SeductiveIntent

by Angela Claire

Arthur looked at the man, tall and muscular, with dark brown eyes and brown hair cut so short he could’ve joined the army. “You’re not a cop, are you?”

  “No. But you’re not a violent felon. Just a two-bit con man. So neither of us have much to worry about, do we?”

  “What do you want?”

  “That was a stupid thing you did back there. Showing up to see your girlfriend off.”

  Arthur said nothing.

  “I know she’s calling herself Sophia, but what should I call you? The Interpol file didn’t have a name for you. Other than their name for you, of course. Chameleon.”

  Interpol? Oh, thank God. He knew who this asshole was. For a minute, he was worried Vinita had sent someone after him. Or worse, sent someone after Sophia.

  “Kendon, right?” Arthur said.

  “Right. So you’re pretty much caught up. Good. We don’t have to waste time. So what were you doing on the docks? Coming right out like that? I got to admit you surprised me. But I guess if you know who I am, then I know why you were there. To warn her, right? So what happened? Why did she get on the boat with Beckett?”

  “Because she’s a foolish little girl,” Arthur muttered.

  Kendon watched him. “Is that why you turned back? You’re worried about her?”

  He could get out of these cuffs pretty easily and might even be able to outrun this guy, though the other man was quite a bit younger. But Kendon was right, he wasn’t violent, so normally he wouldn’t ever attempt to assault the man or anything, as if he even could in view of their respective sizes. But he might be able to render the private investigator immobile until he got away.

  Just as Sophia probably could render Beckett immobile for a time to get away from him, except for the fact the silly girl was on a goddamn boat and there was nowhere to run away to.

  He sighed heavily. “He won’t hurt her, will he?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  When Arthur didn’t answer, Kendon added, “You and your partner in crime there have been pissing my employer off, breaking into his apartment, holding him at gunpoint. And he’d like to know why. Not to mention, I get the impression he’s pretty bummed your girlfriend played him like this. Although now that I’ve seen her in person, I can’t really blame him. She could play me anytime.”

  “Are you planning to talk me to death? Don’t you think you should just take me down to the police station and get me booked?”

  “Why would I do that? I’m not a cop.”

  “What do you want then?”

  “I want some answers. Beckett’s going to get some from pretty Sophia out on his nice big yacht and I got stuck with you in this crappy alley. That’s the rich for you. Always keeping the good stuff to themselves. So what do you say we talk?”

  * * * * *

  Brendan was gone longer than she would have thought, but by the time he was back, it was clear from the view out the porthole on the wall that they had pulled out of the harbor and gone some distance.

  What now?

  He closed the door behind him. “Get undressed.”

  The way he said it, so abruptly, startled her. She smiled. “Shouldn’t we go out and get some sun on the deck while we can?”

  He yanked his tee shirt over his head. “No. Let’s just fuck. We can go out on deck later.”

  She still hadn’t moved by the time he had whipped off his shorts. He stood in front of her, naked. And ready.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “I was just going to ask you the same thing.”

  “The only thing that’s wrong is that you’re still dressed.”

  Well, she could pretend with the best of them, if that’s what was called for now. She smiled brightly. “Would you like to help me with that?”

  “Actually, what I’d like is for you to stop acting so kittenish and take your fucking clothes off. Okay?”

  She stood up. “I’m going up on deck.” But when she tried to walk past him, he caught her arm.

  “Wait. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to talk yet. I want to fu—uh, make love to you. I just want you so much.”

  He was a much worse liar than she was. Not that he didn’t want her. Clearly, he did. His cock was hard, pointing at her angrily, his blue eyes dark.

  But something was wrong. Really wrong.

  He pulled her to him gently. When he kissed her, though, his lips were hard and demanding and in pulling her simple dress off, she heard him tear it. His aggression didn’t scare her, as it probably should have. When he unfastened the back of her bra and whipped it off, she wrapped her arms around his neck, joining in the wild unrestrained kiss. He broke the kiss and pushed her down on the bed, setting his knees on either side of her as he ripped her panties off.

  He thrust his fingers in her hair, but instead of bringing her lips to his, he tilted her head farther south. She swallowed hard as he crouched above her, bringing her mouth even with his hard cock.

  “You ever sucked a guy off, Sophia?”

  When she didn’t answer, the fingers in her hair gave a little tug she felt not only in her scalp but between her legs as well. She wondered where her ingrained sense of self-preservation had got off to.

  “It’s time for another lesson, babe.” He pulled her head toward him as he sat back on his haunches. “Open your mouth. Yes, just like that.”

  She licked the head of his cock, which felt so hot against her tongue, and then closed her mouth over it, just the littlest bit. Salty, and velvety hard.

  “More,” he demanded, like some sultan in one of her romance novels. And like the helpless heroine of one, she obeyed, taking as much of his hard cock into her mouth as she could, sucking slightly.

  He groaned, closing his eyes, and yanking her head closer. She could take it, at first, but when he continued the inexorable pull forward, forcing her to take more of his rod, she gagged despite her best efforts and he pulled out.

  “Not bad for a beginner, if that’s what you are. Or did your daddy make you suck cocks too? If so, I would’ve expected a little better, honey.” He shoved her back onto the bed and stretched out on top of her. When he kneed her legs open, she knew the ever ready supply of condoms must be nearby. Sure enough, he fumbled next to them, continuing to kiss her roughly. Trying to will herself into some alternate reality where she and Brendan were just lovers, nothing more complicated, she listened to him rip the condom package open and seconds later he shoved himself up into her as far as he could go. The abruptness of it caused her to catch her breath.

  He chuckled. “We’ve got to toughen you up. Such a delicate little flower.” He started to move his cock, slowly, kissing her lips gently as he did.

  Even as she felt the pleasure overtake her, she whispered, “I’m not a delicate flower.”

  “No fucking kidding,” he muttered. Then, “Don’t talk. Just kiss me. I like to be kissed when I’m fucked…over.” Then his mouth took hers, not gentle like he had been at first, but hard, demanding, moving his cock in time with his tongue thrusting in her mouth. Groaning, she kissed him back, spreading her legs wide, and her hands came to his shoulders, his broad muscular back, caressing him as he made love to her. She sifted her fingers through his silky hair as they kissed, then down his strong neck all the way to his tight haunches as he moved against her.

  Abruptly, he stopped, grasping her hands and holding them high above her head. When she tried to lean up to kiss him again, he avoided it, his eyes blazing down at her as he held her with her arms pinned above her head and her hips pinned to the bed by his.

  “Don’t,” he warned softly.

  Still keeping eye contact, he started to move his hips, digging his cock into her again and again. She moaned, the pleasure so intense that she longed to feel him closer, not just where they were joined but with her whole body, with her hands, with her lips. Struggling against his hands keeping her down, she tried to free herself so she could participate, so she could touch him, but he was too strong.

  “Stop,
” he finally ordered, ceasing his thrusts. “Stop struggling.”

  She quieted, panting.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then stop struggling. I’m going to fuck you until I can’t move anymore. And you’re going to just let me. Do you understand?”

  “I want to touch you.”

  “No. Leave your hands right there.” He let go of her wrists and she did not bring her arms down, clutching the top of the low headboard behind them. He slid his hands underneath her, palming her ass and tipping her up to him, so he could go even deeper. And when he did, he said, “Don’t talk.” Then his mouth came down. “Just kiss me.” And then he was moving, thrusting, so deep, that she did. She kissed him with everything she had, and when she came, she forgot about his admonition and wrapped her arms tight around him, feeling him shudder as he climaxed.

  When he was done, he pushed her away and rolled over without another word.

  She heard a motor boat, close and then it was somewhere off in the distance, moving away. Brendan lay on his stomach, his head turned away from her. Climbing to the foot of the bed, she half expected him to pull her back, but he made no move. Hoping he was asleep, she went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. The sink was one of those modern things that looked like a big white ceramic bowl underneath a silver faucet. She splashed some cool water on her face, trying to map out her next move.

  Maybe she was just imagining the difference in Brendan. He was not really a knight in shining armor after all. He was just a guy. A spoiled rich guy probably, just as she’d originally thought. Maybe he was starting to tire of her as he undoubtedly did with all his flings. Maybe it was no more than that.

  Feeling better, she went back out and snagged her suit from her bag, slipping it on and grabbing a towel, sunglasses and sunscreen, all without Brendan moving a muscle.

  When she turned the doorknob, he said, “Going somewhere?”

  Looking back to where he still lay sprawled on the bed, she said, “Just on deck to get the last of the sun.” And then she left.

  When she got up on deck, she glanced around, no land in sight. No crew either. Ducking her head into the control room produced no one either. She made her way along to the prow, noting the boat wasn’t moving anymore, and stretched out on the towel in the late afternoon sun.

  Eyes closed against the still strong rays, after a few minutes, she registered a shadow. Opening her eyes, she saw Brendan was standing over her, in a swimsuit himself. He sat down on the towel next to her, balancing back on his hands, his long legs stretched out in front of him, feet bare.

  “I don’t see anybody around,” she offered.

  “Nope. I gave the crew the rest of the night off.”

  “Oh, so they’re down below?”

  “They’re gone. Took a skiff back to port. It’s just us.”

  Not exactly good news in her book. “Is that safe? Being all alone like this? I mean what if we need to move the yacht?”

  “We’re anchored here. And I can drive The Ann if I have to.”

  “Oh.”

  “So what is your last name? No, wait, let me guess. Patterson?”

  Her heart sank as she recognized one of her aliases. Not that she really had much hope at this point, no matter how much she was trying to fool herself in the bathroom mirror down there.

  “Donaldson?” he continued, with another. “Vickery? Take your pick?”

  She sat up, gazing out at the waves. “Do you get all the girls you sleep with investigated? That must run up quite a tab with your private dick.”

  “Is Sophia even your real name?”

  She turned to look at him. “What do you want to ask me, Brendan?”

  “I want to ask you what your fucking real name is.”

  “Is that why you took me out on this boat?”

  “I took you out so you couldn’t run away while I was asking. But your pal there showed up to warn you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “And yet you came anyway.”

  “Yes.”

  “Convinced I was even more of a sucker than he thought, eh?”

  She said nothing. He broke the eye contact before she did, a sudden interest in the life jacket next to them overtaking him apparently. He fiddled with the orange cushion. Maybe that’s why he had dismissed the crew. He planned to dump her overboard.

  At least he was going to give her a life jacket.

  “So why me?” he finally asked. “What do you want? Or is this just your usual gig with a rich guy? Am I supposed to eventually give you my bank codes or something?”

  “No. We were looking for something.”

  “You and that guy? Who is he? Your lover? Oh, no, that’s right, you were a virgin. Unless that’s something else you faked.”

  “How could I fake that?”

  “How the fuck would I know? So who is that guy? Your partner?”

  She hesitated. “More like my mentor, I guess you’d say.”

  “Mentor,” he scoffed. “What are you looking for, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “A box. A little puzzle box. But I think whatever is inside it was the goal.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No, Arthur didn’t tell me.”

  “Arthur? That’s his name?”

  “Yes.” The lapping of the waves against the side of the hull filled the silence until she said, “So what now? Should I expect cops waiting for me when we dock?”

  “None of your fucking business.” He got up. “For now, I’m going to get a drink and watch the sunset…with my girl.”

  By about his fifth whiskey—he’d brought a bottle and a glass, one glass, up from the main saloon—she thought to volunteer that she didn’t know how to drive the boat just in case he planned to get totally wasted.

  “No problem. We’re not going back tonight. I want another night alone with you.”

  Another night, as if that would be their last. Wake up from the dream here, Sophia. Your dream man is about to turn you over to the authorities. Talk about a rude awakening. What did she expect?

  “I thought you had questions for me.”

  “I do, but it occurred to me you’d probably just be lying through your perfect teeth if you answered them.”

  “I won’t.”

  The sun was dipping low on the horizon, but there was no chill in the air. Just that warm Caribbean breeze. After years of pretending, she didn’t want to for one second more. She wanted to be heard. She wanted him to hear her out.

  “You asked for my last name. The truth is I don’t know it.”

  He scoffed audibly, but that didn’t stop her.

  “I don’t know my real age either. I have a lot of birth certificates, but none of them are real.”

  He took another drink. “Is this the part where you sucker me in even further by feeding me some sob story about your deprived childhood?”

  “Believe it or don’t believe it. I don’t care. I just want to tell you.”

  “It won’t change anything. I hate your guts, you know.”

  She winced a little. She couldn’t help it. “You’re not exactly my favorite person in the world right now either,” she lied. “Give me a drink.” She snatched his glass just as he was bringing it to his lips again and downed the fine whiskey. No cheap stuff for Brendan Beckett.

  Never the cheap stuff. She set the empty glass down between them.

  “Arthur raised me, if that’s what you want to call it. My first memory is being with him in this tiny apartment. I don’t know where it was. I don’t know where I was before that. I was just there. With him. He fed me. Took care of me, I guess. Taught me.”

  “Taught you what is the question.”

  “Taught me this. This life. The only life I’ve ever had. The game.”

  “It’s not a game, you bitch. You take people in, you pretend—”

  His abrupt stop left a long silence. And then she filled it. “At first it was j
ust like pretend. Sometimes I would pretend Arthur was my daddy and sometimes he’d pretend my name was whatever. Sometimes I’d be alone for long stretches of time, while Arthur pretended without me. I’d be scared, but he always came back. Sometimes, in the early days, there was a woman too, but I don’t remember much about her.”

  “Look, Sophia, or whoever the hell you are, if you think I believe one word of this, you’re even stupider than you were for coming on this boat with me in the first place. You should have cut out with your pal, or mentor, or whoever the hell. But you didn’t. And now you’re here, at my mercy, and I sure as hell didn’t bring you hear to listen to you whine about some fucking ridiculous story that nobody would ever believe and certainly would never believe if a fucking admitted con artist was telling it.”

  “Ridiculous. Yeah, it’d be ridiculous to somebody like you with your rich and perfect parents.”

  “Don’t make this about me, you bitch.”

  “Stop calling me a bitch!” God, she felt on the verge of tears.

  “Don’t you dare cry on me,” he warned. “And I’ll call you anything I fucking well want to call you.” He snatched the glass up from the deck and poured another whiskey. “But I don’t feel like fucking you right now—that was the point of getting it out of my system when we first came aboard, so my dick wouldn’t get in the way of our little conversation—so you might as well go on. Unburden yourself. So this mean old Arthur—”

  “I didn’t say he was mean.”

  “Kidnapped you or whatever and made you do this.”

  “I didn’t say that! I said he took care of me. And that we pretended.”

  “And what’s his supposed explanation for all that? He’s what, your father? Your brother? Your uncle? What?”

  “Yes, yes and yes. At various points he played all of those things.”

  “Played.”

  “But he never explained who he really is to me. I’ve asked and he, Arthur, just doesn’t, he doesn’t explain much.”

  “So, how did you go to school?”

  “I didn’t. He taught me how to read and write and I studied other things on my own and we traveled a lot. All the time for the most part. In the US at first, but as I got older, more in Europe, which is why Interpol had that nice file to share on me.”