The Perfect Ten Boxed Set

by Dianna Love

  “But wasn’t that a martial arts move?”

  “A modified one.” I shook my head, mentally regrouping. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I dropped off a schedule change for tomorrow at your villa.”

  “That’s nice.” The surprise in my voice caused Suzette to open her eyes wider, but I was thinking about the protection spell I’d left on my door handle, glad I hadn’t made it strong enough to hurt anyone, just give them a start.

  The woman shrugged. “How do you know martial arts moves?”

  The last thing I wanted was the rumor spreading that I was more than a hairdresser.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” My laugh was forced, but the other woman didn’t know that. “I’m an American female. My father wouldn’t even consider letting me move to the city without passing a defensive course for women. Besides, I had brothers I had to learn to hold my own against.”

  Suzette didn’t look totally convinced, but all I wanted was the seed of doubt in her mind.

  This time she was the one who changed the subject as she lowered her gaze and kicked a pebble with one ballet pump shod foot. “I meant to thank you,” she mumbled, “for the other night. I was so scared.”

  “So was I,” I admitted, waiting for my heart rate to settle.

  “But you didn’t hide.” Suzette glanced up at me, pushing her glasses up her nose. “I’d like to be able to do that. Fight back I mean.”

  “Well, I didn’t really fight back.” No need to tell her I got pounded. Which reminded me, I’d meant to ask her where she’d disappeared to. “Ah, Suzette, about the other night—”

  “Is everything all right here?” Bran interrupted from behind me and every muscle on me clenched. So much for relaxing.

  “Everything’s fine.” I let an edge slide into my voice, as it was obvious the man didn’t take subtle hints well.

  “Suzette.” He nodded at the young woman, now standing with her jaw open. “It is late for you to be wandering alone.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m heading to my bungalow, sir.” Suzette sounded nervous. Not that Bran didn’t make a lot of folks sound that way.

  “Do you need an escort?”

  Yes, say yes, Suzette.

  “No. It’s not far.”

  Rats. Besides she wasn’t telling the truth. Her bungalow was on the other side of the party area.

  “Then good night.”

  What was good about it?

  I couldn’t think about why Suzette would tell Bran an outright lie as I scrambled to figure out why he’d been following me. I held my ground until the other woman disappeared into the inky darkness before I turned to face him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Making sure you arrived back at your room safely.”

  “It’s right there.” I shrugged toward the isolated room, now shrouded in darkness. “So you can go back to your guests now.”

  “They can wait.”

  He stepped closer and all the air on the island disappeared.

  I wasn’t going to back down. Wasn’t going to step away. Or show that I was anything except calm, cool, and controlled.

  Yeah, right.

  He said nothing: just pushed into my space, dwarfing me with his size, his scent wrapping around me like an embrace.

  The only good news was he didn’t look like he was any happier than I was about the tension crackling between us. His eyes were narrowed, the skin along his jaw tight, even the pulse at the vee of his neck pounded.

  How could I even consider being involved with a warlock? Yet it was hard to remember that as I stared into those eyes.

  But it was his gaze on my lips that vaporized all the moistness in my mouth, while liquefying the muscles of my legs.

  “Don’t,” I whispered, not sure if it was meant for him or myself. Adrenaline still surged through my system, making me heady. An excuse?

  It didn’t really matter. It was too late for words.

  I was an agent, but I was a woman, too, and it was as a woman that I rose on my toes, ever so slightly, pressing against him. A meeting of equals here, a man wanting to taste one woman, and me wanting it just as badly.

  My lips whispered across his first. Gossamer strokes, almost not there, afraid to want too much, too quick. Skin to skin touch could overwhelm me, but I ignored the warning signs.

  He raised one hand to cup my chin, lingering ever so softly, so gently. Not threatening. Not something I could slap away, if I could move.

  His thumb brushed against my jaw, then my lower lip, as if memorizing the curve. My eyelids fluttered. I swallowed, but held my ground, locking my knees so my legs wouldn’t buckle. His touch let me know he was just as conflicted, just as aroused and fighting it just as hard.

  He leaned forward. My hands ached to wrap around his back, to stroke through the thickness of his hair.

  His hand shifted, from face to neck, angling my head with the strength of his fingers. I wanted this as much as he did.

  He growled, deep in his throat, a tormented sound reaching me on a gut level.

  My hands slipped upward then—waist to back to neck, using fabric as a small buffer between us. The hunger pounded. Demanded. His lips now swallowed mine. Taste no longer enough. Possession. Passion. Completion. The emotions—his and mine—roared through me.

  His tongue met mine, thrust to thrust, mimicking what our bodies ached to complete. His fingers tangled in my hair, my breasts flattened across the planes of his chest, thighs rubbing against thighs.

  Somewhere nearby a bungalow door slammed shut, an explosion of sound through the near-silent night.

  The intrusion of awareness slapped against me, bullet like. I froze. His hands continued roaming across the open exposure of my back, his kisses just as deep, just as drugging but the spell was shattered.

  He sensed my change and raised his deeply-lidded, burning gaze to sear mine, inches away. How easy to fall beneath their spell; to forget, even for moments, who we were and why I in particular was here.

  “No,” he murmured, reading my indecision, his hands tightening against mine. “No, do not pull away.”

  I shifted palms to the front of his chest but didn’t push. Not yet. Not while my body still craved, my fogged brain fought to sort reason from madness. Dominique’s words earlier. He likes toys. Lots of toys. Bran’s look in the bungalow all hot and hungry. My duty to the IR team to find a thief and now a killer. And more than that, to find Van. All roiled and rioted with jangled nerves and throbbing heartbeat.

  “A mistake,” I whispered, placing inches between us, struggling still to find logic where there was none.

  “Don’t.” His growl took me by surprise until I realized he was in no better shape than I was.

  Then reason seemed to catch up with him. His hands dropped to his sides and he stepped back, breaking skin contact. Thank the Spirits. Cool night air rushed between us, sending a chill tap dancing up my spine.

  But the coolness wasn’t enough. The thrum of the ocean against the nearby shore didn’t help. Its urgent crash mimicking my pounding pulse, clashing needs.

  “It’s late.” My words mocked the tension between us, sounding false and hollow.

  Stay away. If he’s in the wrong, you’ll have to take him down. He may be the enemy. And if Dominique is the enemy, I will be the one to take down someone Bran loves.

  The hot light in his eyes cooled. His posture grew rigid, defensive—angry at me or angry at himself, I couldn’t tell. Not that it mattered. We’d both crossed the line from professional to mindless; but both had too much to lose to take this further.

  “I will watch until you enter your bungalow safely.” He spoke with the cold tone of master to staff; only the square set of his shoulders, the clenched force of his hands betrayed him.

  I found the power to move, to step away. One jerky movement after the other, propelling me in one direction when my body hungered to remain right where I was.

  The mission had to come first. I was here for no other rea
son. Van’s life depended on it. My first solo ops and I wasn’t going to let hormones cause me to fail.

  I didn’t bother saying good night. My mouth was so dry I wasn’t sure the words would come anyway. Without pausing I keyed my locked door and stepped into the dark room. I waited in the shadows, letting its cool mantle slow my pulse until the crunch of Bran’s shoes faded away against the crushed stone walkway.

  Only then did I flick on the light and discover someone had tossed my room.

  CHAPTER 39

  From the poolside bar, Dominique watched Bran return to the party and silently cursed him. He could blow everything. She was too close to success to let him destroy it all now. A few more days were all she needed.

  Making small talk she crossed to where he stood, tense and brooding, scaring off most of the guests by his scowl alone.

  “These women are here to see and talk with you,” she murmured, when she drew near, standing close enough so only he would hear. “It does your business no good when you let your personal issues intrude on your professional responsibilities.”

  “Professional responsibilities be dammed,” he spat the words.

  Not a good sign.

  “Bran.” She rested a hand on his arm, leaning closer. “You’ve been under a lot of strain lately.”

  He glared at her, but no longer looked as if he wanted to take her head off.

  She kept her tone soothing. “Maybe after the tour is finished you should take some time off. Plan on relaxing.”

  “And the business?” His tone sounded bitter.

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine for a month or two. In fact, your being absent for a bit would add to your allure. Between the publicity we’ve received this last week—”

  “Is that all a woman’s life means to you? Publicity?”

  Several nearby guests raised their heads at his tone.

  “Of course it doesn’t.” She forced a smile and waited until the women moved away. “But neither am I going to act like I’m mourning the death of a total stranger.”

  “She was our employee.”

  “As are the two other employees still on the staff who may be involved in her death.”

  He speared her with a piercing look, his features dark and harsh in the flickering torchlight. “Who are you accusing, Dom?”

  She hadn’t meant to go this far, but he was the one ruining everything. Everything she’d worked so hard to create and she wasn’t about to let that happen. She glanced around once, sipped on her mineral water and lowered her voice even more. “Surely you don’t think it’s a coincidence that it was the new girl who found the model’s body?”

  “I was there too, Dom. Does that mean I’m involved in the death?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. She no doubt pulled you in to use you as an alibi.”

  “And what about the weapon in Franco’s room? Did the two of them kill her?”

  She shrugged. “One killed the girl. One hid the evidence before the gendarmes arrived on board. They both alibi each other. You must admit it’s very suspicious.”

  “And the motivation?”

  “Why does there have to be motivation?” She shook her head. “The hairdresser could have been jealous. Sasha was very beautiful. The American was not happy that there might be a new interest on your part. The two women had a fight. Who knows? A senseless act and yet you keep those two around, frightening the other staff, frightening me.”

  When he made no response, she tried a different tactic.

  “You know she’s a pig farmer’s daughter?”

  “Who?”

  “Your hairdresser, of course.” She’d played this role a thousand times—concerned benefactress showering favors. She’d get through to him. “And a convicted murderer.”

  That made him go still. Just as she expected.

  “I did a little research on her, to protect us all,” she continued, when he made to interrupt. “Quite the sad tale. Her mother abandoned her father. Then less than a year ago she killed a total stranger.”

  “Then why is she here now and not in prison?”

  “I don’t have all the details, Bran.” Just enough. “You know how those Americans are, so many criminals, such bleeding hearts.”

  He cut his glance to the distance, as if mulling over her words.

  Time to bring the point home. “And you know what they say?”

  “What?” he bit out the single word.

  “Once a killer, always a killer.” She shook her head, schooling her features to be concerned. “Come on, Bran. You know she’s not our kind of people.”

  He lowered his brows. Maybe time to back off, just a bit. She glanced at her nails as she slid home her knife. “Besides, all of us are at risk as long as she remains. My life could be next.”

  At one time that would have been all she had to say to have him doing her will. Bran was a brilliant, complicated man in many ways. In others, he reacted predictably. She was his true family, his only family. A threat to her was even greater than a threat to him. She’d learned this when they were still children. At one time she thought he may have wanted more, seen her as a man sees a woman, but not Bran. There was too much honor and pride in him to risk his heart and his soul in the same place. This pride, this need for family, would be his downfall.

  Yet tonight his smile was cynical, his stance tense. Maybe she’d underestimated the hairdresser. The little minx had avoided one trap already, now it seemed she was enchanting him.

  That would never do.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked him, when his silence lengthened between them—lengthened and grew taut.

  “I’m thinking it might be a good idea to end the tour now. Cancel Florida and the rest.”

  “You’re not serious?” Her voice rose, even as her smile remained frozen in place.

  “I’m perfectly serious. With the tour over, no one else is at risk. I don’t want any more lives on the line until Sasha’s killer is found.” His dark eyes held steady on her face; which meant he did not see the control it took for her to hold onto her glass.

  “Don’t be a fool—”

  “Only a fool would continue to do the same thing and expect different results.” He glanced away, at the milling crowds, the brittle laughter, the champagne-induced gaiety.

  He was going to ruin everything if she didn’t stop him. Just a few more days. Miami and then D.C. The tour had to make it to D.C. and Bran with it.

  “Do you know how many millions we’d lose?” She wanted to scream but instead entreated. “We’ve placed deposits on hotels and venues. Paid for advertising, contracted with musicians and photographers. Just think about the lost sales, the women who’ve arranged to attend events. It’d be a nightmare to cancel.”

  “Yet you yourself say publicity is good. Read the headlines now—unexpected cancellation to the Bran tour. The press would eat it up.”

  He couldn’t; he didn’t really think she’d let him cancel. “Bran, come to your senses.”

  “For the first time in months, maybe I am. The clothes will sell without this.” He waved his hand to indicate the total strangers feted at his expense. “We can reinvent the business. Stop the insanity of a new location every few days and concentrate on what we started—creating a solid reputation for the Bran brand and not me.” He looked at her then, the weariness and exhaustion of the last moments replaced with a new light. “I mean it, Dom. It’s time to make some changes. Have a life, for both of us. What do you say?”

  She swallowed. It was too late to turn back now. Way too late.

  “You will not do anything hasty?” She laid a palm along his sleeve. “Not without talking to me?” She had to stop him.

  “I’ve always talked with you, Dom.” His voice sounded flat. “Though I wonder if you always hear me.”

  “Of course, I do. You’re tired, darling.” Maybe that was all it was. He needed to get laid. She would send someone from the spa to give him a massage with benefits. Any woman would jump at the oppo
rtunity. Or maybe he’d prefer that heiress to the Italian automaker he’d been with last year? Or that French singer? There had to be someone, or even more than one she could strategically position in front of Bran immediately. Keep him occupied for the next few days. The hairdresser wouldn’t do at all. She was a disaster and would be dealt with and soon. All Dominique needed was Bran to keep the tour going until Washington D.C., one stop after Florida. That was all.

  “Why don’t you head to bed,” she said, already reaching into her Bottega Veneta purse. “We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

  He brushed his lips against her cheek before disappearing. No good night, nothing. There certainly was something bothering him, something other than that woman.

  “Is everything all right?” The frighteningly gay man who organized the models materialized at her side. Franco. Why Bran could not have cut his losses and gotten rid of him in Monte Carlo when he had a perfectly good excuse to do so amazed her.

  “Of course everything is fine.” She sipped her water, then punched in the number for the spa on her cell phone. “Why shouldn’t it be?”

  “Bran seemed distracted tonight,” he paused, then added cattily, “Especially after the hairdresser left.”

  Had he stressed the word hairdresser? The man really was insufferable. “You are imagining things.”

  “Am I?”

  “Bran has had his flings before. This new piece of ass is nothing.”

  Dominique would make sure she was nothing.

  CHAPTER 40

  Who had broken into my room and why? How had they gotten past the wards? Someone with magic then, or immune to magic. Did someone suspect something, or was there something else going on? The search hadn’t been done by a professional. Too careless, as I glanced at the placement of my hairdresser’s valise, the angle of an open drawer, the placement of my phone on a bureau. All had been shifted.

  Maybe they wanted me to know they’d been there; that they could whip through wards like butter.

  I stepped over the schedule change that Suzette had slipped under my door. At least the assistant hadn’t lied about why she was on this area of the island.