by Amelia Autin
But if he couldn’t take her to his condo, where could they go? She didn’t have her own apartment—she lived with his sister and brother-in-law, for Pete’s sake!—and what excuse could he come up with for a hotel room? “My apartment’s a mess,” was too lame.
His iPhone buzzed for another incoming text.
I love dressy. See you then.
He picked up the phone and dialed his executive assistant. “Hold off on sending them in. Can you come here for a moment? And bring your notepad.”
The door opened, and the diminutive, gray-haired employee he’d inherited from his grandfather walked sedately in and quietly closed the door behind him, not bothering to take a seat. “Yes, sir?”
“I need you to find me a small, furnished apartment. Price is no object, so long as it’s meticulously clean and available by five tonight. That means keys in my hand no later than five.”
His exec never batted an eye. “Yes, sir. How many bedrooms? And how long will you be needing it?”
That stymied him for only a second. “Number of bedrooms is immaterial, so long as it’s not an efficiency. And I’ll take a month’s rental, with an option for an additional month.”
The man made a few notations on his pad. “Any particular location?”
“Something on the north side of the island, if possible, but immediate availability trumps location.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You may send my two o’clock appointment in now.”
His exec unbent enough to smile faintly. “Of course, sir. I’ll get on this right away.”
* * *
Alana hummed Billy Joel’s “Until the Night” to herself as she dressed for her date with Jason. She’d shaved her legs yesterday morning, but she did it again when she took a bubble bath because she wanted to be silky smooth for the “and” Jason had promised her. She creamed her elbows and feet, applied just a hint of her favorite lilies-of-the-valley-scented perfume at her pulse points, and dug out the risqué bra and thong she’d bought when she’d first arrived in Hong Kong but had never worn yet. She’d hidden them at the back of her underwear drawer, hoping someday she’d have a reason to wear them. Now she did.
She’d known what she wanted to wear for Jason the minute his “Dressy?” text had arrived. Red. It had to be red, the Chinese color of celebration. And she only had one sufficiently dressy dress in that color, a red silk cheongsam embroidered with dragons and phoenixes in gold thread. The dress was new, too, bought here in Hong Kong. It hadn’t looked like much on the hanger in the boutique Mei-li had taken her to that first week, but when she’d tried it on she couldn’t resist it, and now she was glad. For all its seeming modesty, with its cap sleeves and high neckline, it was form-fitting and quietly seductive.
But there was another reason she wanted to wear the dress. Dragons and phoenixes. She hadn’t known it at the time, of course, but they were the symbols of RMM. How beautifully apt for the man who’d made RMM his life’s work!
Jason was the hero she’d been waiting for all her life. With every fairy tale she’d read. With every entry in her diary. This was her knight in shining armor. And like her secret teenage crush, the Chevalier de Bayard, whose real-life story had fired her imagination at the tender age of twelve, Jason was sans peur et sans reproche.
She brushed her nearly waist-length hair until it gleamed. She considered leaving it down, but remembered the erotic thrill of Jason unbinding her hair yesterday, so she braided and coiled it the same way.
Silk stockings held up by the laciest of garters and red heels completed her ensemble. She didn’t care for lipstick—it never stayed intact anyway and she hated having to constantly check it—so she brushed on lip gloss instead. She added the antique ruby earrings set in gold her uncle Julian had given her when she graduated summa cum laude from Tulane, earrings he’d inherited from his mother, the grandmother she barely remembered. Then she was ready. Ten minutes early, in fact, something she confirmed with a quick glance at the clock on her nightstand.
She closed her eyes and pressed both hands to her chest, trying to calm her suddenly racing heart. She wasn’t the slightest bit nervous about her first time; she already knew Jason was an exquisitely tender lover, so she had no qualms there. An apropos line from Chaucer suddenly came to her. Jason was her parfit, gentil knight, as well as sans peur et sans reproche. She’d waited for him all her life, and now she was fiercely glad she had. But she so badly wanted tonight to be perfect—not for her, for him. Oh, God, she prayed. Let me never hurt him in any way.
Then the doorbell rang.
Chapter 12
Jason unlocked the door of his rented apartment near Causeway Bay after dinner, and flicked on the light with a tinge of trepidation. There hadn’t been time to swing by and check on the apartment before picking up Alana, but once inside he realized he needn’t have worried. His executive assistant had outdone himself, and he made a mental note to augment the man’s Christmas bonus.
The apartment was immaculate and smelled faintly of lemon oil. The furniture had clean lines and was almost Spartan in appearance. And there were no personal touches. No feminine touches to upset Alana with the thought there were other women in his life.
On a hunch he moved into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Sure enough, there was his brand of bottled water stacked neatly on the top shelf. And on the shelf below reclined two bottles of Bollinger 1996 Vieilles Vignes Françaises, an exquisite Blanc de Noir champagne, with two crystal wineglasses nestled beside them.
He didn’t drink alcohol often, but his executive assistant knew his tastes. He’d also apparently figured out why Jason wanted the apartment, and had efficiently and discreetly supplied what he might need.
Jason’s first reaction was that he shouldn’t wait for Christmas, that he should thank his exec with a bonus now. But then, out of the blue, distaste whipped through him for what this said...about him.
He’d wined and dined women in the past. Not hundreds, but enough. And he’d had his assistant make reservations at Hong Kong’s premier dining establishments, as well as arrange for flowers, Godiva chocolates and other gifts to be delivered to those women, both when he was wooing them and when he was bidding them a fond farewell.
He’d never consciously thought about it before—that was just the way things were done in his world. Which meant his exec had also made all the reservations for the little out-of-the-way restaurants he’d taken Alana to since they’d started dating. Not to mention the flowers he’d requested his exec send her after their first date. And their second. And their third.
So the bottles of Bollinger were a silent indictment of him...and his intentions in setting up this rented apartment in the first place.
But he wasn’t here to enact a grand seduction scene. And the last thing he wanted anyone to think—least of all Alana—was that he thought she would be influenced by his wealth. That he thought she’d be impressed with the expensive wine, the costly trinkets, the trappings of luxury other women had accepted from him without demur.
Except...that was exactly what he’d thought. He’d deceived her from the beginning, and he’d gone on doing it. Even renting this apartment so he wouldn’t have to take her to his condo and she wouldn’t figure out who he really was, because he’d been afraid she might be like all the other women who hadn’t been able to separate the man from the money.
Be honest, he told himself ruthlessly. It’s not just that. Not anymore. It was at the beginning, but not now. The truth is, you want a woman who will sacrifice everything for you, the way your mother did for your father. And if she knows who you are, how would you ever know?
He closed the refrigerator door with a decided thud, then turned to face Alana. So beautiful in her red cheongsam, which she’d already confessed at dinner she’d worn for him because “Red is the Chinese color of celebration
, and I’m celebrating.” Followed by a soft, almost shy, “Dragons and phoenixes, too. Did you notice?” So sweet. So loving. So innocently trusting. And he was treating her the way a man might treat his mistress...not the woman he loved.
His voice was harsh in the stillness. “This is a bad idea.”
“What?”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the front door. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
“Jason, why? What did I do?” The bewilderment in her voice, her immediate assumption that it was her when it was him, all him, shamed him to the core. He turned to face her and—because he couldn’t help it—caressed her cheek, thrilling to the sensation of soft skin beneath his fingertips...and despising himself for it at the same time. “I’m a right bastard for bringing you here, and I’m putting an end to it. Now.”
* * *
All Alana could hear in that instant was Dirk saying, There’s a gaping hole in Jason’s psyche, and I don’t know if the woman exists who could fill that void. Who could love him enough to heal him.
And just like that she knew Jason’s abrupt decision was somehow, someway, related. Her lips tightened with determination. “I’m not leaving, lang jai. You promised me ‘and.’ I’m staying until you keep your promise.”
His eyes closed and pain slashed across his handsome face, a face already so impossibly dear to her. She didn’t know where the pain had come from, but she remembered her prayer earlier. Let me never hurt him in any way. When his eyes opened they were filled with torment, those inner demons she’d already sensed existed. And she knew it was up to her to dispel them.
Her heels gave her added height, allowing her to pull his head down to where she could reach his face. She pressed her lips to the corners of his mouth...first one side, then the other. “I’m not going anywhere without you,” she breathed. “Please don’t ask me again.” Then she kissed him.
He groaned and his arms wrapped around her. All at once she remembered yesterday, and the way he’d kissed her as if she were his salvation. That’s it, she exulted, deepening the kiss and pressing her body all along the length of his, that’s exactly what I am. She didn’t know why, but it didn’t matter. Someday he’d tell her. Someday...
When he finally raised his head she whispered with a husky catch in her voice, “Tell me there’s a bedroom in this apartment.”
He didn’t answer at first, then reluctantly admitted, “There’s a bedroom in this apartment.”
“Tell me you’re going to show me the bedroom.”
“Alana...” Such yearning in his voice. Such need.
“Tell me you brought condoms this time.”
He laughed softly, in the manner of a man who didn’t want to but couldn’t help it. He pressed his forehead against hers and whispered back, “I brought condoms this time.”
She smiled an invitation at him. “Then what are you waiting for?”
* * *
Unlike yesterday, where she couldn’t remember how their clothes had disappeared, she knew she’d always remember tonight, and the reverent way Jason unbound her hair until it spilled over her shoulders, then kissed her after each article of clothing was removed.
The cheongsam went first. “Beautiful...but in my way.” Leaving her wearing a bra, half-slip, those bits underneath and red high heels that suddenly felt wobbly for some reason. He brushed a kiss against her stomach, then slipped his fingers beneath the elastic waistband, and the half-slip slithered down to pool on the floor. Jason’s eyes widened at the barely there thong revealed, but he didn’t say anything. Alana deliberately leaned against his chest as she stepped out of the silky circle and smiled to herself at his sharply indrawn breath.
He sat her down on the edge of the bed and knelt before her. “Someday I’ll make love to you while you’re wearing those heels...and nothing else,” he said, his voice rough with pent-up desire. “But not tonight.” And the shoes were whisked off and away.
One by one he slid the lacy garters off and rolled down her silk stockings with a care she wouldn’t have expected from a man. His warm hands on her thighs, her calves, her ankles, made her shiver with erotic anticipation. Then he kissed the inside of each knee, and her whole body quivered.
It was a little unnerving being nearly naked while Jason was fully clothed, and she experienced a moment of panic. But somehow he must have read her mind. “Don’t go shy on me now, lang loi.” His deep voice did things to her insides. “Do you know how much it turns me on you dressed for me tonight? Especially these?” Long fingers stroked over her red satin bra cups, which barely covered her nipples. Then those same fingers trailed down, down, until they passed over the matching red thong and lingered for agonizing seconds at the crux of her thighs, so she’d know—as if she didn’t!—exactly what he meant.
She barely suppressed a whimper, and she melted. Just melted. He had to know what he was doing to her, but she said it anyway. “Jason, please. I don’t know how much more I can take.”
“Patience, lang loi, patience.” His smile was wicked. “Haven’t you heard? Everything comes to those who wait.” He drew her hand to the front of his dress slacks, where she could feel him hot, hard and obviously ready for her. He let her stroke him, measure him through his clothes for long moments, then he stopped her and brought her hand up to his mouth for a lingering kiss. When his lips touched her palm she felt it everywhere.
He put his hands on her shoulders and gently pressed her down on the bed. Then he parted her thighs. His big hands stroked slowly up and down, up and down, coming ever closer each time to where she was desperate to feel him. “I told you yesterday you’re exquisite when you come,” he said in his deepest voice. “And that I want to watch you come again. Which is exactly what I’m going to do now...if you’ll let me.”
Permission? He was asking for permission to drive her insane with those things he’d done to her yesterday? He couldn’t possibly expect her to say anything but “Yes, please.” Which she did. In her company-manners, oh-so-polite voice.
He laughed as if she’d amused him, then stood and stripped out of his clothes in nothing flat. Naked and aroused, he was magnificent. Those lean muscles in his arms, chest and thighs she’d first felt as he’d held her during his dramatic rescue of her were as tempting tonight as they’d been yesterday on the yacht, and her hands itched to glide over the smooth, tantalizing skin that covered them.
Before he came back to the bed, he felt in the pocket of his trousers and pulled something out, which he dropped on the nightstand. Alana craned her head to see what—oh. There seemed to be an awful lot of them, though.
He saw the direction of her stare and reminded her, “All night long. I told you last night I wanted to make love to you all night long. Can’t risk running short.”
That forced a laugh out of her, despite the yearning ache that still had her body humming. “Yes, please.”
His smile faded, replaced by a curiously intent expression in his dark eyes. “Oh, I’m going to please you, lang loi. Trust me. I’m going to please you until you weep from pleasure. Then I’m going to start all over again. And again. Until you beg me to stop.”
She drew a shaky breath, unbearably excited by the prospect. “Yes, please.”
* * *
Jason had never made a promise he hadn’t kept. Never. But never had keeping a promise meant more to him than keeping the one he’d made to Alana. And when she said, “Yes, please,” he knew that even if the walls came tumbling down around them, he would still fulfill his promise. Somehow.
He was already painfully aroused from just looking. Touching. That was secondary, though. It would take every ounce of willpower he had, but he had faith in himself. He would indulge Alana’s senses with so much pleasure that when he finally took her innocence there would be no pain. None. Just more pleasure.
He lay beside her on the b
ed, making concentric circles on her abdomen with one hand until she shifted restlessly. Then he slid his hand down beneath the thong he’d refused to let her remove. Yet.
She was already wet, and he smiled with deep satisfaction. Alana was so incredibly responsive it seemed impossible she was still a virgin, but when his middle finger parted her and slipped inside, he found the way blocked before he’d gone very far, and he knew she’d been telling him the truth. Not that he hadn’t believed her. But still...
She made a tiny sound that wasn’t a moan but wasn’t pain, either, so he delved a little deeper, testing the strength of the barrier. Assured it wouldn’t take much, he withdrew and located the source of her pleasure, stroking it patiently until he was finally rewarded. She stiffened and gasped his name, but he never stopped until she arched up against his hand and cried out.
That’s one, he thought, smiling to himself, though it didn’t count against his promise to make her weep with pleasure. But it was a start.
* * *
The High Tiger disliked clandestine night meetings. But with this man they were always at night. He also disliked going to locations not of his choosing. But with this man that was the norm, because he was highly suspicious that his actions might be observed, and therefore ultracautious. Such was his value to the High Tiger that he willingly put up with most of the man’s idiosyncrasies.
The High Tiger had taken a bus and two subways, and had been forced to walk five blocks to reach this destination. And that was the one thing he resented. He had a luxury limousine and a chauffeur to drive him everywhere he needed to go, so he wouldn’t have to be subjected to the crowds and other inconveniences most Hong Kong residents took for granted. But the man insisted no one other than the High Tiger could know of their meetings, which meant the chauffeur as well as the bodyguards had to be left at home. And since the High Tiger had never learned to drive, that also meant utilizing public transportation for these meetings.