by Rebecca York
He pictured himself bursting into the room, shouting, “You’re under arrest.”
Yeah, sure. Instead he was doomed to sit and listen to the sexually explicit conversation between Gillian and a guy who got his jollies at a bordello.
He clenched and unclenched his teeth. She seemed to be handling herself—and the john. She was going to use the cream. And it sure as hell better work. Until it did, he was going to have trouble breathing.
He listened to the sound of bed springs creaking, unable to keep vivid pictures from flashing in his head.
After several long seconds of silence, the guy murmured, “Um, that feels nice.”
“Good. You just relax and let me take care of you,” she answered in a honeyed voice.
“I’ve never had a girl do this for me.”
“Well, it’s my special treatment.”
Again there was no dialogue for several moments. Then he heard Gillian’s voice murmuring, “That’s right. Just relax. That feels wonderful, doesn’t it?”
The guy said something. But his face must have been pressed to the sheets, drowning his answer.
Alex waited with his pulse pounding in his ears for what would happen next.
“How are you?” Gillian questioned, and Alex pressed his hand to the headset so he could hear better.
The guy didn’t answer.
“Jimmy, are you sleeping? Well you just enjoy a nice relaxing nap. And I’ll wake you up in a little while and tell you what a wonderful time we had together.”
“Thank God,” Alex muttered, then turned to see Rich watching him with unnerving intensity.
“She’s safe for the moment,” the other agent said, pretending not to notice that his partner was wound tight as a spring.
“Yeah.”
“The only way we can find out how the drug is connected to that place is to have her in there. We need to know how the house is tied into the distribution network.”
“Yeah,” he answered again, because he knew it was true.
GILLIAN LOOKED AT THE MAN lying on the bed. She wanted to give a shout of triumph. The guy was sleeping. Which gave her about a thirty-minute grace period.
The feeling of elation evaporated like stale smoke when she thought about the camera that she’d discovered earlier. Involuntarily she glanced toward the picture frame where the snooping device was hidden—then cursed herself for an inept fool. If the blasted thing was back on, then she’d just given too much away. Damn. She’d been so pleased with herself.
Tension coursed through her body as she waited for the door to burst open and Madam Dupré and Frank to come pelting into the room to ask what the hell was going on. She knew the madam was interested in her performance. She knew the woman would be watching to see what happened up here.
If the camera was functioning, she’d know exactly what her new girl had done. And now she was going to be questioned. Then they’d decide what to do with her. And she knew it wasn’t going to be pretty.
But as the seconds ticked by and nothing happened, Gillian felt her heart rate begin to slow a little.
Easing off the bed, she crossed to the sink where she took a quick swallow of water to moisten her dry mouth. Then she strode to the chair where Jimmy had hung his jacket. Stifling the impulse to glance over her shoulder, she began to check his pockets. The cards in his wallet gave her a great deal of information.
“So, you’re James Paxton,” she murmured. “And you’re the vice president of the Gulf Shores consortium in Lafayette. Does the consortium sell drugs? Or are you strictly legit?”
She pictured the men in the van writing down the information and grinned to herself.
But when she saw the photos of Paxton’s wife, children and grandchildren in the wallet, she couldn’t help sucking in a sharp breath. The man was married. With a large family. But still he felt the need to come here. She wanted to give him a lecture on family values.
Suddenly she couldn’t help wondering if her own father had ever done something like this. Impossible, she told herself. He loved his wife and children. Besides, his job before he’d retired had been in a grocery store. Even after he’d worked his way up to manager of the produce department, there hadn’t been much money left over for entertainment. Particularly sordid entertainment.
Ruthlessly she cut off the thoughts of her own family and continued poking through James Paxton’s effects, looking for any information that would interest the task force.
CYNTHIA DUPRÉ ENTERED her office, then crossed the Oriental rug to the bookcase and pressed a button that opened a set of locked doors. Behind them were six television screens. Next she sat down at the desk and accessed a control panel where she turned on the monitors—all of which showed a view of one of the upstairs bedrooms.
There was a hidden camera in each, and recording equipment, so she could keep track of the action in all of the chambers.
At the present, she saw scenes of various girls with paying customers.
But there was only one who interested her right now. Gillian Stanwick.
When she pressed the button to activate that camera, the screen flickered for a moment, then went blank.
Cynthia uttered a very unladylike oath. She needed to know how the new girl was performing. And the damn camera was acting up. Eyes narrowed, she fiddled with the controls again. But the results were just as unsatisfactory. Well, she’d have to use other means to find out how Miss Stanwick was doing.
HALF AN HOUR LATER, Alex heard Gillian’s voice again and his nerves jumped.
“Jimmy, you were so great in bed. The best man I’ve had in years. You may be past fifty, but you can still do a girl a world of good. And you were so big and so hard. I can’t imagine anyone better equipped to nail a prostitute in a bordello.”
Rich laughed. Alex joined in as they listened to more praise from Gillian on how well the guy had done while in reality most of his time in her bed had been spent sleeping.
Then they could hear the guy mumble a slurred response.
“You were fantastic.” Gillian repeated what she’d told him earlier. “I hope you enjoyed being with me.”
“Very much,” he answered, sounding more awake. “I’ll be sure to look for you again the next time I’m in the city.”
“Thank you.”
Again there were rustling sounds, more incidental conversation, then the room was silent.
“You go on down. I’ll just get dressed and straighten the bedroom. I’ll be along soon.”
The door closed. Then Gillian murmured, “One down. And how many more to go?”
Alex didn’t know whether to sigh in relief or to clench his fists. And when the door closed again, he sat with his chest constricted, wondering how much more of this he could take.
Finally he decided that he couldn’t just sit here. He had to know if she was really all right.
WHEN GILLIAN ENTERED the parlor where several couples stood around talking, she found Madam Dupré staring in her direction. “I was just about to ask Jimmy how things went,” she said, an edge in her voice.
Gillian felt alarm leap in her breast. She’d hoped she’d disabled the camera so nobody could see what had gone on in the room. Or had the madam somehow gotten the equipment working again?
Jimmy joined them.
“How was our new girl?” Madam Dupré asked, her tone more moderate when she addressed her customer.
“She was fantastic. One of the best little ladies I’ve ever been with. You can be sure I’ll ask for her again next time I come to the city.”
The madam visibly relaxed and Gillian’s own tension came down a notch—until a few minutes later when she looked up and saw the man standing in the doorway.
IT WAS ALEX, wearing a mustache and a blond wig that fit him like his own hair. He was also wearing a business suit, an outfit that was completely outside her experience with the man. She struggled to keep her jaw from dropping. Even with the disguise, she would have known him anywhere. And she couldn’t beli
eve his audacity. But he seemed to have the right credentials to prove his club membership, because Frank ushered him into the parlor.
The madam was busy with another customer. When Alex crossed the room, Gillian could only stare at him. Earlier in the evening, she’d felt comfortable in the silk wrap dress. Suddenly she was conscious of how it clung to her breasts and hips.
As if his mind was following the same track as hers, he looked her up and down.
“You must be new here,” he said.
“I could say the same for you,” she retorted.
He didn’t bother with any more small talk, but cut right to the chase. “Let’s go upstairs,” he said in a gruff voice.
“You make up your mind quickly.”
“Maybe I’ve been on a freighter for six months and I’ll self-destruct if I don’t have a woman.”
“Unlikely,” she quipped.
But he was already leading her to the steps and straight to Room Eight.
The minute the door was closed, she whirled to confront him and saw him with the lipstick tube in his hand. As she watched, he twisted the microphone off.
“Are you all right?” he asked, the urgency in his voice tearing at her. She’d held herself together while she’d been here with Jimmy. She’d done everything she was supposed to do. She’d proved that she could handle this assignment.
Now that she was alone in the bedroom with Alex, she felt all the starch go out of her body. When she swayed on flower-stem legs, he surged forward and caught her in his arms, pulling her against him.
And she was helpless to do anything but cling. To her chagrin, she felt tears sting the backs of her eyes and she fought to hold them back.
His hands played with her hair, soothed over shoulders that she couldn’t keep from shaking.
“I hated listening to that,” he said darkly.
“You think I handled it wrong?” she asked.
“You handled it just right. If you hadn’t, I’d make them pull you out of here.”
She jerked herself away from him, stood on her own two feet. “No!”
“He was a pretty agreeable guy. The next one could be harder to put to sleep.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“On-the-job training!”
She stiffened. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Plenty.”
She’d been on the verge of going to pieces. Now she squared her shoulders. “I don’t like your attitude.”
He was about to answer when Gillian heard a sound. It was the doorknob jiggling. Before she could react, Alex pulled at the tie that held her dress closed, peeled the gar ment back, then pressed on her shoulders so that she came down on her knees in front of him, with her face wedged against the fly of his slacks as though she were about to perform a very intimate act.
Chapter Seven
The door opened slowly and Wilma, the maid, stepped into the room. As soon as she spotted the two people in the middle of the rug, she made a strangled sound and stopped short.
From Gillian’s position on the floor, she couldn’t see the woman’s face. But she was sure it registered shock at the picture she and Alex made—him standing and her kneeling in front of him looking like she was deep into her work.
“Oh! I beg your pardon,” Wilma gasped. “I…I’m so sorry.”
Alex kept a hand on Gillian’s shoulder as he turned to face the intruder. “This is a private room. What exactly are you doing here?” he asked in a steely voice.
“I…I beg your pardon,” Wilma stammered again. “Madam Dupré said the room was empty. I came up here to…to straighten up while Miss Stanwick was out.”
‘Well, she’s not out. She’s busy.”
“Yes. I see. I’m so sorry.”
The woman backed out the door, closing it firmly behind her. As Alex moved away from Gillian, she wavered on her knees.
With a curse, he strode across the rug and turned the lock, the decisive click ringing in the room.
Gillian scrambled to her feet. As she stood up unsteadily, she realized her dress was gaping open. Quickly she pulled the two front panels back into place and fumbled with the tie.
When she saw that Alex was watching her, she flushed. He waited until the dress was closed, then crossed back to her and cupped his hands over her shoulders, stroking her through the silky fabric of her dress.
“Sorry about the drastic tactics. But I didn’t know who was coming through that door. And I wanted to stop them in their tracks.”
She swallowed. “Well, the tactic was effective.”
“Yeah. Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” she forced herself to say.
She hated leaning against him, but she was too unsteady to pull away. When he brought his mouth to her ear, his false mustache tickled her skin. But she ignored the tingly sensation as he asked, “What the hell is going on? Surprise visits by the maid can’t be good for business.”
Gillian turned her own mouth so that she could speak in a voice barely above a whisper. “Before I went downstairs, I zapped the surveillance camera, using that piece of equipment you gave me. I’m sure the madam was frustrated when she couldn’t watch me with my first customer. So she sent poor Wilma—the maid—up to see what was happening up here.”
“You know Wilma?”
“I met her when I came back with my luggage.”
“And?”
“She seemed nice enough. But I can’t be sure her only job is keeping the premises clean. She could be paid to rat on us, for all I know.”
Alex nodded and she found herself gripping his arms. Before she’d cloistered herself in the McDonough Club, he’d gone out of his way to warn her that stepping into this assignment would be dangerous. She’d resented the interference. And she’d thought she understood the risks.
Now she knew there were factors she hadn’t considered. She could trust no one here. Not the other prostitutes. Not the madam or the butler. And not even the woman who was supposed to clean the rooms.
She lowered her head, hating for Alex to see her sudden show of weakness. But he crooked a finger under her chin and tipped her head up, forcing her to meet his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“For what you’re going through.”
“Not your fault,” she reassured him.
“You should get a bonus from Lieutenant LeBarron when this assignment is over,” he said. He continued to look at her. “I can see why you were an instant success down in the parlor. You look stunning.”
She might have taken that the wrong way, but the way the color in his eyes deepened told her the comment came from some private place inside him.
She felt his hands slide across her back and into her hair. When he brought her mouth to his, there was no thought of resisting.
As his lips came down on hers, she made a small sound. She was startled again by the unfamiliar mustache. But that was only a small part of the sensations coursing through her.
She had tried her best to stay distant from him. Now she might have worried about giving too much away. But he had let her see some of his own vulnerability. That and her own need wiped any thought of reluctance from her mind.
His mouth moved over her, hungry and aggressive. And she found herself responding to the essence of him on some deep, primitive level that she barely understood.
Heat sparked between them, like lightning striking dry tinder, burning away all thought but one: she must get as close as she could to this man.
“Yes,” he rasped, that single frantic syllable sending bursts of raw sexual energy to all her nerve endings.
When the maid had backed out of the room, Gillian had hastily refastened her dress. Now, when she felt Alex’s hands on the tie, she helped him open it again, exposing the front of her to his hot gaze, to his touch.
The hungry way he looked at her sent urgent messages to all the sensitive places of her body. With a frantic motion, he swept the dress
off her shoulders. And she just as frantically pulled her arms through the sleeves.
“Did Jimmy see you in that sexy underwear?” he rasped.
“Yes.”
He cursed.
She said quickly, “You can’t see anything important.”
“Clever of you.” He laughed, then sobered again. “Not unless you’re turned on,” he added as he focused on the hard points of her nipples poking through the translucent fabric of her bra. Slowly he raised his hand and she waited with her breath frozen in her lungs for his touch. When he stroked his fingers across the aching tips, she moaned with the pleasure of it.
Again he drew out the anticipation as he carefully pushed the cups down and out of the way, anchoring them below her breasts, exposing her creamy flesh.
He made a strangled exclamation. Then, as if in slow motion, he bent his head, capturing one taut peak in his mouth while he used his thumb and finger on the other one, sending a flood of arousal downward through her body. At that moment she knew that she wanted him, needed him more than she had ever needed a man in her life.
He had invaded this place of danger. He had taken her in his arms. And he had made her forget about everything and everybody but him.
She was grateful for that. But she wanted more from him. She wanted everything he was willing to give her. With no conscious thought on her part, one of her hands slid down to his hips, so that she could anchor herself to him. She felt his erection and moved against it, hearing the low, approving sound in his throat. But that hard shaft was pressed to her stomach and she craved more intimate contact.
It seemed that he did, too. When he backed her toward the bed, there was no thought of refusing. As they came down together on the mattress, she moved so that she had him where she wanted him, pressed to her throbbing center.
He was still dressed, and his clothing was in her way. But she couldn’t break the contact. Not yet. So they rocked together, touching and kissing, silently exchanging a world of emotions that neither one seemed to be able to express in words. She wanted this man, and he had come here to tell her the same thing. That was enough for the moment.