicked on the next link and drew in a shocked breath.
In this photo she appeared half undressed, her legs wrapped around his torso as she arched backward trying to fuck him through his clothes.
“Oh my God…”
Horrified, she closed the web page and looked at the next in the list. Breasts bared, she humped Günter’s leg and grabbed at his crotch with red-painted nails. Then, in an inset shot, a grainy closeup of her extended tong
ue licking Günter’s face.
Covering her mouth, she bolted from the chair, knocking it to the floor. She raced to the bathroom and vomited—dry heaved until her stomach muscles tired and merely twitched as she gasped into the toilet.
Soothing hands held her hair from her face and handed her a cold cloth.
“Oh God.” Her voice echoed against porcelain.
She’d never wanted this life. Ever. Her bid for independence had turned on her like a feral animal and ripped her sense of self and strength to bits.
Günter’s silence spoke volumes.
“I must disgust you,” she said, miserable.
Massaging hands stilled on her shoulders. He drew her to her feet and tilted her chin so she looked at him.
“On the contrary, I very much admire your courage.” He quirked a rueful smile at her. “And your ability to crack passwords.”
She shook her head, unable or unwilling to believe his words in the face of the photographs she’d seen—that the world had seen.
“Oh God,” she groaned the words again and leaned heavily into Günter’s chest. “I’ll never be able to show my face in public.”
Thoughts of David seeing the papers broadsided her.
“Oh no… David.”
Günter’s arms tightened around her. “I got word to him. You’re good. He’s good.”
Relief flooded her and she sagged.
“Thank you. Thank you,” she whispered into his chest.
As long as David didn’t hate her—as long as Günter respected her—she would find a way to hold her head high. She knew the truth and so did they. That was all that mattered. That and staying involved in the operation.
“Please don’t shut me out,” she said finally.
“We’ll talk later.” His kiss on top of her head ended the conversation. “Right now I have some leads to follow. I want you to go upstairs. Rest up. But remember…the room is no longer secure.”
Jenny sat on the toilet lid and listened to the bathroom door swing shut. When she wandered upstairs ten minutes later she met him in the doorway as he tucked his gun into his holster. He wore his leather car coat and jeans. Simon wore a baseball cap and an Oxford button down. Wherever they were going was casual. She wondered if they were doing surveillance.
“Don’t leave the room while I’m gone. Understand?” Günter asked.
She swallowed down the urge to ask him to take her with them and nodded. He tilted her chin to give her a lingering kiss.
The door thudded shut and she stood, feeling no little despair. She’d given up her reputation, and for what? So they could lock her in this room for the rest of the mission? Frustrated and bored, she wandered into the living room and lifted the remote control from a side table. Fingering the buttons she pondered her options. She could watch television. She could…surf the internet on Günter’s computer, except she didn’t know the password. She could go to sleep, but she wasn’t tired. Pacing, she came to a stop in front of the door to the hall. Damn. If only she could be useful—be something other than chattel or a piece of tail. Even if it meant she had to throw herself on another hit of Bengal, she’d rather do it than rot in this hotel room while Günter and Simon did all of the dirty work.
And it wouldn’t be so bad to try B again… something insidious whispered through her brain.
Disgusted, she threw down the remote. If she sat here doing nothing for even five more minutes, she’d listen to the lingering aftereffects of the drug. That idea was unacceptable. Completely and totally. She’d rather take a bullet in crossfire than go through that agony and embarrassment again.
While the guys were out, she’d go back to Iniquity and see if she couldn’t crack this case from another angle. After all, she hadn’t spent weeks training just to end up sidelined by a bad drug trip.
Rhinestone-studded jeans. A black blouse cut wicked and low. High-heeled boots. A black leather trench coat. Hair tied up with a diamond clip, she wasn’t exactly incognito, but chances were nobody would recognize her immediately—except Munson. Sliding dark glasses on her nose, she grabbed her purse and went to the door.
Last time she’d tried to get past her security she’d ended up…well, here. Things couldn’t go so wrong twice? Could they?
Squaring her shoulders, she cracked open the door and peered down the hall. A service stairway at the end beckoned and she moved quickly toward it. The exit dumped her out onto a back street. Not a reporter or gawker in sight. Was this how David felt every day of his life? Having to skulk about? She shuddered.
Snow drifted around her. Large, light flakes stuck to her lapels and tickled her nose. A taxi stand presented a temptation she successfully resisted several buildings down from the hotel. No sense in trying to avoid the press if a taxi driver ended up blowing the whistle on her.
She pulled her cell from her pocket and followed the breadcrumb trail on her GPS to Iniquity. Merely a quarter mile away, it lay nestled in a row of once-upon-a-time carriage houses—a mews that had been turned into posh flats and social establishments. Wind rushed down a broad street as she meandered past closed shops—their lighted displays a reminder that some people had normal lives. Uncomplicated lives.
Tilting her head back, she watched snow swirl down from the dark sky. Its dizzying dance made her sway a little, unbalancing her sense of equilibrium. Flakes melted on her nose and she looked down. Gray slush pooled around her boots, chilling her feet.
Setting one foot in front of the other she squelched along the pavement toward her destination. As she reached the door, she pulled off her glasses. The door jockey did a double take and stepped aside. Passing him, she murmured, “If I get out of here without the press arriving, there’s a hundred quid in it for you.”
Inside, the clickety click of the roulette wheel and clink of glasses heralded another night of business as usual at the gambling den. Sliding to the bar, she ordered two drinks—one pink martini for herself and a gin and tonic for Munson.
She spotted him in the lounge, enjoying a quiet game of chess with a buxom model hovering near his arm. Jenny remembered the woman from the luxury lingerie catalog she received in the mail each month—not that she usually purchased anything. The glossy pages provided her roommates hours of entertainment as they made jealous fun of silicone-plumped lips and unnaturally waspish waists.
Engrossed in his companion, Munson didn’t immediately notice when she slipped up next to him and set his drink down by his elbow.
“I see you’re otherwise engaged this evening,” she said.
He looked up, the gape of his mouth painting him surprised. Recovering himself, he stood. “Ms. Ainsley. What an unexpected pleasure.”
Giving him her most brilliant smile, she felt something cold and calculating slither through her. All woman, all sexy, it was something she didn’t recognize within her. Powerful. Not to be trifled with. She didn’t like it, but she’d use it. If she had to.
“I can’t stay.” She sipped her drink and slid a knowing glance at his companion. “Tonight.”
Munson cocked his head to one side and swept her with an appreciative glance. “A pity.”
“Faust is such a bore,” she said. “But he has his uses. I think I can get away longer if you have an interest in company tomorrow evening?”
A leer spread across Munson’s face, turning his bulbous nose positively enormous.
“Where shall we meet? Your place? Mine’s out of the question with him lurking about,” Jenny prompted.
He rattled off the name of his hotel—an establishment she guessed catered to wealthy long-term residents and their every whim.
“Seven o’clock?” she asked, leaning as close to him as she dared. A stale cigarette odor emanated from him along with the sour stench of old gin and she forced a coquettish glance. “I don’t think I can wait longer. The B you gave me? Absolutely amazing.”
“I’ll do right by you. Won’t pump you up and leave you panting,” he said and yanked her close.
&nbs
p; Jenny gasped as his lips came down on hers in a crushing kiss.
She yanked out of his grasp. “Gotta go before he finds out.”
Tomorrow night she’d bring drugs and dump them in his drink because no way was this ape of a man getting his mitts on her again.
* * * * *
“Why aren’t you complaining?” Günter stared down at Jenny. She blinked up at him innocently over the rim of a romance novel she’d had the concierge procure for her.
“Aren’t you going to be late?” she asked, pretending to go back to her book.
Günter considered her too-innocent expression. He didn’t trust her one bit. Especially after he’d found his lock picks missing this afternoon.
“Jenny…”
She gave a little shiver at his tone and closed her book.
He glanced away from the cover. A blond man and raven-haired woman, entwined and half naked, reminded him too much of making love to Jenny. He’d not come to her since the night in Oxford, but her brush with Bengal had unsettled him. When he’d had to touch her—bring her off—so she didn’t burst a blood vessel or worse, he’d felt as if he were raping her.
They hadn’t had penetrative sex, but the idea that he held an almost unconscious woman in his arms whose ability to consent had been chemically taken from her made him ill. He still felt vile and dirty—a complete scoundrel—even though he’d been unable to enjoy the experience. Dumping her into that tub of cold water had been self defense. Pure and simple.
“I’m tired.” She presented him with her best unblinking stare.
Bullshit. Earlier she’d showered and done her hair—pulled it into a fall of gentle curls that reminded him of her penchant for flirting with brass poles. What was she up to? He shook his head, but dropped the subject.
Tonight he and Simon had been invited to an underground rave club. While he knew the venue would scare her off after the Bengal, that she’d not shown so much as an inkling of interest in attending told him she was up to something.
Undercover Lover Page 20