‘Does he?’ Sierra said, thinking how easy it was to fool people.
‘Yes, he does, and Aleksandr is usually right.’
‘Good to know.’
‘So?’ Bianca said cheekily. ‘How would you feel about becoming the First Lady?’
First Lady indeed. Sierra swallowed hard. Thank God for the two Xanax she’d managed to take before leaving their cabin. The drugs had dulled her senses, leaving her in a dreamy state. Still, at the thought of sitting next to Flynn she felt her heart accelerate and a sweep of total panic overcame her.
Stay calm, a voice screamed in her head. Do not lose control. You can do it.
Can I?
Can I?
Yes, you can.
* * *
Jeromy shot Lori a patronizing look. Why did he have to get seated next to the only nonentity on the boat? Would he be forced to talk to her? A word or two simply to be polite, after that she was on her own.
‘How are you, dear?’ he sniffed.
‘I’m fine,’ Lori replied, thinking that it was just her luck to get stuck with Luca’s uptight English boyfriend. ‘And you?’
‘Perfect.’
‘Lucky you,’ she drawled, aware that he was as unthrilled to be sitting next to her as she was to him.
‘Excuse me?’ Jeromy said, not appreciating her tone.
‘Well . . . “perfect” kind of says it all.’
Jeromy’s back stiffened. Was this girl trying to wind him up? Big mistake if she was.
* * *
‘I was hoping I’d get next to you,’ Ashley said, leaning into Cliff as she took her seat beside him.
‘You were?’ Cliff said, taking in her curvy blondness. ‘In that case, I’ll try my best not to disappoint.’
‘Oh, you don’t have to try,’ Ashley said, fluttering her fake lashes. ‘Just looking at you is enough for me.’
Shit! Cliff sighed. A boatload of interesting people, and I get the starry-eyed fan.
‘I’ve seen all your movies,’ Ashley continued, twirling a strand of her long blond hair through her fingers. ‘My mum used to take me when I was little. She had a huge crush on you.’
‘Did she now?’
‘And even though I was only ten, I did too,’ Ashley admitted coyly.
‘That’s flattering,’ Cliff said smoothly.
‘I still do,’ Ashley said, adding a quick, ‘only don’t tell my husband, he’s dead jealous.’
Fuck! Cliff thought. Where’s Lori when I need her?
* * *
Glancing down the table, Aleksandr was pleased to see his guests having an engaging time. The first course, a lobster and crab salad, was being served, and the finest of wines were flowing. He stared at Bianca seated at the other end of the table. She looked so staggeringly beautiful, her dark skin gleaming in the flickering candlelight, her green eyes flashing as she spoke with Flynn.
Aleksandr was satisfied that he had captured a prize worth having. Bianca might be famous, but she was all his, and being with her was worth all the drama his wife was busy creating. Soon he would be free of Rushana, and then Bianca would be totally his.
Watching her, he suddenly experienced a strong surge of sexual desire. Xuan was seated on his left, Hammond Patterson on his right; they were having a spirited conversation across him.
Aleksandr moved his chair aside and stood up. ‘Excuse me for a few moments,’ he said. ‘I’ll be right back.’ He headed straight for Bianca. ‘I need to show you something,’ he said, leaning down and whispering in her ear.
‘What?’ she responded.
‘I need to show you now.’
‘Now?’ Bianca said, somewhat bemused.
‘Now,’ Aleksandr stated firmly.
Bianca rose from the table. ‘Two minutes,’ she said to her guests.
Aleksandr took her hand and led her along the side of the yacht to where it was dark and deserted – the only sound was the sea lapping against the stern.
‘Tell me,’ Bianca said. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘Not unless you consider this something,’ Aleksandr said, jamming her hand against the bulge in his pants.
Bianca gave a low throaty chuckle. ‘Oh my!’ she sighed, getting excited at the thought of what was to come. ‘You’re kidding? In the middle of dinner?’
‘Are you wearing panties?’
‘As if I could in this dress . . .’
Aleksandr hurriedly unzipped, grunted and grabbed the front of her thighs, pushing her dress up high.
She leaned back against the boat railings and lifted her long slender legs, enclosing them tightly around his waist.
Without hesitation he plunged deeply inside her, and after several vigorous thrusts he was done.
‘Wow!’ Bianca exclaimed as they disengaged. ‘What’s up with you?’
‘You didn’t like it?’
‘Oh, you know I liked it.’
‘I will not neglect you,’ Aleksandr promised, his voice a deep dark whisper. ‘Later I will suck your pussy like it’s never been sucked before. Only right now, my dear, we have guests to attend to.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Bianca said obediently, deciding that Aleksandr was the sexiest man she’d ever encountered, and there had been many.
* * *
Sierra took a long deep breath. Even though they were sitting next to each other, she had not turned in Flynn’s direction, and he had not acknowledged her. However, with Bianca away from the table she felt forced to say something. After all, what had happened between them was old news, many years had passed, and Flynn had obviously never cared. It had all been a game to him. Just another conquest.
The thought occurred – maybe he didn’t even remember her?
She decided on a light approach. Let him see that the way he’d treated her had not affected her one little bit.
‘Flynn?’ she said. Keep it light. Keep it casual. ‘It is you, isn’t it?’
Chapter Forty-Four
The staff cabins on The Bianca were quite compact, with two bunk beds in each and a communal bathroom for every three cabins to share. There was no privacy as such, which pissed Mercedes off because she had things to do. She was sharing with the other stewardess, Renee, a tall Australian girl who had a dark-blond ponytail, long legs and horse teeth. Renee had only been on one cruise before. She’d gotten the job because her uncle had once played rugby with Guy, and her uncle had called in a favour.
‘You take the top bunk,’ Mercedes ordered when they’d first arrived.
Renee, a somewhat timid girl, bowed down to whatever Mercedes wanted.
This suited Mercedes fine. She liked taking the boss position, and it was good to know that Renee was no threat to what she had to accomplish. And what she had to accomplish was something she’d done many times before.
Seduce the enemy.
And who was the enemy?
Kyril, Aleksandr Kasianenko’s security guard.
The burly Russian was a challenge, and Mercedes was always up for a challenge. She’d learned early on that most men were easy as shit. Offer them a blow-job, a fuck, a walk on the wild side – and if they didn’t think it was a trap, they were all in. Even the married ones. Especially the married ones.
It hadn’t taken Mercedes long to check Kyril out. He had his own communication room, and direct contact to Aleksandr. It seemed Aleksandr had wished to keep this trip low-key, so his security was not as stringent as it probably was on land.
It amazed Mercedes that, however powerful and important people were, they always operated under the illusion that vacations were safe havens. Crap. Vacations were the best time to strike. Everyone lying around relaxed and happy, more concerned about their suntans than anything else. Too much food, too much wine, it was all the perfect recipe for a short sharp strike, which is exactly what Cruz and his team excelled at. Take the vessel over, demand a large ransom, then as soon as it was paid – get out fast.
Yes, Cruz certainly knew what he was doing. Over the last few ye
ars he’d become quite a legend in the piracy business.
Mercedes had been working alongside him since she was eight. She was now twenty-two, and a key member of his team. The inside girl. The girl nobody ever suspected. And that’s because she was good at what she did, oh so very good.
After serving cocktails and canapés, Mercedes had alerted Renee to cover for her while she slipped down to their cabin. ‘I got a little tummy problem,’ she informed Renee, who was as gullible as a virgin locked in a hotel room with a sailor on shore leave. ‘Keep ’em happy, I’ll be quick.’
‘What about Guy?’ Renee worried. ‘He won’t be pleased if you’re missing.’
‘Don’t worry about Guy, he’ll never notice I’m gone. An’ if he does, tell him I’m checkin’ on the table.’
Once she got down to their cabin, Mercedes pulled out her iPad from under her mattress and sent Cruz an informative email abut activities on the yacht, plus a crudely drawn map of the layout.
Cruz was a stickler for details. He required information about the crew, the guests, every move they made, and it was up to her to supply it.
Once done, she erased her message, and hurried back to tend to the esteemed guests.
Esteemed guests, my fine Mexican ass, she thought. The women are all whores fucking men for their money. While the men are pathetic assholes.
Mercedes did not have a very positive view of the human race, which was hardly surprising considering the life she’d led. Her mother had died in childbirth, leaving her to be raised by a series of her poppa’s conquests – women who came and went on a regular basis, most of them prostitutes. Cruz had put her to work at the age of eight, picking the pockets of tourists in Mexico City. It was more rewarding than school any day, and she’d soon become the best pickpocket in town. Realizing his young daughter’s potential, Cruz had started using her for other jobs. After all, who better than a child to gain entry to his burglary jobs? His kid could slide through any open window, however small, and doggie doors were no problem either.
A day after Mercedes celebrated her twelfth birthday, Cruz was arrested and sent to prison. Mercedes found herself dumped into foster care. Not prepared to be the victim of some horny old foster dad, she’d run away and survived the streets – honing her criminal skills, until eventually she hooked up with a twenty-year-old man who’d thought she was sixteen. They’d taken residence in an abandoned bus outside Mexico City, and two abortions later she’d dumped her boyfriend and was waiting patiently outside the prison gates the day Cruz was released. She was fifteen.
Cruz had learned plenty in prison; he considered his time in the joint an education. Number one on his list of things to do when he got out, was to leave Mexico.
Taking his kid with him hadn’t factored into his plans, but there she was, loyal as ever. He’d felt obliged to organize forged papers for the two of them, and they’d taken off for Somalia to meet up with a Somalian man with whom Cruz had formed a strong connection in prison.
And so Cruz’s adventures in piracy had begun, with Mercedes right along for the ride.
Chapter Forty-Five
Goddamm it, Flynn thought. What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say? The love of his life was sitting next to him AND WHAT THE FUCK . . .
‘Hey, Sierra,’ he said, making out as if he’d only just noticed her. ‘Yeah, of course it’s me. Long time no see.’ Casual enough? Jesus Christ. Talk about reverting to his teenage years.
‘Yes, it has been a long time,’ she replied, turning to him with a fixed smile. ‘I wasn’t sure . . .’
‘Do I look that different?’ he said, keeping it cool.
‘No, I . . . uh . . .’ she stammered, lost for words.
‘You what?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You and old Ham,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘Who’d’ve thought?’
‘I know,’ she murmured, taking a hearty gulp of wine and then holding onto her glass so tightly that she hoped it wouldn’t break.
‘I was kind of surprised when I heard.’
Really, Flynn. Surprised? Did you just imagine I’d vanish off the face of the earth once you were done with me?
They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.
He hasn’t changed, Sierra thought. He’s still Flynn. So handsome, with the ice-blue eyes she remembered so well. No longer a boy, he now was a man with lines on his face that revealed traces of a life lived. His hair was longer. The stubble on his chin was new – or perhaps not.
How was she to know? He was a stranger.
A stranger whose baby had grown inside her for a few short weeks. And he’d never known about the baby. How sad was that?
‘Are you and uh . . . Xuan . . . married?’ she asked, breaking the strained silence.
The moment she’d asked the question she could’ve kicked herself. Why ask something so dumb? What did she care if he was married or not?
I do care! a voice screamed in her head. I care because I still love him.
Oh, for God’s sake! You do not.
Yes, I do.
Stop thinking that way.
‘Not married,’ Flynn said, scrutinizing her beautiful face. Was she happy? She didn’t look it. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes seemed empty. And she was slurring her words ever so slightly. Was she drinking too much? Way back, one shot of anything was her limit, now she was gulping wine like it was going out of style.
‘Why not?’ she managed, continuing to ask questions she didn’t want to hear come out of her mouth.
Flynn shrugged. Why not? Because you screwed up my head when it came to women. You made it impossible for me to trust in any relationship. You ruined me, Sierra. You fucking ruined me.
‘Dunno,’ he answered vaguely. ‘It’s just one of those things.’
‘Well,’ she said, wishing she could close her eyes and drift off into a deep sleep and not have to deal with this, ‘she seems lovely.’
‘She is,’ Flynn said.
And at that moment, to their mutual relief, Bianca returned to the table, a smile on her lips as she grabbed her wine glass and took a long lingering sip. ‘Did I miss anything?’ she asked playfully.
‘Nothing,’ Flynn said quickly. ‘Nothing at all.’
* * *
After his brief and irritating few words with Lori, Jeromy turned his full attention towards Sierra Patterson. She was a beautiful and stylish woman, and rumours abounded that one day in the not-too distant future, her husband, Hammond, might make a run for President of America. And of course, if he did, the very serene and lovely Sierra would be by his side. So she was definitely someone on top of Jeromy’s ‘get to know’ list.
He turned to her with an ingratiating smile, exhibiting his not so perfect English teeth. ‘Tell me, Mrs Patterson,’ he said, all smarm and charm, ‘have you ever visited our fair city?’
Dazed and confused by her conversation with Flynn, Sierra had no desire to talk to anyone. ‘Excuse me?’ she said politely.
Jeromy repeated his question.
‘Your fair what?’ she asked, still thinking about Flynn.
‘London, England,’ Jeromy said, a tad sharply. Why wasn’t she paying him more attention? Wasn’t he good enough for her?
‘Oh, are you English?’ she enquired, attempting to rally.
Surely his clipped and very proper accent had given her a clue? The woman seemed somewhat out of it.
‘Born and bred,’ he informed her. And then in case she hadn’t realized that he and Luca were a couple, he quickly added, ‘Luca and I first met in London two years ago. We’ve been together ever since.’
‘That’s nice,’ Sierra answered vaguely. ‘Is Luca here?’
Good God! Was the woman drunk? Or simply dense?
‘Sitting right across from us,’ he said, indicating Luca, who was in the middle of an animated conversation with Taye.
‘Ah, yes,’ Sierra murmured, signalling a stewardess to refill her wine glass.
Hardly Jackie Ken
nedy, Jeromy thought. Why am I even bothering? And what the hell does Luca find so interesting about Taye Sherwin?
* * *
Since Jeromy Milton-Gold had an obvious stick up his ass, Lori decided to work her charms on Hammond Patterson. He seemed like a friendly enough dude with his neat haircut and honest brown eyes. She needed to get something going, because Ashley, the footballer’s wife, was busy fawning all over Cliff.
All Lori knew about Hammond Patterson was that he was a Senator, and his wife was some kind of do-gooder socialite fashion-plate. But so what? Since moving in with Cliff, Lori realized she could talk to anyone and be accepted; it was one of the main cachets of being a very famous movie star’s number one girlfriend. May as well take advantage of it while she could.
‘I don’t know much about politics,’ she said brightly, attracting Hammond’s attention. ‘Only I do know that you’ve got the look.’
‘And what look would that be?’ Hammond asked, his eyes sliding down to take in his dinner partner’s cleavage.
‘You know,’ Lori said with a flirty smile. ‘Handsome. Trustworthy. The American public totally gets off on a handsome candidate. If Cliff ran, they’d vote for him tomorrow.’
‘I’m not sure whether I should be insulted or flattered,’ Hammond said, liking what he saw. And what he saw was young and pretty with nice firm tits. He had an insatiable craving for youthful flesh; it always turned him on – it was his addiction.
‘Try flattered,’ Lori said, noting he was easy prey. ‘Because let’s call it like it is, Senator – you are a very good-looking man. But I’m sure your wife must tell you that all the time.’
‘Ah, my wife . . .’ Hammond said, letting the words hang in the air.
‘She’s beautiful,’ Lori remarked.
‘And so are you, my dear,’ Hammond said, suppressing an urge to reach out and touch her tender flesh, maybe even stroke her tempting red hair.
‘It’s all an illusion,’ Lori said modestly.
‘Some illusion,’ Hammond said, ogling her breasts.
‘And they’re real, too,’ she murmured, encouraging him.
The Power Trip Page 18