by Nic Saint
“Tom!” she cried. “I’ve found it!”
Thomas, who'd been on his knees tapping the baseboard, joined her. She pointed to Lenin’s left eye, which had been replaced by a gem of about an inch in diameter.
Drawing up another chair, he studied it closely. “Ah. The Petersford ruby,” he murmured after a moment. “Yes. I heard Rostislav had acquired it, though I wasn’t personally involved. A colleague did,” he added when Glynis threw him an accusatory glance.
She sighed, feeling a little deflated. Three rooms down, and they still were no closer to the pearls.
“Nine more rooms to go,” said Thomas, reading her mind with ease. He took her hand and helped her down.
Suddenly, he placed his hand on her waist and led her to the center of the ballroom. “Would you care to dance, my lady?”
She glanced around nervously. “We had better not, Tom. There’s no place to hide.”
His lips descended upon her neck, and she closed her eyes, all thought of prudence wiped from her mind as she allowed him to lead her around the dance floor, dancing to an imaginary orchestra.
He pulled her close, and then they were dancing a heated version of the waltz, their bodies gliding along as if one, melded, and then their mouths connected, and a wild passion overtook them. She couldn’t get enough, offering herself to him once again, the strange mixture of excitement and danger, the risk of being caught adding fuel to the fire. And when finally he led her out of the room and into the next, she sighed as she clung to him, the evening turning out quite different from how she’d envisioned it.
“If Daddy could see me now,” she murmured, then opened her eyes when he didn’t respond, and found herself in yet another bedroom, this one more modern and grand than the one belonging to Rostislav’s mother.
“Where are we?”
“The room where Rostislav’s first son was conceived,” said Thomas, eying her curiously.
“The room closest to his heart, perhaps?” she ventured.
He displayed a faint smile. “Let’s find out, shall we?”
CHAPTER 25
They stood at the heart of the room, watching the space with a scrutinizing eye, and Glynis noticed Thomas was more careful this time, letting his eyes survey the space before deciding on a course of action.
He’d made certain that the doors were closed, though unfortunately there were no keys in the locks. He’d assured her that Rostislav never allowed any guests back here, so they were quite safe and wouldn’t be disturbed.
“Unless he decides to bring Jenn here,” she offered.
“Unless he does just that,” he agreed. Their eyes met, the joy of their shared experience crackling between them once more, eliciting smiles from both. Then they set to work, scanning every inch of the room and trying to find the gem this particular room was hiding.
Close to Rostislav’s heart, Glynis remembered. Where was the heart of this room? The bed, she decided, which is where the miracle of conception had taken place. The sheets were immaculate, the room itself in perfect shape, turquoise prevalent in drapes, carpeting, upholstery and the silk wallpaper. Cupboards, dresser, and closets were a sturdy oak, as was the small side table with a bucket of ice and bottle of Moët & Chandon—probably fake, she reckoned as she touched a hand to it.
She jerked it back at the icy chill of the bottle just when laughing voices became audible outside the door. Her eyes shot to Thomas. In seconds, he’d ushered them into the closet and had closed the door, shaking his head as he lightly cursed under his breath.
Rostislav and Jenn tumbled into the room. Glynis teased open the closet door, and was offered a good view of the lovers. To her surprise, they were both half naked, and judging from their gibbering had imbibed several glasses of bubbly.
“What a lovely room, Rosti!” cried Jenn. “What is it? Your bedroom?”
“This is the room my oldest son was conceived,” he boomed, his face ruddy and his gray hair tousled. He eyed the young woman lasciviously, and jerked her closer, one hand clasping her breast, the other her pert buttock, pressing her against him. “This is the room where we will conceive our first baby!”
“Oh, Rosti,” she squealed, “you do have a way with words, don’t you?”
It seemed Rosti’s record was stuck, Glynis thought. Hadn’t he conceived a baby in the other room as well? Or perhaps he would simply take Jenn on a tour of all twelve rooms. She marveled at the Russian’s incredible stamina.
Then Jenn was flung onto the bed, giggling and tittering as the hefty oligarch descended upon her and started licking his way up from her belly button to the valley between her breasts.
It was more than Glynis could bear, and she closed the door. Turning, her hand found the hard expanse of Tom’s chest. Then she suddenly found herself pressed up against the back of the closet. She moaned as he slid her dress up, revealing her own pert behind, and when he gave it a gentle spank, she gasped, the sounds of lovemaking from the other couple adding to her own desire.
Then she felt his hardness pressed up against the globes of her rear, and slipped her panties down, wanting him so much she found the delay near unbearable.
“Take me, Tom,” she sighed. “Take me now!”
And then he was sliding between her slick folds, and she felt her breath catch in her throat at the sensation of his long girth inching its way inside. Something exploded in her belly, and then she was pressed up against the panel of the closet, the tangy wood scent assaulting her nostrils as his hands cupped her breasts. Rhythmically rocking against her, she was pushed to ever higher plains of ecstasy, and she couldn’t suppress a soft mewling sound escaping her throat as she was lifted up into an ever increasing torrent of heat.
“God,” she moaned. “Don’t stop, please, Tom. Never stop.”
“Trust me, I won’t,” he murmured against her ear, as he took a firm grip on her hips, taking her with all the force of his being. Then, suddenly, the sound of Jenn reaching her climax carried her over into her own, and she couldn’t help crying out with the extreme pleasure of it all. And then Tom, too, was on the verge, and when she felt the heat spreading inside her, the sensation of his pounding flesh at the heart of her sex erupting, she knew he’d reached the pinnacle.
Gasping, her legs trembling, she reveled in the sensation of being held by him, his touch firm and good. “Glynis,” he whispered against her ear, “I—”
“What the devil is going on in here!” a voice brusquely interrupted him.
To her horror, Glynis watched the door of the closet being yanked open and the furious form of a very naked, very irate Russian oligarch appear before them, Jenn right behind him, a sheet wrapped tightly around herself.
Ever so slowly, Thomas turned around and faced the fuming oligarch.
The man’s eyes went wide at the sight of the naked couple in his closet, then wider still as he took in Tom’s face staring back at him.
“Why, Eduard! What the devil are you doing in there, son?”
“Hello, Dad,” said Thomas, a little sheepishly.
Glynis’ jaw dropped, and as she eyed Tom, he threw her an apologetic look, then gently tugged down her dress so she was decent again, and escorted her out.
CHAPTER 26
“Don’t tell me you were sightseeing, Eduard,” growled Rostislav. He’d always known his son to be something of an eccentric, but hiding in closets making love to his guests was about as much as he could tolerate from the impertinent young hound.
“No, Dad. Just showing this wonderful lady around the place.” He indicated his lady companion. “Glynis Fox, meet my father, Rostislav Mamykin. Dad, I’m sure you’ve met Glynis? She’s Hugh Fox’s daughter.”
His mood instantly mellowed. He liked the old devil. “I know your father very well, Miss Fox,” he said courteously. “A fine man and a great friend.”
He took her hand and pressed a kiss to it, wondering why she was eyeing him with wide-eyed horror. Then he remembered he was still dressed in a sheet.
“Pardon my state of undress, Miss Fox. You found me at an inopportune time, I’m afraid.”
Though from the looks of things, she wasn’t dressed more appropriately than him, and Eduard, the young rascal, had been naked from the waist down when he came upon him. He clucked his tongue at his eldest.
“Really, son, can’t you think of a better place to entertain this young lady? You have your own room, haven’t you? Why not take her up there if you’re in such a hurry?”
“You have your own room?” said Glynis, finally having found her voice.
“I have.”
“You live here?”
“No, he doesn’t,” corrected Rostislav, who liked to make matters clear from the start. “Eduard has a suite at The Rialto. Don’t ask me why he should prefer to spend the money while he has a perfectly fine place here, but there it is.”
Eduard merely shrugged, and Rostislav wondered what the hell was going on. Some sort of misunderstanding, he figured. Well, that was none of his business. What was his business was the fine lass he’d met, so he turned to her. “Jennifer. Meet my son and his lady friend. Eduard, Glynis, this is Jennifer Crocket.” His smile widened as he put a hand around Jenn’s waist. “My new bride.”
Jenn grinned at the couple and took a curtsy. From the expression on her face, she seemed to know them. Well, of course she did. All young people knew each other these days, didn’t they? What with Facebook and all.
“Haven’t you forgotten the small matter of your current wife, Dad?”
Rostislav gave him his best scowl. “She won’t be my wife much longer. I’ll see to that!”
“Too bad,” remarked Eduard, the infernal rapscallion. “I kinda liked the fifth Mrs. Mamykin.”
“Well, I didn’t,” he countered. “Now are you going to get out and give us some privacy? Or do you insist on hanging around to watch your old man…” He hesitated, not wanting to turn an already embarrassing situation into a farce. “Well, that’s neither here nor there,” he concluded quite lamely. Then he thrust out his three chins. “Jenn and I would like to be alone. So scram, will you?”
“First I would like to clear up a small matter, Dad,” Eduard insisted as he carefully closed the closet door. “Do you remember the Fox pearls I acquired for you a couple of years ago?”
“I do,” he confirmed, impatient to get back to his fiancée and the continuation of their business.
“Glynis would like them back,” said Eduard softly. “They mean a great deal to her family, her mother in particular.”
He eyed Glynis closely. So that was the thing, eh? She’d come here to get those pearls back. He wavered. They were his now, of course. “I did pay for them, you know,” he tried, then watched Glynis’ face cloud. He saw how his son’s arm possessively clung to the woman’s waist, and thought he’d never seen him quite this smitten before. With a keen eye, he saw the situation for what it was, understanding finally dawning. He nodded curtly, and said, “Very well. Reach behind you, will you, Eduard?”
He gestured to the painting of Saint Nicholas, which hung suspended from the wall next to the closet.
Eduard’s eyes widened as he exchanged a look of understanding with his pater. “You don’t mean to say—”
“I do.” His face softened. “I always told you they were kept close to my heart.”
Eduard smiled, and quite unexpectedly stepped forward, clasping his father in an embrace. “Thanks, Dad,” he murmured.
Rostislav cleared his throat, not at all comfortable with this display of affection. “Don’t mention it. Now just take the damn thing and get the hell out, will you?”
Before his eyes, Eduard reached up and lifted the painting from the wall, then placed it carefully on the small cabinet holding a washing basin, and removed the string of pearls from the wall, where they’d neatly fit behind the frame.
He knew he should probably have kept them in his safe, but he liked to have his riches spread out across his house, as a constant reminder of the road he’d traveled, and the wealth he’d amassed.
Then he watched with interest how Eduard handed the pearl necklace to Glynis, and how her face lit up, tears springing to her eyes at the sight of the gem, and he knew he’d made the right decision.
“Those are very nice, Rosti,” remarked Jenn next to him.
“You’ll have all the pearls you want, honey,” he assured her. “Once we’re married I’ll buy you anything you want.”
“I have everything I want,” she exclaimed. Then slung her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss on his lips. Her eyes sparkled. “Now all I want is you.”
“Oh, honey,” he murmured, his son and his girlfriend all but forgotten.
A knock on the door startled him. “What is it with this place? Come in!”
The head of his secretary became visible, and if the man was surprised when seeing his employer merely clad in a sheet, a half-naked woman by his side, he didn’t show it. “Sir? Your guests are starting to wonder where you are. Oh, hello, Eduard. Didn’t see you there, sir.”
“Rupert,” acknowledged Eduard with a nod.
“Tell them I’ll be right out, will you!” Rostislav grumbled. Then he gestured to Jenn. “Meet my new wife, Rupert. Jenn, this is my infernal secretary.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Crocket,” Rupert said, not missing a beat, then added, “You will be pleased to note that Mrs. Mamykin the fifth has been caught in the act with the tennis pro as anticipated, sir. Divorce proceedings have been started up.”
“About time,” he returned, then added, “Now if you could please get the hell out! That means you, too, Eduard. Everybody out!”
Before long, he was alone again, his new love in his arms and his lips pressed to her ears, whispering endearments, and when she giggled and allowed herself to fall back on the bed, the sheet conveniently dropping away and her curves revealed before his exalted gaze, all thought of Eduard and the Fox pearls was forgotten.
“What do you say we make some more babies, baby?” she breathed.
The heat of the moment had him revert to his native tongue, and when he huskily muttered, “Da!” she enveloped him in her arms, his head buried in her ample bosom, and then Rostislav Mamykin, prime oligarch of London, was doing what he did best: producing the next son and heir to his vast fortune.
CHAPTER 27
They’d joined the merry throng of people again, Glynis’ head reeling. She couldn’t believe what had just happened, and even as she clutched the pearls in her hand, she was walking without seeing, not even noticing when she bumped into a waiter, then a small white-haired woman who eyed her strangely.
“Honey, I think we better get you home,” suggested Tom’s voice somewhere in her vicinity. Even though she heard him, the words didn’t really penetrate the hazy fog that seemed to have descended upon her.
“Mh?” she murmured.
Then she felt his hand taking her arm and steering her to a cooler place that held fewer people. As they walked past staring eyes, she felt a chill creep into her body. They were outside now, the night air fresh and bracing.
He draped a coat across her shoulders, and she gazed up at him, a dreamy look in her eyes. “Thank you, darling.” She surveyed him with misty eyes. “Who are you again?”
“Eduard Mamykin. Rostislav’s firstborn.” He grimaced. “Though I never advertise the fact. Too much of a hassle being the son of the wealthiest oligarch in London.”
“Oh.” She reached out and touched his cheek. “Are you real, Eduard? Or just a figment of my imagination?”
He took her hand and kissed her palm in a tender gesture. “I’m very real, Glynis. And please call me Tom. I never liked being called Eduard. Do you think we should fetch your father? Or can he find his own way home? The last time I saw him, he was talking to some fat banker.”
The fate of her father not really her concern, she eyed him closely. “You deceived me,” she concluded suddenly. “You never told me who you were.”
“
You’re Scotland Yard, Glynis. I figured you would figure it out.”
“You figured I would figure…” She had a hard time processing this. “I never did, did I? I was so busy chasing The Shadow, that I never made the connection.”
“Dad knows some very good forgers. We constructed a new identity from scratch. He insisted that I not spoil his reputation. He’d always hoped I would follow in his footsteps, but the lure of a life of crime proved too strong.”
“A thief,” she murmured. “You are a wonderful thief, Tom. A wonderful thief indeed. Do you know that you managed to steal the most valuable thing?”
“Did I?” he returned softly, wrapping her hand in his in a loving gesture. “What is that, darling?”
“My heart,” she admitted as she leaned in, wanting to be in his arms all of a sudden. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
They were walking along a small path and entering the gardens of the Mamykin estate. “The rose garden is particularly impressive by night,” said Thomas, holding her close. “Would you care to see it?”
“You are a thief, Tom, and I’m a cop. We’re a match made in hell.”
“I’m thinking about retiring. Would that make a difference?”
They were surrounded by rose bushes, towering over their heads, the moonlight sprinkling its magical light down on them as they descended on a bench. A small fountain with a cherub holding aloft a shell gurgling water was their only companion.
“I’m sure I could be persuaded to grant you a reprieve,” she said, fingering the pearls in her pocket. “Now that you’ve properly atoned for your sins.”
“I could also be induced to return more stolen items to their rightful owners, if that would help,” he suggested, brushing his lips on her brow.
“I don’t think it would. Seeing as how they merely transferred from one member of the rich set to another…”