No major challenges, no big issues. Maybe that was the reason for his frustration—no challenges. Boredom.
He stood and adjusted his crutches. Before he made it around the desk, Barbara Gaspar marched in the open door. The IT director’s short afro stood out in tufts like she’d tried to pull it out. She clutched a tablet computer against her pregnant belly.
“Rough day, Gaspar?” Max screeched to a halt, backing up to lean against the desk.
“You could say that. We’ve been hacked.” Gaspar’s brown face crumpled. “We have to shut down.”
“Hacked? What do you mean?” Unease snaked through Max’s gut.
“We have top-notch security. I reinforce the system daily as hackers come up with new threats. We use firewalls and—”
“Take it easy, Barb.” Max held up a hand. “I know we’re tight. Just tell me what happened. In lay terms. I’m no geek.”
The woman shifted from foot to foot. She bobbed her head as if searching for words. “Some hacker installed a program that’s taking over our systems. The loser’s operating from a remote computer. Accessed our personnel files and deleted some people from the payroll. They eliminated Mr. Devlin altogether. They copied our list of clients, and you know how confidential—” She paused, her breathing rough. “And they’re attacking our financial records. I’ve blocked that takeover so far, but I don’t know how long that will last. This guy is no cretin.” Eyes full of frustration and fury looked to Max for answers.
Gaspar’s words hummed in Max’s head and his heart jacked into sixth gear. “Tell me what we have to do. Tell me what you need and I’ll see you get it.”
No challenges? Boredom? Be careful what you wish for.
***
Shipboard
Thomas slugged his pillow hard enough for his fist to punch through to the floor. The damnable sofa was too short and the cushions too soft or hard or some damn thing. Whatever. He’d had no sleep since he brought Cleo to his suite.
Gritting his teeth to remain the gentleman, he shooed her into his bedroom. To his king-size bed. Then she stayed an eon in the bathroom, probably cleansing the attack’s taint under the shower spray. Picturing the soapy water sluicing over her breasts and ass kept him up—in more ways than one.
He yawned. Finally.
A soft click shot him to his feet, his right hand reaching for the gun he didn’t have.
Son of a bitch.
“Oh, sorry.”
He turned on the table lamp and squinted in the sudden flare. The soft glow reached Cleo standing in the bedroom doorway.
Her eyes flared as her gaze dropped to his chest, then to his boxers, tented at the sight of her in a white silky thing that fell only to mid thigh.
Her chin shot up. “Um, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see that dripping syringe and hear Sergio’s cruel voice saying he’ll cut me.”
He crossed to face her. “I’m sorry, Cleo. I wish I’d been able to prevent that.”
“Not your fault. I should’ve locked the balcony door.” Her tongue peeked out to moisten her lips. Her hair in sexy disarray over her shoulders, she gestured toward the bathroom. “Thought I’d get a glass of water.”
The blush coloring the high planes of her cheekbones told him there was more to her wakefulness than fallout from the attack. She was as hot as he was. He inhaled the scent of her skin, and of her arousal.
Hell. If he got this craving for her out of his system, he could step back. Be dispassionate. Concentrate on getting her out of this mess. Then he could move on.
“Mmm, in a minute.” Or an hour. “When I apologized for kicking you out of my bed, I meant it. But I didn’t explain.”
He brushed the hair back from her left shoulder and bent to feather kisses along her ear and down her chin.
Her breathing hitched. “You don’t have to explain.”
“Oh, but I do. You drove me crazy all weekend, dialed my hormones to overload. I couldn’t take you up on your offer. All my life you’d been the kid following us guys around.” He was so hard he could barely breathe.
“I wasn’t a kid then. I was eighteen.”
“A kid. And I was ten years older.” As he spoke, he fingered the neck of her nightgown, cruised the back of his hand over the upper swells of her breasts. “Plus, your brothers would’ve killed me.”
Her lips curved in a wobbly smile. Through the thin fabric, he could see her tight nipples poke at the cloth. “Thomas,” she whispered.
“Let me finish. I wanted you then and I want you now.” He hauled her close, cupped her butt through the silk and pressed her against his erection. “And you want me.”
She trembled in his arms but held his gaze.
“We’re both adults. I can’t offer more than sex. I’m still a decade older. You can say no and I’ll take my hands off you and go back to the sofa.”
Her eyes, molten with desire, searched his face. Without a word, she rose on tiptoes, cupped his face and pressed her soft lips to his.
Chapter 11
CLAIMING HER MOUTH, he slid his hands to her bottom, found the warm under curve, so smooth, so firm. So bare. No panties. A tingling heat spread through his chest. He wanted to touch her all over, imprint her softness, her scent, her very being into his skin. Lifting her higher against him, he backed her into the bedroom.
“Don’t go away.” She laughed, half gasp, half giggle.
He stepped aside and ducked into the bathroom. Only two condoms in his kit, enough to cool his fixation.
When he returned seconds later to the bedroom, he found the nightgown on the floor. Light filtering in from the bathroom revealed her reclining beneath the bed sheet, the halo of her fiery hair, the familiar shape of her face, the ring of color on her arm, the glitter of her eyes. It was as if the past years had vanished. He reeled at the sight.
“Somehow I get the feeling you won’t kick me out this time.” Her eyes sparkled. She flung back the sheet and patted the bed.
Jesus. His fantasy come true. He knelt on the bed, hands trembling, unable to speak, feasting his eyes on her slim legs, rosy skin sloping over the curves of her hips and stomach, up-tilted breasts with taut nipples begging for his touch.
“Thomas, come here to me.”
When she reached for the waistband of his boxers, he stopped her. “If you touch me, this’ll all be over too fast. I want you, but I want to give you what you need.”
“Show me,” she murmured.
“Right. My intent exactly.” He stroked the fullness of one breast, then the other. His fingers found her nipples, and he smiled when she sucked in a breath. “Oh, yes.”
His climax already clawed at him and he’d barely touched her. He’d always had enough control to give as much pleasure as he received. He intended to enjoy her completely, to make up for all the lost time—for both of them. When had he ever felt so charged, so alive, so aware? He dug for control. He’d have to start counting backward from a million.
Sliding onto the mattress by her side, he continued his exploration of her body, the textures of her skin, her hair, her lips. Licking her nipples evoked murmurs. Stroking and kissing her curves made her whimper. Gliding down her body to flick the sensitive cleft caused her to vibrate in his arms. If he’d known before she was so passionate, he’d never have been able to resist. His skin was hot, prickly, the cotton boxers too confining. He kicked them off and away.
She kissed him with unabashed eagerness, ran her soft hands through his hair, over his shoulders and down his back, writhing against him, urging him to her. “Thomas!” Her breathing was ragged, her voice rough, and he caught her cry in his mouth.
“Not yet. There’s no rush. Just lie back and enjoy.” He suckled and laved, kissed one breast and then the other, until she was hot and trembling. He kissed her, memorizing her taste, licked his way down her body until he thrust a finger inside her, and a second, thrilling at the intoxicating scent of her arousal mingled with the sweet essence of her skin. As she lifted
her hips to him, he thrummed with tension, feverish and aching.
When she stroked him, gripped him, the heavy pull deep in his body thundered the blood in his head. He covered himself and joined them, lodging himself in her tight body, gritting his teeth as she murmured his name.
He stroked and rocked her, his release licking molten flames up his spine. She shimmied her hips, clutching him, kissing him, moving with him, until he could barely breathe. When the ripples of her climax squeezed him, tugged at him, pleasure jolted him, streaming molten silver through his veins, and he let himself go, soaring with her, his whole body exploding.
***
At the small table by the balcony door, Cleo sipped her coffee and wished for something stronger.
Last night they’d made love a second time, more slowly, without the initial frenzy. Sex with him was electrifying, amazing and thorough, no slam-bam race to the finish that left a woman empty. Once he’d kissed her, she knew resisting what she wanted, what they both wanted, was futile.
Hearing the shower blast on, she knew she had little time to steel herself.
After he helped her to safety, he intended to stash her under guard somewhere. She couldn’t allow that to happen. Part of this mess was her fault. What she intended to do scared the crap out of her. Physical danger, yes. The prospect terrified her. But so did remaining with Thomas. Another wrong man, though honorable and commanding and strong. Wrong because he was controlling and stubborn.
The more time she spent with him, the more intimacy they shared, the deeper she would fall into something—she refused to name it—that could only end with a broken heart. And maybe being under a male thumb. Diving in where the undertow could drag her to the bottom might be worth the risk of drowning. A second time. But now wasn’t the time to test the waters. Not with danger pricking the waves around them.
A moment later he came out, sexy as hell in jeans and a black polo. He crossed to the desk where two covered plates and an insulated carafe crowded a tray.
“You shouldn’t have opened the door.” He poured coffee into the second white ceramic mug and lifted the cover from a plate. The aromas of hot croissants and scrambled eggs arrowed straight to Cleo’s empty stomach. She should eat, but after their talk.
“Coffee would’ve gotten cold.” She sent him a sweet smile. “I had him leave the tray by the door. I waited until he left.”
“I see more holes in that tactic than in a block of Swiss cheese.” Desire still gripped him, judging by the way he started to reach for her before he wrapped both hands around his coffee.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
After their second go-round, she’d heard him snoring. Irritated, she hiked up her chin. “Speak for yourself. I slept like a baby in that comfy bed.”
“Glad to hear it.” He grinned. “No nightmares about what’s-his-name, Sergio?”
“Maybe one.” Cleo lifted one shoulder. In truth she hadn’t slept soundly enough to dream. “But I imagined myself kicking him in the balls. After that, it was all good. I thought you were a tea drinker.”
“Right, but always coffee in the morning. Stronger than this stuff.” He lifted the pot and raised his eyebrows. When she shook her head, he poured more for himself.
Heat suffused her belly as memories of last night in his bed flashed through her head. Note to self: Hang tough. Again.
She couldn’t bear to drink more of the tasteless coffee and set down her mug. Her nerves sparked. Thomas just had to agree. If he didn’t, could she carry out her threat?
She crossed the room, away from his laser gaze and the temptation to throw herself into the protection of his strong arms. She leaned against the desk, arms folded. “Yesterday afternoon I read my printout about the necklace theft more carefully. And guess whose company name I ran across. How did such a professional security organization as Devlin Security Force lose Cleopatra’s necklace?”
She caught his wince. He hadn’t expected her to uncover DSF’s involvement.
A sigh of resignation. “Wondered where you were going with this. You’re right. We handled security for the entire Cleopatra collection on its move between D.C. and Paris. At the airport, my operatives turned over the crates to uniformed guards. They signed off. When the exhibit didn’t arrive at the museum on schedule, we—and the French police—discovered the real guards stripped, tied up, and unconscious in an alley. Gendarmes found the truck later, crates open and searched, the most valuable pieces missing, including the high gold collar.”
“Discriminating thieves.”
He left the table and ambled toward her. He gripped the desk edge, bracketing her between his arms, trapping her with his gaze. “Items they could haul away easily. Sell quickly. We’ve recovered some of the stolen pieces, but finding the necklace is urgent.”
He was close enough for her to see the brown rim around his dark-gold irises. To catch his clean woodsy scent. To feel the heat of his focus. Every atom in her body stood to attention at his nearness. Every hair prickled. She swallowed, stared back, kept the mug between them, hoping he couldn’t hear the deafening thump of her heart.
Last night made it damned tough to carry this off. “Recovering the necklace is personal. You’re here not just to protect me. You want the necklace as badly as Centaur does.”
He didn’t flinch at her accusation. “I want it recovered, yes. Zervas wants it to complete a deal with an Iranian terrorist. Del Rio left Venice yesterday. He’s back in Paris with the task force and should be working on that issue.”
“And you think I know where the necklace is, like the bad guys.”
He brushed her hair back from one shoulder and twined an index finger in one wayward curl. “Nice loose over your shoulders. Freestyle Cleo. You told me you don’t know where Moreau hid his or the original. I believe you.”
Her scalp prickled. She shivered, wishing she could step away, wishing she could step into his arms. “Thank you for that. I don’t know. But I do have a clue to its location.”
He jerked upright. “Cleo, don’t joke.”
She slipped away and dashed to the balcony, where she could catch her breath. “Thomas, I’m not joking,” she recited, mimicking his tone.
He herded her back into the room and closed the slider. “Too many ears out there.”
She evaded his grasp and moved away but came up short against the sofa. With his pillow and rumpled blanket. Before he’d joined her in the king bed. She flashed on a vision of them tangled in the covers. Whoa. She skirted the sofa but the maneuver got her nowhere. He dogged every step.
She stopped at the table and folded her arms. “I’m not joking. I’m negotiating. I don’t have to go anywhere with you. The acrobats, Sergio included, leave the ship today. I’ll be safe here for the rest of the cruise, as I said before. I can’t use Mimi’s airline reservation, but I have most of Europe to hide in. If you want my cooperation, you’ll have to agree to my conditions.”
His jaw clenched, likely so it wouldn’t drop to the floor. “Babe.”
“Ranger.” She cocked a hip, scowled.
From his expression, she guessed he regretted falling back on their old banter.
“This is serious, Cleo.”
“Then don’t patronize me with Babe.”
“You’re right. A knee-jerk defense. My apologies.” He heaved a sigh. “Conditions? Plural?”
“You won’t shut me away in some safe house. I want to be in on the search.”
“Out of the question. Too dangerous.” She could see him struggling for calm, reason. “Why?”
“For Mimi.” She expected him to consider her idea crazy. He would refuse. At first.
On a heavy sigh, he ran his big warm hands down her arms, held her hands, watched her as if fearing she would dash headlong into a Centaur ambush if he didn’t restrain her. “You’ll have to explain.”
She raised her chin. “When René agreed to make a copy of the necklace for Centaur and then betrayed the crooks, he set his own course.”
She suppressed a shudder. “That fits with something he said before he died.”
“So he spoke? And told you where the necklace is?”
She huffed. “Let me finish. I was shocked to learn he was a forger and mixed up with a criminal gang. I should’ve seen, should’ve realized. Maybe I blinded myself to reality, maybe I was just naïve. I don’t know.”
“This wasn’t his first time crossing that line. Centaur hired him because he was a known jewelry forger. He knew how to hide what he was doing, even from you.”
“Thank you for that.” She managed a small smile. “I’m sad about his death, horrified at his murder, but I had nothing to do with it other than hooking up with the wrong guy.” He didn’t need to know René hadn’t been her first wrong guy. “I didn’t know any of that. But Mimi? What happened to my cousin is my fault. A vision of her lying in a hospital bed, connected to tubes and monitors makes me sick. I’m sorry doesn’t cut it.”
“Mimi will be all right.” But the downward shift of his eyes belied his confidence.
“I hope and pray she will. But her recovery won’t make up for talking her into leaving her cruise to visit me. And more, what I didn’t do. Seeing René die and hearing his warning erased everything from my mind except escape. If I’d phoned Mimi to cancel our late date, she’d never have been hurt.”
“No, Zervas’s hired gun would’ve shot you instead.”
His words struck her like bullets. This time she couldn’t conceal a shudder. “I know.”
“Finding the necklace won’t change any of what has happened.”
“Of course not. But I have to make amends. I have to. You said they were keeping Mimi sedated until the swelling went down. Can you swear she’ll be whole again, that she’ll recover?”
He looked grim. “The doctors won’t know until she wakes up.”
“She could still die. Or be permanently injured. And it would be on me.” When he started to object, she pulled a hand free and pressed it against his chest. His muscles tensed beneath her fingers and his eyes darkened.
Cleopatra's Necklace (Devlin Security Force Book 3) Page 10