Harold felt a shock.
Calmly, Spocatti pressed a gun against his side. “Get into the car, Harold. Your day isn’t over yet.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“How about a nightcap?”
Jack turned from the painting of irises he was admiring in the foyer of Celina’s apartment and moved into the living room, where she was standing at a bar. They had just returned from Anastassios Fondaras’ party and it was late.
“Do you have any beer?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” She bent to the small refrigerator that was at her feet, reached inside for something light, which she knew he liked, and then looked at Jack. In her eyes was a spark of humor. “Would you like me to pour it in a champagne glass?”
Although Jack smiled, he seemed distracted as he loosened and removed his black bow tie. “This time, the bottle’s fine.”
He came over to where she was standing and took it from her. He looked at her for a moment, moved to speak, but then sipped his beer.
Celina turned back to the bar and poured herself a glass of wine. She was confused about what happened earlier on the yacht and more than a little angry with Jack, but she didn’t want it to show. She wanted to make love to this man and yet she wasn’t sure if he wanted the same. Why did he stop it from happening at the party? He asked me to follow him below ship and then he stopped it. Why?
“Nervous about tomorrow morning’s jump?”
Celina turned and saw that he had removed his jacket-it now was draped over the chair beside them. He waited for an answer, his gaze meeting hers levelly.
“A little,” she said. “It’s not every day I jump off a bridge with a rubber band strapped to my ankles.” She lifted an eyebrow. “What made you ask?”
“Your hands are trembling.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Tonight, on the yacht, you asked me to follow you below ship. I went with you because I wanted to be with you. But when we arrived at that stateroom, you stopped us from going inside. Why?”
Her question hung in the air. Although she didn’t enjoy being so blunt with him, she wanted an answer. She wanted to know why he hadn’t gone through with it-especially considering he had asked her to follow him.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Jack said.
“And what am I thinking?”
“That I didn’t want to make love to you. That I changed my mind.” He looked at her. “That’s not so.”
“Then what happened?”
“We couldn’t have entered that room even if we wanted to.”
“Why?”
“Because two other people had a similar idea.”
She hadn’t expected this. Surprise reflected in her eyes. “Who was in there?”
A shadow of indecision crossed his face. He wasn’t sure just how much he should tell her. If he told her what he had seen in that split second before he closed the stateroom’s door, it would not only destroy Harold Baines’ career, but his life as well. He made his decision. “I’m not sure who they were,” he said.
“But you said you saw two people.”
“It was dark. I couldn’t make out their faces, only that they were men and they were indisposed.”
Color rose in her cheeks. “They were having sex?”
When he shrugged, Celina laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe I’m jealous that they beat us to it.”
He put down his beer on the table beside him and took a step toward her, his last image of Harold Baines fading. “Anything you want to do about that jealousy?”
“Depends on what you have in mind.”
Wordlessly, Jack pulled her to him. They kissed and Celina knew from the passion in that kiss that there was no turning back now.
She placed her wine glass on the bar, put her hand in his and led him across the living room to her bedroom. There, the city glowed in the windows just beyond the bed. Celina turned to him. Jack moved to her, his mouth found hers again and they began to kiss.
Only this time it was a different kiss. This time it wasn’t as gentle as it was in the living room. Her hands went to his hips, his to her breasts and then to the small of her back. He pulled her closer to him and she felt his erection running up the length of his groin.
Things weren’t moving fast enough. Jack turned Celina and began removing her dress, his lips kissing each area of newly exposed skin. Celina shuddered at the roughness of his shaved chin, the warm breath and moist tongue on her back, the strong hands working their way down to the curve of her buttocks. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it any longer, he unfastened the last button and her dress rippled to her feet.
She turned to him, naked, her breasts full with anticipation. She felt vulnerable yet alive. Jack’s gaze roamed over her body and she saw on his face a flash of excitement. She wasn’t wearing underwear.
He leaned forward and brought his head down to her breasts. Celina’s head fell back and she moaned as Jack’s lips found one of her nipples. The waves of pleasure that assailed her were intense. As if sensing her impatience, Jack guided her to the carpet and lay on top of her. She felt how hard he was, how big he was, and suddenly it was she who wanted to be the explorer.
Pushing him off her, Celina straddled him, her breasts only inches from his face. She saw him smile-an intimate, knowing smile-and she heard him gasp when she gave his shirt a quick, brutal tug. Buttons popped and the material separated, exposing his muscular, hairy chest. She stared at him for a moment, her excitement rising, then she dropped her head to his chest and covered one of his nipples with her mouth.
Jack’s back arched. “Jesus,” he said.
She wanted him naked. She sat up, reached down, removed his shoes and socks, then unbuckled his pants. She grabbed at the material and tugged. Jack raised his hips and his pants came off. She threw them aside and they struck a table top, where they slipped into a framed photograph of herself taken years ago in London.
It fell to the floor. There was the sound of glass splintering.
Celina paid little attention to it-all she saw was Jack. His face was flushed. She knew he was excited and that fueled her to push the limits further. Lowering her head to the waistband of his shorts, she bit the fabric and pulled them off with her teeth. With a flick of her wrist, they sailed across the room, a shadow striking one of the windows.
His penis was unusually large. Celina stared at it, transfixed. Extending from a thatch of dark-brown hair, it lay an inch above his belly button and throbbed in time with each of his uneven breaths. She reached down to touch it. Jack’s breathing became hoarse, his body taut with anticipation. Watching her admire it seemed to inflame him.
But Celina didn’t touch it. Instead, she met his gaze with her own and licked the area of skin directly surrounding it. Jack grabbed a handful of her hair. Celina sank on top of him and her nipples brushed the base of his penis. She liked it a little rough. She sensed he did, too.
Suddenly, she stood and went to the table that was across the room. Incredulous, Jack watched her go. “What are you doing?” he said. “Come back here.”
“Wait,” Celina whispered. “Just…wait.”
When she struck the match, her face burst into brilliant, glowing bloom. She lit the candle that was in her hand, blew out the match and started toward him. With the city twinkling in the windows behind her and the candle burning in her hand, she was radiant.
She straddled him again and tossed her hair away from her face with a quick flick of her head. Her eyes seemed to challenge his when she looked down at him. “Do you trust me, Jack?”
Jack looked at her, then at the candle flickering in her hand. He knew what she had in mind and it thrilled him. “I trust you,” he said.
She held the candle over his chest, tipped it slightly and allowed the flame to melt the wax. “I’ve never done this before,” she said. “But I’ve always w
anted to. Do you think it will hurt?” Before he could respond, she turned the candle onto its side and watched the shimmering droplets of wax rain down onto his chest.
Jack caught his breath and winced, the hot wax rolling towards his stomach in thin rivers. It pooled in his belly button and spilled onto the beige carpet. It wasn’t painful, but it was exhilarating.
And then Celina blew out the candle.
Rising up the length of his body, grinding her body hard against his, she found his mouth with her own and they kissed. Jack reached down and grasped himself. Celina raised her hips and parted her legs.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Probably not.” She touched his face. “Just go easy. What you’ve got down there should be studied.”
Just as he was about to enter her, they searched one another’s eyes. They were having the same thought, that if they went through with this, nothing would be the same between them again. While there was an attraction in the past, their lives had been professional up to this point. They would still have to work with one another at Redman International, still have to confer at board meetings, still have to act as though there was nothing between them, although there was more than just something there. They were in love.
And so Celina lifted her hips higher, allowing him to gently push inside of her. He’s too big, she thought. But everything that happened after that initial pain became a blur to her. She wanted this. She wanted Jack. She wanted him in her life.
As they rocked together on the carpet, his thrusts became deeper, faster, more demanding. Spasms coursed through her. Her fingernails dug into his back. Her hand clutched a handful of his hair and she pulled. He pushed her hands away and pinned her arms at her sides. He covered one of her nipples with his mouth and bit gently. She arched her back. Her nipple was so full, it felt as if it might burst.
She looked up at his face and realized that he was as close as she was. Wanting him deeper inside of her, she countered each of his thrusts with her own until there was nothing but their release.
Later, after they showered together, they made love again. As Celina drifted off to sleep, her body secure in Jack’s arms, she realized how much she missed having a man in her bed at night. She moved closer to him and kissed his chest. His heart was still racing, but the sound of it soothed her to sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“You look a little piqued, Harold. Seem a little tense. Want a drink before we begin?”
Harold Baines turned from the window he was standing at and looked across the office at Louis Ryan, who was pouring vodka into a glass of crackling ice. “It’s a full bar,” he said. “I can’t imagine there isn’t something here that wouldn’t appeal to you.”
He put the bottle of vodka down and took a sip of the cold Absolut. “Or maybe beer’s more your style,” he said. “Isn’t that what they serve at those sex clubs you go to? Isn’t beer the choice of drink while someone’s pissing on you or shoving their fist up your ass? If it is, and if that’s what you prefer, then I’m afraid I can offer you none here.”
“Go to hell, Ryan.”
“I’m already there, Harold,” Louis said, and pointed to the chair opposite his desk. “Sit down. What I have to say won’t take long.”
Harold sat. Through the windows before him, he could see The Redman International Building towering amid the Manhattan skyline. He thought of the meeting he had just had with George Redman, of the friendship he had betrayed, and looked away, his guilt and self-hate overwhelming.
He listened as Ryan stepped behind him.
“I want you to tell me everything you know about the takeover of WestTex Incorporated.”
Harold turned in his chair, perhaps too quickly because he became dizzy. It was a moment before he could focus on Louis-and when he did, when the room finally righted itself, he saw that the man was standing beside a large television.
“I want you to start from the beginning,” Louis said. “I want dates, facts, figures. I want to know the terms of the deal, and I want to know everyone’s part in it-that includes yourself, George, Celina, Jack Douglas, the entire board. But most of all, I want you to tell me why Redman is doing it. I want to know why he’s taking over a company whose profits have plummeted since the Middle East went to hell. I want to know why he’s willing to pay twice what WestTex is worth when he knows goddamned well their profits are down-way down-and can’t possibly support the $10 billion he’s willing to pay for it. It must be something good for him to risk everything he’s ever worked for, and I want to know what it is-now-because time is running out.”
The two men stared at each other. Louis tipped back his drink and sipped, a confident man moving in for the kill.
And then Harold stood. He couldn’t do this to George. He couldn’t allow this to go any further than it already had. He walked to the doors that were across the room.
Tried to walk.
His limbs became oddly weak, the muscles in his legs unable to hold him. Another wave of dizziness overcame him, he listed slightly to the right and reached out a hand to steady himself on a Chippendale table.
Tried to reach.
The world blurred and he collapsed to the floor.
“What’s the matter with you?”
Harold closed his eyes, the pressure inside his head building. He tried to shake off a wave of nausea, failed and put a hand over his mouth. He began vomiting through his fingers, vomiting onto his clothes, vomiting onto Louis’ priceless Aubusson rug.
Ryan took a hesitant step forward, not sure what to do. Harold studied his vomit-stained hand as though it were an object that had materialized from another place, another time. The smell reached his nose, his stomach clenched and he doubled over again, making a gagging sound.
And Louis knew.
“You’re addicted to it, aren’t you, Harold?” he said. “You’re addicted to whatever the hell drug you’re on. How long has it been since you had your last fix?”
Harold didn’t hear him. The roaring in his head was too loud. He fished a handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket and wiped his mouth and hands. His throat was burning, his heartbeat and breathing were erratic. Dazed and disoriented, he pushed himself into a seated position and looked around the room.
For a moment, he didn’t know who or where he was. For a moment, he knew nothing.
But as he sat there, the color gradually returned to his face.
“Pull yourself together,” Louis said, still slightly shaken. He took a step back, wanting to put distance between them. “This isn’t going to work with me.”
Again, Harold looked around the room, recognition reflecting in his eyes only after Louis came into focus. He struggled to his feet, tried to regain his composure, and walked the few steps to a suede-upholstered sofa, where he sat, exhausted.
Time passed. When the man’s breathing returned to normal, Louis said, “Talk.”
Hostility radiated from Harold like summer heat from a city street. “Give me some water.”
“Not until you tell me what you know about WestTex.”
The universe of rage welling within Harold eclipsed whatever nausea he felt. In a controlled voice, he said, “Either you give me a glass of fucking water or I’ll end this now, call the police and tell them what I know.”
“I wouldn’t count on that,” Louis said. He stepped to the television that was behind him, turned it on and pushed play on a DVD player. The screen flickered to life.
Motionless, Harold sat watching and what he saw was himself. Naked. A young man was kneeling in front of him and sucking his cock. He recognized the scene, remembered the room.
Somehow, he had been taped sleeping with the waiter on Anastassios Fondaras’ yacht. Somehow, he had been taped shooting heroin into his left arm. Somehow, he had been taped hurrying into his clothes after Jack Douglas entered the room and took him by surprise.
“Anastassios is a friend of mine,” Louis said, watching the screen. “Like me, he has an interest i
n George Redman-only for different reasons. When I told him there was a way to obtain information on the takeover of WestTex Incorporated-not to mention why Redman is doing it-he said he’d gladly help me get that information, so long as it was made available to him. You, Harold, were kind enough to accept that young waiter’s advances and follow him into the stateroom filled with the concealed video equipment. If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have had anything tangible to nail you with.”
He clicked off the television.
Harold continued staring at a picture that was no longer there.
Ryan went to the bar, poured water into a tall glass of ice, grabbed a small towel and handed each to the man who had aged thirty years on his sofa.
“Clean yourself up,” he said. “You’ve got vomit on your jacket. And have your drink. When you’re finished, you’re going to tell me everything you know about WestTex, starting from the beginning, or a copy of that DVD goes to your wife, your children, George and Elizabeth, the press. It’ll destroy you.”
He went to his desk, where there was a digital voice recorder. He pointed it toward Harold and pressed record.
“Start talking,” he said. “Now.”
Later that evening, when he was alone, Louis stared into the dark silence of his office. He was numb. If what Harold Baines had just told him was true, Redman’s plan was nothing short of brilliant.
If he took over WestTex under these circumstances, the man’s power would soar. If he took over WestTex under different circumstances, the man’s power could plummet.
That is, of course, if what Harold Baines just told him was true.
He left his chair and went to the bank of windows to the right of him. He looked hard at the Redman International Building and felt the familiar coil of hatred unwind in his stomach. As much as he wanted to believe Baines, he knew he couldn’t. The man was George Redman’s best friend.
He needed someone who could get the information verified, someone who worked at Redman International and wanted to see Redman burn every bit as much as he did. But who? He stood in thought, his mind whirling with possibilities.
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