“Of course.” She smiled, wiggling her brows at him. “Although your first thought is both tempting and tantalizing, business and pleasure demand more than wine.”
He gave her a cockeyed grin. “I said I would cook.”
“I have a few things for a carbonara. If you know how to—”
“I do,” he assured her to her surprise.
“Bene! You know, I’ve seen that before, with a different kind of bomb but I can’t remember where.” She frowned. “I think it’s important that I remember, too. But first, I will call Cappi to see if they have any more facts about fingerprints on the purse.” She sat up and was just reaching for her cell phone when Lane’s phone chimed. They looked at each other as he reached for the instrument.
“This can’t be good,” he said, pressing Talk.
“I agree.”
And as they listened, they stared at each other, absorbing the news.
Chapter Five
Lane heard a man’s voice greet him.
“Dan?”
“Hey, Lane. Yep, I’m running this desk for the afternoon. Maddie has gone home early under my orders. She’s giddy with the need for rest. Anyway you have me. Listen, we’ve just gotten a bit of news from Paris and you must hear this.”
“A recorded threat?” Lane asked him, his gut telling him it was connected to the ones who had left the museum messages.
“Yes. Put your phone on speaker.”
Lane motioned to Bella to come closer so she could hear the voice on the phone. She had her own phone to her ear but shut it off when he beckoned and came to slide next to him. Instinct and desire had him wrapping his arm around her shoulders and drawing her moist, supple body against his as they sat on the edge of the bed.
A mechanical voice repeated word for word the same threat they had heard in the Bargello earlier. Except now there was an addition.
Your ministers meet. Their first act must be to freeze the hydra’s assets in all eight countries. Or else the finance ministers will suffer. We are Octo. Eight united, eight strong. Eight dedicated to the destruction of the hydra.
Bella froze in Lane’s arms. “Arturo,” she whispered the name of her family friend, the Italian finance minister. Her fingers dug into Lane’s.
Lane hugged her close, knowing now this threat was personal for her. One of the finance ministers was dear to her family and to her. “Play it again, Dan.” And when it was done, Lane said, “Send me a high-quality audio copy, will you?”
“Sure. We are doing research on this Octo group. So far, nada.”
“How can that be?” he asked as Bella stared at him, listening as best she could to Dan and his conversation.
“Came up out of grass roots,” Dan said. “Fast. Seems to be no organized money behind the group. No terrorism money or masterminds, either, as far as we can find so far. This might be created just to address the Kopf swindle.”
“Unique,” Lane mused as he caressed Bella’s shoulder and she snuggled closer to him to hear better and maybe…for comfort, too.
“It is. But their name is the only thing we’ve got to go on. If they mean to imply the G8, it is a pretty damn odd thing to take on the name of your target as your moniker.”
“Agreed. But if it points to what they want,” Lane speculated, “then who are we to argue?”
“True.”
“Okay. I’ll keep my phone on and charged. Call, text, whatever as you need.”
“Will do. Before we go, I want you to know that I got hold of Nicki and Adam with all this and to help, they went straight to the Florence airport and caught a red eye to Paris. They should be arriving at Charles de Gaulle in…let’s see…twenty-two minutes. They’re staying at the George Cinq. I’ve arranged reservations there for both of you.”
“Why there?” The five-star hotel was a beauty but exceptionally costly. True, Nemesis agents stayed where they must to do a job well, not necessarily where they got the finest sheets or the best croissant.
“All the G8 ministers are staying there. Their meeting place is not far away. I want you near them and in the center of things. Got you a pass to the meeting, too.”
“Okay. I hear you. We’ll be in Paris as soon as we can.”
“Lane, listen. Soon cannot be soon enough. I know it has been one helluva day there in Florence, but I need you in Paris tomorrow. Both of you.”
Bella sat up. “I cannot go until I finish up this work on these bombs. The Finanza and my museums demand it.”
“Cara,” Lane spoke the endearment and shocked himself with how natural it sounded. He cupped her cheek. “I think this is the same case. You belong to us now.” To me, too. “We will do this together.”
“Please, see this my way,” she begged him on a whisper and put her lips to his in a tantalizing plea. “Tell him you will call him back. I must talk with you about these new facts.” She pursed her full lips, the look on her face an irresistible mix of mystery and sexual entreaty.
He could not resist. “I’ll call you back in a few minutes, Dan. In the meantime—”
“Yeah, I know,” Dan replied, giving a chuckle as if he could see Bella against him, skin to skin, kissing him, holding a phone and hot with sorrow and sexual promise. “Not a problem. In fact, take your time. You have all that material to go over but you two better get some rest. Tomorrow is not going to be fun.”
“Dan. We are starving here, working ourselves to the bone!” When we’re not, we’re so damn lost in each other, I cannot breathe. “Send me all you’ve got. We’re eating!”
“I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,” she told Lane as she rose up on her knees, straddled him, rubbed her nipples and ribs and belly against his torso and sighed. “You’ll kill me with desire.”
He snorted, put his phone down and reached to position her over his cock.
She hummed, loving the friction, unable to resist her desire, remembering the need for a condom and her need to call Cappi. “Oh! Oh!” She put her hand over his erect cock, admiring him, massaging him, helping him harden and lengthen. “I must have you. I hope you have a condom.”
“I do, but you’ve got to let me get it, honey. I can’t reach.”
She cursed and pressed her soaking-wet lips to the ridge of his shaft. The thrill of his heat, his iron tantalized her to distraction. “Who is this crazy woman you have made?” she whispered as she slid from his thighs to the carpet, took his cock in her mouth and adored him.
One hand cupping his testicles, she rolled them for him as she kissed his slit. Sweet, soft little pecks at his seam where now he emitted beads of desire for her. Bene. Molto bene. She licked his length. How long he was. How strong. How red. He could fuck her so well with this. Skin of silk. Muscles of steel. She smiled against his flesh, her tongue laving him, her teeth nipping him. She would have him as often as she liked. He would let her, too. No man had ever done that. No man had ever had the stamina. She cooed and held him by the root. Then she sucked him into her mouth. All the way down.
He cursed. In English and Italian. Wonderful, my American man. My partner. In all things. The idea made her shiver and moan. Ravenous to pleasure him, she sucked him more strongly. Her pussy drenched with hot cream. Her core pulsed to be filled by him. Still she would not let him go. Not until she made him lose control, as she did so damn easily when she was near him. Loving him. Taking him.
He put a finger to the corner of her mouth. “Cara mia, if you do not let me go now, I will come in your mouth.”
She paused. Her long lashes lifted. Her gaze met his. He was dazed, his hazel eyes wet and dreamy with desire for her.
She could not let him go. Never had she sucked a man to completion. Never had she cared enough. The act was too…intimate.
“I want you like this,” she crooned to him, stroking his root, rolling his balls. “Let me, sì?”
He shifted and groaned, then sank his hands in her curls. “Do it for me, cara. Christ knows, I want you every way you want me.”
Smil
ing, she sank over him, taking him all the way into her mouth and down her throat. He braced himself against the mattress, his head thrown back. She moaned at the image and bent even more devotedly to her loving task. He was long. Hot. Hers. Hers.
He bucked.
She swallowed him even more deeply, careful not to hurt him, rabid to consume him. Back and forth, she made love to his length, celebrated all he was to her.
Everything he was to her.
Lost in her lust, lost to her fascination for him, she sucked him over and over in long, hard drags. He grunted, overcome.
She knew he was near climax. Inside her heart swelled. Her cunt throbbed.
He growled, one hand atop her head. And he came in her mouth. She pulled back, eager to swallow, determined to take all of him he meant to give her. He cupped her cheek as he shot his cum into her, holding her gently as she drank all of him. And sighed. Wiped her lips with two fingers and then let him lift her to his arms and take her back to the bed with him.
For long minutes, he threaded his fingers through her hair as he pressed her delicious body to his own and whispered dulcet endearments into her ear. She lay there, enraptured by his responses. This was the kind of man she had always wanted. Wild for her. Willing to be captured by her. Able to give as much as she received. If only he would take the time.
Lane Hallowell would. Did. How had she been so fortunate to meet him? How can you know so quickly, Bella, he is so right for you?
After long minutes of drifting in the bliss of his embrace, he whispered, “Shower and dinner.”
He tugged her boneless body from the bed and led her to her bath. There he stood her against the wall and turned on the water full blast. Taking down the detachable showerhead, he took her in his arms and directed it to the small of her back. The warm needles of water refreshed her, caressed her and made her hungry for him again.
He lifted her face to put his lips to hers. A gentle meeting of flesh on flesh, his kiss was the breathless touch of the gods. “Darling,” he said nearly without sound, “how can I need you again?”
She let her head fall back, as he brought the showerhead around to train on her aching nipples. Her hands went to his cock, dangling between his thighs but rising in her hand and thrilling her to her core. “Does it matter how?”
“No, Bella. Only that we do.” He gave her a lopsided grin, then went to his knees, his hands nudging her thighs open and directing the spray to her sensitive labia.
She jumped at the sting of the spray. Then groaned as he put two fingers up inside her cunt. She spread her thighs wider. “More, more,” she begged him, her fingers grabbing his hair and pushing his mouth to her pussy. “I need your mouth on me.”
He was so damn obedient. He put his mouth to her lips, then pulled away, his caress a dance between kisses on her clit and the sting of the spray.
Her knees buckled, but he caught her, pinned her upright to the warm tiles. “Let me have all of you, Bella.”
He dropped the hand shower to the floor to put two hands to her pussy and roll her open. “Cara mia, how lovely you are. How plump. And red.”
She shot a hand to the wall, and a hand to his head. “Oh, have me, before I die here.”
Growling, he nuzzled her, his talented lips sucking at her, taking her needy little nub into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue. As he pulled away, he pinched it and she trembled.
“Fuck me,” she pleaded with him.
He put two fingers up inside her, finding her tender ridge and caressing her. With his other hand, he parted her labia with two fingers and tickled and rasped her clit until the pressure built inside her to a roar.
With a cry she felt her body shudder and release, the thunder inside her a furious declaration of how well this man could change her world. Never had she come standing up. Never had she come this often. Never had she needed to with any other man.
When she opened her eyes, she stood in his arms as he kissed her cheeks and her mouth.
“We have sated one hunger for a few minutes,” he told her, humor alight in his eyes. “Let me cook for you before we need each other again.”
“A fine idea before we are skin and bones, eh?” She handed him a loofa and a large bar of lavender soap.
An hour later, wrapped in her own robe with Lane in one of her big towels, they sat at her kitchen table finishing the last of his excellent carbonara.
“I’ll do the dishes in the morning,” he said as he sat back.
“A man who cooks and does dishes,” she exclaimed. “I am in heaven.”
He leaned over to put his lips to hers. “You are here with me, cara. Come now, we are going to bed.”
“I must call Cappi. See if he has any fingerprint matches.”
Lane nodded. “Would he have anything at this hour of the night?”
“You are right. It’s too late.”
Hours later as she rolled over and the sun shone in her eyes, she reached for Lane. Solid, reliable, lovable Lane. Pushing aside the need to learn what time it was and what might be happening beyond their bed and their delicious affair, she rose on her elbow to look at him.
Arms cast out in abandon as he lay on his back, he seemed years younger. She leaned down, the musk of his body an aphrodisiac she could not ignore. Her nose skimming his torso, she felt one of his hands sink into her hair as he drew her close and wound his legs in hers.
For long moments, they lay like that. Lazy, languid, liquid. His hand in her hair. Her lips on his chest. Her nose loving the fragrance of her lavender on his skin, his body in her bed.
Her phone rang.
He rose up on an elbow to glance around and try to find it for her. “Must have left it in the kitchen,” he murmured and left her embrace.
Within minutes he was back to hand it to her.
She took a quick look at the number. “Cappi,” she told him as she hit the recall button. A few rings later, the detective answered the phone to inform her there were no results on the prints yet. “Half an hour more,” he said, “Interpol has had a few other emergencies this morning.”
“Like what?” she asked, alarmed that they might have more bombs.
“Nothing on this case,” Cappi told her. “A problem in Bonn. Bank robbery.”
“I see. Thank you. Call me when you know something.” She rang off and was ready to dial the Bargello to see if all was well there when her phone rang again.
“Ciao! Sì,” she exclaimed to her caller. “Arturo! How wonderful to hear from you—” she began in Italian. She was surprised he was calling her so early in the morning and about a case that was being pursued by so many law enforcement agencies.
The minister said, “I know you have been working on these near explosions in Bargello and Uffizi. My staff has told me about your work.”
“I am glad, Arturo, because—”
“Isabella, I am leaving my house here this morning on my way into my office in Roma. Un momento.” She heard him say, “Ciao, Marta,” to his wife before returning to their conversation. “Marta sends you her love, Isabella. Now listen to me. I do not have much time, but I want you to know that I am sending a Finanza helicopter for you in Florence. It comes within the hour. They will land at the airport, at the government hangar pad.”
“Why a helicopter, Arturo?”
“Ah, well. I have heard of what happened there yesterday and we have a new threat, early this morning in the Villa Borghese.”
“A purse?” she asked. “Like the others?”
“Sì, the same description. Exactly. Where is my driver?” he asked someone with him. “I told him to be here in five minutes. What has happened to him?”
“Arturo,” Bella beseeched him, “is it an L.L. Bean purse?”
“Sì, sì, Bella. Where are my two bodyguards? Ah, Bella.” He sounded exasperated. “My staff is lazy today.”
The hair on her arms prickled. His staff was the finest in the country. What was wrong? “Where are you, Arturo?”
“A
bout to walk out my door. Opening it now. I’m waiting for my chauffeur. Who is late. Why?”
“Because—”
“Oh, my god.”
“What?” Bella stilled.
“Let me see here… I now have a purse of same description in the doorway to my home.”
“What?” She sat bolt upright on the edge of the bed.
Lane scowled at her.
Arturo repeated his last words.
She could not believe what she was hearing. “Arturo! Listen to me. Do as I say. Step away from the purse. Now. Tell anyone else who is near it to move away.”
Lane’s eyes went wide.
Arturo said, “I have bodyguards…but they are not here…and…”
“Tell everyone, anyone not to touch it.”
“My family—”
“Do not let them come out front.” She scrambled to her feet.
Lane dialed someone on his phone.
“Sì, Isabella. They are inside. My wife and one of our daughters. The staff. All inside.”
“Tell someone, anyone near you to get them out! Now.”
She hung on while she heard him direct one person near him to do as she had said.
“Wait,” he told her, an odd note of bewilderment in his voice. “Three men approach. How would they know to come?” He sounded confused all of a sudden.
“Do they have bomb equipment?” she asked him. “Arturo? Do they?”
“They are in black. They are…not…Finanza. But—wearing balaclavas. Why?”
She heard shouting, scuffling.
“What are you doing?” Arturo shouted, the sound muffled.
She hit the speaker on her phone so that Lane could hear. At the same time, she saw Lane hit the record button on his own phone and put it next to hers.
“Get in the car!” a bass male voice shouted in Italian.
Lane put a finger to his lips.
“Get in the car!”
“Watch out,” said another male voice in English. This with a British accent. “Don’t hurt him, for chrissakes. We don’t want to kill him just get the accounts frozen.”
Bella stared at Lane, mouth open and working on the silent word, Octo.
Unti Twilight Page 5