Glass Houses

by Stella Cameron

  She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t want to. Why would I waste money calling them?”

  “You won’t be paying, remember. And you’ll call them because I have to know every move they make. I’ve got to get back to New York. I’d ask you to stay here, but I can’t bear the thought of you being so far away.”

  “Oh, Ryan.”

  “Oh, Kitty, I know, babe.” Real soon he’d know this had been worth every gut-twisting second he’d suffered through. “I don’t know why I didn’t do something about us a long time ago. Of course, I don’t want you to tell them you’re in the States.” And she’d only be there because he, Ryan, had to be one hundred percent sure he could get to her fast—and control her. “I won’t be able to stay away, you know that. I ought to, but how can I? You’ll have to help me be strong.”

  “What kind of car do you drive?”

  Poor Rupert Fish. “A BMW. Just got it. Gold with an ivory interior.”

  Kitty mmm’d. “You never told me where you live.”

  “I’ve got a place upstate. In the hills. Fabulous view of a million miles of forest. Windows everywhere. Indoor pool. Sauna. Hot tub just begging for you and me, the night, the stars—or maybe some snow falling.”

  “Oh, Ryan.”

  Shee-it. “We’ve got to quit talking, babe. I’ll arrange a ticket and you’ll pick it up at Heathrow. You’ll go where I tell you to go in New York and wait to hear from me. I’ll make sure you’ve got money, plenty of money. Just stay put, okay?”

  “Anything you say, darling.”

  “Okay. Let’s move it.”

  “Ry-an. You promised.” She wanted to part knowing she had something of him with her. Wow, she never remembered feeling this sentimental over a man. And he was the biggest, handsomest son of a bitch she’d ever had—almost had since they’d been together in New York before. Every inch of him was muscle. He had the kind of definition men dreamed of while they sweated in their gyms.

  Ryan had almost convinced himself he could get away without this. “Don’t worry, Kitty, I’m going to give you something to remember me by.” He left her long enough to switch off the overhead lights. Dawn tickled the sky but not enough to find its way into the house.

  His glutes hardly shifted when he walked, Kitty noted. When the lights went out, they showed pale in the gloom, and she shuddered afresh.

  “Ready?” he said. He gave a short laugh. “Ready or not, here I come.”

  “Lovely cliché,” she told him. Sweat broke out, and she was instantly drenched.

  Sometimes a man had to make huge sacrifices to get what he really wanted. He’d known he needed a go-between to keep tabs on Moody and Fish, but he hadn’t expected that to become so complicated. How could he have guessed they might follow Olivia to the States. Ryan had intended to take his time dealing with Fish and Moody, but it didn’t look as if that was an option anymore.

  Thank God for Kitty. She was an answer to a prayer. With her in place, he’d finish what had to be done in a fraction of the time—unless his fucking nemesis, Aiden Flynn, proved harder to get rid of than Ryan anticipated. At least he could be fairly certain good old MustangMan (real inventive screen name for a man who collected old Mustangs), that as long as Flynn was keeping up with his e-mails, Ryan could hope the man hadn’t gone to the airport to meet Olivia FitzDurham. She would be wandering around New York with nowhere to go. She’d have to be dealt with, and the damn photos she was probably carrying, too, but she was no major intellect. She’d come back here and wait for him to get in touch—and he wouldn’t disappoint her. What she wouldn’t be expecting, was her “Sam” in person.

  “Ry-an.”

  The palms of his hands itched. He had very strong hands. “Coming. Just wanted to give you plenty of time to be the best you can be.”

  “You don’t even know what best is, big man. Come on.”

  Blessing the darkness, he returned to his place between her thighs. For the required length of time—not long—he played with her, kissed her, delved into the place Kitty lived for. He took a deep, calming breath and wrapped his left elbow around her neck until her face rested against his. He could still reach forward over her shoulder and fill his hand with a breast. With his other hand he alternated between stimulating her and stroking his shaft with the practiced, featherlight strokes he’d learned to use to gain release.

  Kitty sobbed into his shoulder and poured forth words of endless devotion.

  Why didn’t she shut up?

  He felt it start. Gradually the sensation gathered power, the power that promised ecstasy, then peace. But then just as it always happened, what he thought of as a metal cinch circled the inside of his penis, with a flood of semen dammed behind it, swelling, burning, but finding no way to escape. The cinch was slowly relaxing.

  Kitty didn’t care that her wrists were probably bleeding. She struggled against the cuffs, strained to reach out to Ryan. She had never felt what she felt now.

  The ejaculation started, and Ryan thrust up and into Kitty, the force of his locking thighs picked her up from the seat of the stool. He flooded her.

  “Don’t stop,” she shrieked. “No, don’t stop. Oh, Ryan. Oh, baby. Yes, yes, yes, yes.”

  Yes, yes, yes. The cinch clamped down again, and this time he was grateful because it let him pull off the illusion she had to have.

  “Oh, Ryan.” Her head fell on his shoulder. “I really love you.”

  He pulled out as slowly as he could endure. “I love you, too.”

  Eleven

  Chris Talon had never been a man to tread lightly on someone else’s feelings. Not unless the feelings happened to belong to his wife, Sonnie.

  With a battered, sweat-stained fedora settled low on his brow, Aiden stood outside a women’s room at JFK waiting for Olivia and replaying what he ought to have told his expartner on the phone. Terminal 9, or 8 and 9, or whatever American Airlines called the ongoing construction site where it serviced both its international and domestic flights, teemed with so much humanity that it ought to be easy to blend in. If Aiden weren’t a cop, he might be able to convince himself of that and dispense with one of what the department called his “Wally” disguises. When he needed to get lost, or to blend in somewhere, he always relied on one of his many “Wally Loder-looks,” a legacy from his narcotics days.

  Chris thought Aiden was an ass for putting his career on the line over a woman he didn’t know and who shouldn’t mean a thing to him.

  That announcement should have made it easy for Aiden to squelch the sanctimonious bastard. He could have reminded Chris that he’d already walked away from his career when he met Sonnie, but then he’d gone ahead and put his life on the line for a woman he didn’t know and—hell, who decided if a woman should or shouldn’t mean something to a man?

  He felt Olivia’s presence at his elbow. She looked in every direction and didn’t have the training to do so without being obvious.

  “Vanni decided to use the men’s room,” Aiden said.

  Olivia already stood very close. She dropped her bulging carryall and edged in even closer until he felt her pressing against his arm. He carried the camera bag over his shoulder.

  “You’re afraid you’re going to be arrested,” she said.

  Now she put it like that, he supposed he was. “No way, lady. Don’t let your imagination run away with you.”

  “This is perfectly terrible. Those men over there? They’re police, aren’t they?”

  “You mean the Sky Caps? No, Olivia, they aren’t cops— they work for the airports here. They handle baggage.”

  “You’re awfully kind, but I know exactly what’s going on.”

  “There’s nothing going on. Well, yeah, there is, but not what you think.” Come on, Vanni. “I just want us on our way before this town wakes up, okay? There’s not a thing to worry about.”

  Olivia looked up at him. Really, it could be so annoying to have a man treat one like an idiot. “I suppose that’s why you’re wearing that g
rotty hat, and the—what do you call coats like that?” It wasn’t like her to be snippy. After all, he would look scrumptious in anything he wore—or nothing at all.

  Her mind must be tottering.

  “Don’t like this antique, huh?” he said. “It’s an old letterman jacket.”

  “Thank you, Aiden. That explains a great deal. Blue, with white leather sleeves, and striped cuffs and hem, or whatever? And a rocket in the pocket?”

  He bent forward from the waist and laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Oh, you’ll never know. You do have a way with words. Rocket on the pocket. For the New London Rockets. Look around you. Versions of this all over the place. This one happens to be very precious to me. It’s a souvenir of my soccer-playing days, but you don’t like it.”

  “No, no.” She could be so careless with her words sometimes. “Forgive me, please. I’m so sorry. It’s really very— well, very interesting now you’ve told me all about it.”

  “You are wonderful,” he said, straightening and scanning the area. Bingo. He dropped his voice. “Now don’t scream or faint, just go along with me, okay?”

  To Olivia’s amazement, Aiden slid his arms around her and held her close. And he pressed his face into her neck and rocked her gently—as if he—liked it. “Make sure you don’t look shocked,” he said. “There’s a lot of heat out here. Much more than there should be. The last thing I want is to be recognized by some overzealous suit. Put your hands on my shoulders, or neck, or anywhere else you’re comfortable putting them. Smile, or hide your face. Or kiss me, dammit.”

  Kiss him. “I can’t kiss you—oh, of course I can.” He wanted her help, so she lifted his face from her neck, closed her eyes, and pressed her mouth to his.

  Hot damn, Aiden thought, this hadn’t been what he expected. The instant before his vision blurred, he noticed that Olivia’s dark lashes had bronzed tips. She held his face so tightly, she was going to leave nail marks on his temples. The effort was costing her a lot. A woman who did a lot of kissing didn’t clamp her mouth shut and slam so hard against a guy she almost broke teeth—for both of them.

  A white cotton sweater had replaced the blouse and pin of yesterday. Her own skirt had been mended, and the rest of her baggy outfit was the same, but she proved that the clothes didn’t make the woman. Inside her duds she was one holdable female. He breathed in deeply and experimented with mapping the interesting places on her back and waist—and below.

  She withdrew her mouth a fraction and muttered, “Is it all right yet?” without opening her eyes.

  “No.” This time he did the kissing. He might need to get a life, but he hadn’t spent all his nights tending orchids in Hell’s Kitchen.

  Step one was to soften up those kissable lips of hers. He barely touched his mouth to hers, almost bounced there softly, skimmed lightly back and forth, keeping his eyes slitted to judge her reaction. Her features smoothed, even the line between her brows. She’d been frowning since early in the morning when he’d found her sitting on the edge of her bed, dressed, packed, and with Boss’s head in her lap.

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” he murmured, and parted her lips a little, splayed his hands over her back, and eased her in tighter. “Mmm. Yeah, just fine. Friend Ryan took advantage of a chink he saw to try to dig himself out of trouble. I’m the diversion.”

  She had a mouth made to be kissed. So soft and giving. He felt himself sinking into her. He couldn’t get close enough.

  “Ryan Hill’s picking on you because of me,” she said unevenly. “If you hadn’t been too much of a gentleman to ignore my e-mails, you wouldn’t be in this position.”

  Being a gentleman had nothing to do with snooping in someone else’s mail, and he liked it just fine in this position. “Hush a minute. Pretend you’re enjoying yourself.”

  Olivia barely stopped herself from moaning. How disgusting of her. She was enjoying herself more than she ever remembered, and that couldn’t be nice when she and Aiden were strangers. He was making a very good job of pretending to be in a state of passion, though. Aiden parted her lips more. He had such a wonderful mouth, firm and mobile, and talented. He turned his head a little, one way and then the other, stroking his lips over hers, opening them more and more. She moved her hands to his shoulders and could feel how solid they were, even through the horrid coat. Under the coat he wore a gray polo-necked jumper. When she ran her fingers over his chest, there was nothing but hard muscle and bone there. How very nice. Oh, it was extremely difficult being British and passionate at the same time. A man she would never have expected to give her a second look was kissing her as if she were his last meal, but she couldn’t stop analyzing things that should just be accepted.

  She wasn’t, Aiden decided, touching him like a stranger going through the motions, not anymore. The tips of her surprisingly long fingers made patterns on his chest, and down his sides, and around to his back, then returned to his chest. Like little homing pigeons, those fingers found Aiden’s nipples through the thin knit sweater and he went weak at the knees. She opened her mouth and her breath came hard. His came harder, and sweat broke out on his brow. Their tongues were fully involved, and so were other parts of Aiden. Her breasts made their presence wonderfully evident, and the only thing that would have improved the way they felt would be the removal of their sweaters—and her bra.

  Aiden held himself rigid. It might not do to let her feel that this was no longer a purely strategic maneuver.

  She loved kissing him, loved his big hands straying over her back and bottom. She knew from the heat that flashed over her skin that she’d turned red. Aiden splayed the fingers of one hand wide on her bottom and pressed her into his hips. Oh, dear, he did feel so good. Penny Biggies often announced that she was “horny” but that “a hard man was harder to find.” Not from where Olivia was standing at this moment. This type of thing—a wildly enthusiastic response to an inappropriate occurrence—happened when a woman was edging up on becoming an old maid. She was too vulnerable. Oh, yes, she was vulnerable.

  This was playacting. The simple but clever disguise he’d put on—down to corduroy trousers and sandals on bare feet— changed everything about him, even the way he walked. “You’re so good at this,” she whispered.

  “Why, thank you, ma’am. You’re excellent at it yourself.”

  She could hardly say she’d been referring to his mastery of disguise, not his prowess as a lover.

  He kissed her again, shutting off anything else she might have said. And he resumed the slow, circling dance with her pelvis. The loose corduroys he wore were amazing. They left absolutely nothing to the imagination, and Detective Flynn was extraordinarily well—what would be the way to describe that?—not hung, that was frightful. Well loaded? Just as frightful, but quite descriptive, really. He kissed her chin and followed with more kisses, short and firm, down the length of her neck.

  Her breasts stung, and she ached between her legs. All purely sexual, and wonderful, but inappropriate. But the ache intensified, and she wished she could feel his skin on hers. He’d have a fit if he knew what she was thinking. But she’d like his skin on hers, his thighs between hers, and him inside her.

  She’d lost it.

  “I like the way you smell,” he said, and she thought his voice sounded funny, not that she wanted to try speaking at all herself. “What is that? Cloves?”

  She giggled. “Eucalyptus. Thanks. I rather like it. And you? Rosemary?”

  “Huh?”

  “Rosemary. The herb. Such a pungent aroma.”

  “Margy gave the stuff to me. Waves On The Wind, or something dumb. I think it’s supposed to be sexy—er, forget I said that. Everything’s supposed to be sexy.”

  She would not feel disappointed. “Margy?” Oh, that was really nonchalant.

  “Great gal. She’s the chief’s secretary and thinks she’s my mother.”

  Relief wasn’t appropriate, but she was relieved.

  Aiden rea
lized he was rocking with Olivia, that he’d been rocking with her for some time, and holding her in ways that weren’t necessary to making sure no passing cop would recognize his face.

  They were kissing again. Gradually, keeping his mouth on Olivia’s, he angled his head until he could look past her.

  Vanni stood close by with his arms crossed. He raised one hand and waggled the fingers, and Aiden almost heard his partner’s sigh. Vanni shook his head and looked heavenward.

  He made a signal for Aiden to stay put, and walked swiftly away.

  Shucks, he’d have to keep on kissing Olivia.

  He smiled against her mouth.

  “What is it, Aiden?”

  “Under the circumstances, this is not a good thing to admit, but I sure hope I get another chance to hide out by kissing you.”

  “Oh.”

  Vanni returned at a barely restrained run. “Follow me,” he said as he passed them. “Watch for my signal and go there.”

  Aiden spun Olivia around. “Relax,” he told her. “This is a good reason not to have anything to do with cops. Too much hype that turns out to be nothing worth worrying about. Here we go.”

  She hung her bag over an elbow and said, “We’ve got to get to the plane.” They walked rapidly in Vanni’s wake, dodging wheeled transports loaded with baggage and those who couldn’t or wouldn’t walk.

  “We’ve got time. Stay cool.”

  It was all very well for him to tell her to stay cool, Olivia thought. Passionate kisses must be commonplace for him. She had just experienced the best kiss she’d ever had and was shaken because she couldn’t feel guilty. Not only that, but he had other clothes he could get his hands on. Everything she had with her in the States, apart from her camera case, carry-on bag and papers, was in her suitcase and probably already in the belly of the aircraft.

  Airport employees sweeping debris into dustpans moved with excruciating slowness and were always in the wrong place when Aiden and Olivia drew level. Vanni’s thick, black curls were impossible to miss when he stood a head taller than most people. He wore a black leather jacket and swung his shoulders in a manner Olivia might find arrogant if she didn’t know he was another nice man.