Body Contact

by Rebecca York

  6

  JACK TURNED, thrusting Maddy protectively behind him as he stared down the muzzle of the machine gun that was now leveled on them.

  He’d expected to get their asses hauled out of here. He hadn’t expected to get them shot.

  ‘I think it’s obvious what’s going on,” he said in as steady a voice as he could manage. “My lady and I were looking for a place where we could have some quality time together.”

  “This area is restricted,” the guard repeated. Jack glanced at his name tag. It said Sparrow. The guy looked more like a turkey, but he kept the observation to himself.

  Jack shrugged. “I didn’t see any signs.”

  “You saw a gate.”

  “It was unlocked.”

  Sparrow stared at him, still with his gun leveled. Probably the guy thought he was lying. But there might not be any way to prove it, since the lock was open now. “You were in the office complex.”

  “What office complex?” Jack asked innocently.

  “I have you on tape, inspecting the office equipment,” he said, confirming Maddy’s assumption that the room was bugged.

  Jack laughed. “I don’t give a damn about your office equipment. We were looking for a bed, not a copy machine.”

  “You can tell Mr. Reynard about it.”

  “I’d love the chance to do just that!” Jack snapped, matching Sparrow for belligerence.

  “Well, no time like the present.” A familiar voice entered the conversation. “You can lower your weapons, men. We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt here.”

  Jack felt Maddy suck in a little breath as Reynard strode around the corner and into the room.

  He slipped his arm around her, holding her securely against his side.

  Reynard eyed the two of them with interest. “Misbehaving again?” he asked.

  Jack raised one shoulder. “Just following my natural inclinations. When we got to our villa, I was all set to enjoy some play time with my fiancée.”

  Reynard cocked an eyebrow. “Fiancée?”

  “We have a very close relationship. Which is why we came here. Your cameras were kind of a turnoff. This evening I figured we’d slip off where we wouldn’t be disturbed.”

  “You and I have a business meeting scheduled at ten.”

  “No problem. Pleasure before business.”

  “Perhaps we’ll make it business before pleasure,” Reynard countered. “Since we’re all together, why don’t we get started.”

  Jack had planned to show up for the meeting without Maddy. Now he had no choice but to usher her along as Reynard led the way farther into the gated complex.

  The two guards walked behind them, but with their guns slung from straps over their shoulders.

  They arrived at another gate, which the master of the house opened with a key.

  Maddy glanced at Jack as they walked through. They followed Reynard down another corridor to what appeared to be a wide entrance hall. In fact there was a door that looked as if it opened to the outside. Opposite was a sitting room with plush couches, an elaborate parquet floor topped by an Oriental rug and a huge wall filled with electronics equipment.

  “Sit down,” Reynard said, gesturing to one of the couches.

  It was more of a command than an invitation. Jack reached for Maddy’s hand as he took her down to the couch with him.

  Reynard chose a seat next to an end table with a built-in control panel. When he pressed a series of buttons, a picture sprang to life on the 45-inch television set opposite them. It showed an empty bedroom.

  But Jack knew it wouldn’t be empty for long. He watched himself and Maddy step into the picture, watched himself raise his head for a moment, then gather Maddy in his arms in a jerky motion and begin making love to her.

  He tried to view the image on the screen objectively. Did the man in the center of the picture realize he was about to be discovered? Was that why he’d started making love to his partner?

  At least he looked like he was enjoying himself, he decided. Despite the circumstances, Jack felt his body tightening as he watched the couple on the screen.

  Beside him Maddy made a small sound as the scene heated up. Luckily, his body hid most of the activity, but it was clear what he was doing. And clear where she’d lodged her hand. Then at the end, there was that one startling view of creamy, coral-tipped breasts before he pulled her dress back into place.

  The scene with the guards followed, but Reynard snapped off the video.

  MADDY COULD ONLY SIT THERE in shock. Never in all her life had she been caught in such a compromising position. On tape, no less. And by the slimeball holding the VCR remote control.

  “A very interesting tape, don’t you think?” Reynard asked. He was addressing Jack, yet she knew he was probing her reaction as well.

  She was mortified. And she assumed the woman she was supposed to be would be mortified, too. Wordlessly, she studied the tips of her shoes.

  “If you like that sort of thing,” Jack answered Reynard’s question.

  “You don’t like to watch yourself in intimate activities? It can be very stimulating. But then, I think you know that.”

  Jack cleared his throat but said nothing.

  “I’ll have this tape delivered to your villa. A souvenir of Orchid Island.”

  “You’re too kind,” Jack answered.

  Reynard crossed to the bar and brought out a Red Stripe beer, which he handed to Jack. Then he expertly mixed Maddy a wine cooler.

  Jack kept one hand on her arm as he set his beer on a coaster on the glass-topped coffee table. She knew he could feel fine tremors rippling over her skin and wished she could make them go away.

  But she didn’t know what to expect now. Would Reynard accuse them of spying? Or was he going to make some suggestion that would turn her stomach.

  Jack’s hand slid reassuringly up and down her arm, and she wanted to sink her head to his shoulder. Instead, she played with the condensation on the outside of her glass, feeling Reynard’s eyes on her and Jack.

  “If you’d wanted a tour of the house, you had only to ask,” their host said affably.

  She tried to evaluate the statement and knew Jack was doing the same thing. She was pretty sure Reynard was probing for information.

  “We didn’t want a tour. We wanted to be alone,” Jack clipped out.

  “You’ll have to wait until later,” Reynard said, his eyes sweeping over her in a way that made her skin crawl. “And I’m sure she’s worth the wait. But right now, why don’t you tell me how we can help each other out.”

  At Jack’s lifted eyebrow, he added, “Business-wise, of course.”

  Jack took a pull on his beer, then set the bottle down. “I have several tons of coke coming to the U.S. every year from South America. Sometimes DEA patrols make it impossible to get my cargo to the mainland. It would be a great advantage to me if I had a drop-off point not too far from the U.S. where I could land cargo—or simply anchor a ship for a few days until it’s safe to head for Florida. I was hoping you could provide such a place.”

  “I might be able to do that,” Reynard answered, “but I’d want a cut, of course.”

  “How much?”

  “Twenty percent of the street value. In advance.”

  Jack took another swallow of his beer. “That’s a pretty steep price. Plus if you expect the cash up front, then you’re asking me to spend money I haven’t earned yet.”

  “I assume you can afford it.”

  “I can afford it. The question is, do I want to take that kind of financial risk.”

  “There’s another man who’s come to me with a similar proposition. If you don’t like my terms, I can always strike a deal with him.”

  Jack sat up straighter. “Who?”

  “Another one of my guests. Don Fowler.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Is that why the bastard has been eying me? He knew that you were going to talk to me—and I didn’t know about him.”

  “He ca
me to me first. I felt I had to inform him he had a rival.”

  “Did he tell you we left the party?” Maddy asked. “Is that how you knew where to look for us?”

  Reynard’s attention switched instantly to her. “An astute observation, my dear. You have brains as well as beauty.”

  She gave a little shake of her shoulders. “It wasn’t all that difficult to figure out.”

  “Your little indiscretion would have come to my attention soon enough.”

  She struggled not to react as he continued to scrutinize her before turning his attention back to Jack.

  “Of course, I give preferential treatment to men who do me favors,” he said.

  The words hung in the air.

  “What sort of favors?” Jack asked.

  “I’m sure you know what I’d like from you.”

  Jack tightened his hold around her, the gesture conveying a warning as well as protection. “Perhaps we should break off negotiations.”

  Reynolds looked taken aback. “Are you withdrawing your proposal?”

  “No. But I think we’ve reached an impasse—at least for now. Perhaps we should resume the discussion again tomorrow.”

  “That’s up to you.”

  Jack stood, bringing Maddy with him. “You and I have some unfinished business,” he murmured to her, then nodded to Reynard. “Thank you for the hospitality. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She held on to his arm, walking quickly to keep up with him. She had felt numb during the meeting, but the numbness lifted abruptly as they stepped out the door and the heat and humidity of the tropical night slapped her in the face.

  The air was clammy, making it suddenly hard to breathe—although she knew the reaction wasn’t simply from any physical sensations. It was partly from the knowledge that Reynard wanted her and was willing to go to extreme lengths to get her.

  And partly from the way Jack had behaved in the meeting. He’d been cold and calculating. And now that they were away from Reynard and she could think again, she couldn’t help remembering what Ted Burnes had told her. He’d told her Jack was unreliable. That he was responsible for the death of a female partner.

  Somewhere in the darkness, a wild animal shrieked. At least she hoped it was an animal and not some hapless employee or guest on whom Reynard was taking out his anger.

  Because despite his calm demeanor, she’d recognized the anger simmering under the surface.

  OLIVER POURED HIMSELF a double measure of cognac. Bringing the glass to the sofa, he rewound the tape, this time farther back—to when Jack and Maddy had first entered the private areas of the house.

  The cheeky bastard, he thought as he watched Jack lead his companion down the hall, poking his nose into places where it didn’t belong.

  Was he on a fact-finding expedition?

  Or was he telling the truth? That he was simply looking for a good place to dally with his little sweetie.

  The last time he’d viewed the tape, Oliver had focused on Maddy. This time he watched Jack, watched the way he strode into the bedroom as if he owned it.

  You could almost make yourself believe that he had been telling the truth—that the only thing on his mind was making love.

  To his fiancée! He snorted.

  He watched them together. She slipped her hand between them, found his penis. Urged him on. And he was all too happy to oblige. Another few moments and he would have had her on the bed.

  Oliver licked his lips as the view of Maddy’s breasts—swollen with arousal—filled the screen.

  Then he watched the denouement when the guards had put an end to the fun and games.

  It was obvious that the man and woman on the videotape were both hot and bothered. But that proved nothing, really.

  Oliver stroked his chin. He wasn’t a man who took chances. Whether or not Jack Craig and Maddy Griffin looked like they were simply searching for a bedroom, he’d better assume the worst—that they were up to something more.

  Were they spies, sent by some rival in the States bent on horning in on his business operations? Were they assassins? Or could this have something to do with his unwilling visitor—Dawn Winston?

  Whatever they were up to, he’d better assign extra surveillance to them. Starting right now. Striding to the telephone, he made a call to security.

  ALONG THE PATH, leaves rustled, and Maddy felt as if a thousand eyes were staring at her from out of the darkness.

  The impulse to flee grabbed her by the throat. To flee from this place. From Reynard. From Jack.

  But there was no escape. She was here because she’d made it very clear that Jack Connors wasn’t coming to Orchid Island without her. And all she could do was keep walking beside him as he led her rapidly toward their villa.

  They reached the front door, and Jack pulled his key from his pocket. The seconds before he had the door open were agony. Then relief washed over her as she stepped inside. But the feeling of safety was only momentary.

  She was locked in with Jack.

  Sucking in a breath, she let it out with deliberate control.

  Stop it, she ordered herself.

  You can trust him. He’s the only person on this whole island that you can trust.

  Hadn’t he found the hidden cameras in here? Hadn’t he kept her out of Reynard’s clutches?

  But there could be other cameras. Or microphones. And if there were, Reynard was surely tuned in.

  She had just kicked off her shoes when, against her will, the mortifying images she’d seen on the screen a little while ago flashed into her mind, and she had to hold back a moan of protest.

  She wanted to scream at Jack—to ask him what the hell he’d been thinking when he’d exposed her breasts that way. But she knew exactly what he’d been doing—distracting the guards, giving them something to focus on besides the fact that they were trespassing.

  Her eyes flicked to him. He was prowling around the living room, probably looking for spy equipment. When he stalked into the bedroom, she followed, watching as he walked to their suitcases.

  They’d left their clothing piled inside. And now the clothing was gone.

  Jack opened drawers, and she saw that the items had been put away—and probably thoroughly searched. Luckily she hadn’t hidden anything important in the folds of her T-shirts.

  It was all she could do to stop herself from rushing over to her makeup case and checking the transmitter.

  “Well,” Jack said, his voice low and sardonic. “I see the maid’s been very efficient.”

  “Yes,” she managed to answer. “How nice.”

  He turned and gave her a look that made her go very still. “You know baby, what we need is to unwind.”

  Casually he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it in the closet. Then he began to undo his shirt studs.

  She swallowed, her gaze flicking to the bed and back to his face. Nothing had changed as far as she knew. This room might still be the star attraction on Orchid Island Television.

  His expression remained impassive as he hung up the shirt, then kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks, and unzipped his trousers.

  Dry-mouthed, she watched him put those away.

  Naked except for his briefs, he stepped toward her—tall and muscular and overwhelmingly masculine.

  And aroused. That too. Because he couldn’t hide the fact—not in a pair of knit briefs.

  When he took her hand, she stiffened. But instead of leading her to the bed, he urged her toward the bathroom, giving her no choice but to follow him.

  He turned on the shower, and the room suddenly filled with the roar of water. Not just from the overhead spray but from four jets in the walls of the tiled enclosure.

  She felt as if she were observing from somewhere far away as he stepped toward her, his intentions very clear. Unzipping the dress, he pulled it over her head and flung it onto the counter. Then he skimmed down her panty hose and panties in one quick motion, leaving her naked.

  Turning away, he stripped o
ff his own briefs and adjusted the hot water that was already filling the room with steam.

  As he stepped into the shower, he brought her with him, brought her under the sprays that hit her body from several directions, instantly turning her skin hot and slick.

  But it wasn’t only the heat of the water that enveloped her. It was the heat of the man as he pressed her body to his while a groan welled deep in his throat.

  For several seconds he simply held her under the pounding water. Then he lowered his mouth to her ear.

  “We can talk in here. The running water should mask the conversation—screw up the microphones. We have to talk.”

  Lord, he was thoroughly, sexually aroused. Yet he was doing his best to ignore the demands of his body.

  And if he could do it, so could she, she told herself sternly. “Yes.” Then, “Are there microphones in here?”

  He made a low, frustrated sound. “Probably. If we’re lucky, it’s a camera-free zone.”

  She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to shut out the image of someone watching them now. The seconds of exposure in front of the guards had been bad enough. But here she was in the shower—every inch of her skin on view.

  The thought made her press closer to Jack, which was a mistake—at least on the physical level.

  Yet she was powerless to ease away. And she had gone beyond questioning his judgment, or his methods. Still, the sob she’d managed to hold back until now welled up—spilled out. Just one small sob before she wrested control of herself again. “I didn’t know,” was all she could whisper at the moment.

  “Yeah, well, neither did I. I thought I was prepared.” The observation ended with a curse. “Maddy, I’m sorry.” He turned his head, sliding his lips along her cheek, then finding the sensitive place just above her right ear.

  For a moment her mind went blank. Then she whispered, “For what?”

  “For getting you into this.” He stopped, and she felt his jaw tighten. “For flashing those guys a look at your breasts.”

  She hadn’t expected him to apologize—for anything. And his words touched her at some deep level that she barely understood. She had been afraid of him—angry. Now she pressed her forehead against his shoulder, wanting to bury herself in his hard flesh. “I know why you did it,” she answered in a barely audible voice. “And about the other part…you didn’t get me into anything. I insisted on coming with you because it was the right thing to do. It’s still the right thing.”