The Fidelity World_Decoy

by Mira Gibson

  Of course it was ‘alright’ with her. It was more than alright.

  It was all she’d ever wanted.

  She’d never felt happier in her entire life.

  Chapter Nine

  NATHAN

  The Cromwell Corp was far from innocent. Nathan knew that. His mother especially. She had blood on her hands. Nathan couldn’t see a way out of closing the company. It was the best possible option. If he could steer the FBI’s investigation away from Guinevere and himself—using Portia—and onto Maxum and a dead man, then quietly collapse the family business, there was a chance he could come out unscathed.

  A chance.

  But it would mean his family’s ruin, and Nathan, too, would lose it all…

  …including the woman he had dared to trust…

  …and accidentally started loving.

  Even after all that he’d learned about Portia, he’d fallen for her. It hadn’t been easy duping her last night into discovering the phony files on his desk, which—as predicted—she’d documented and sent to her contact at FBI Headquarters, an agent by the name of Jennifer McBride, according to Sergeant and the technology he’d had installed on Portia’s cell phone when she hadn’t had it with her.

  It was as though he’d laid out a bear trap, and caught a bunny rabbit.

  Nathan wished she hadn’t done it, because it only proved to his mother that Portia, as sweet and innocent as she seemed, was really a bear.

  It also proved, to Nathan more than anyone, that he couldn’t trust her.

  Regardless of how they’d come into each other’s lives and why, part of him had been holding out hope that she wouldn’t take the bait, that she would instead decide to protect Nathan, do nothing with the planted Maxum files among the rest, and show her obedience and allegiance to him. It would’ve gone against the plan that Sergeant and Guinevere had devised and perhaps it would’ve left the Cromwell Corp in an even worse position, but it would’ve restored Nathan’s trust in Portia and preserved the feeling that had been growing inside of him—that she was the one.

  Now he was caught in the middle of what felt like some strange stage play, his mother offering Portia fluffy biscuits on a silver tray from across her breakfast room table, the woman he was falling for trying not to show the immense guilt that was clearly written all over her pretty face, Nathan holding her hand in plain sight and knowing, every time he met his mother’s eye, that Guinevere despised Portia and wanted her dead.

  Talk about masks.

  “I can see my son is very fond of you,” commented Guinevere with a tight, disapproving smile. It should’ve sounded like a compliment, but to Nathan’s trained ears it could be nothing more than a veiled accusation. “Which means I’m inclined to accept you, but there are conditions. We are, after all, Cromwells.”

  Nathan bit his tongue so as not to contradict his arrogant mother, but he couldn’t prevent his jaw from clenching as he glared at her to choose her words carefully. The purpose of this little breakfast was to lead Portia to believe that she was now ‘in’, a trusted confidant to both Nathan and his mother, an honorary ‘Cromwell’ of sorts, so that she could relay more and more favorable evidence—phony or otherwise—to Agent Jennifer McBride.

  “Conditions?” asked Portia as gracefully as she could, as she took a sip of coffee.

  Her hands were trembling slightly. She wasn’t used to being undercover and she was clearly out of her depth.

  “What you see here,” Guinevere explained, “what you hear here, stays here. The same goes for anything and everything you might learn about the Cromwell Corp and its affiliates when you’re in Manhattan with us. The majority of our work is highly confidential, and I’m sure, spending so much time with my son, you’ll overhear a lot more than you’ve perhaps bargained for.”

  Portia’s innocent blue eyes widened with excitement, but she kept her tone steady as she assured them, “Nathan’s business is his business. I would never betray his trust. If it puts your mind at ease,” she went on, making a point to meet his brooding gaze before she addressed Guinevere, “I haven’t lived in New York long. I don’t know anyone. I have no family or friends back home. There’s no one to tell. There isn’t even anyone to vent to,” she added with a little laugh as though every woman needed a sympathetic girlfriend to complain to from time to time.

  If Nathan had been having a hard time swallowing his mother’s performance, he was having an even harder time choking down the blatant lies of Portia’s conniving assurances.

  As far as he was becoming concerned, this breakfast was another opportunity for Portia to drop everything, level with him, and switch sides, promising to help them.

  But that’s not what she was doing.

  It was beginning to make his blood boil.

  He touched eyes with his mother when Guinevere shifted her cold gaze from Portia, shooting him a careful look that implied, the gall!

  “Mother, I’m sure,” said Nathan in as unemotional a tone as he could muster, “that Portia’s presence will only benefit Cromwell.”

  She offered them both an empty smile and agreed with an edge, “Of course.”

  The curtain was closing on this little scene, the stage now set for Act Two. Portia had been primed and they both knew that from this moment forward, when Nathan paraded her in front of more phony files or scripted telephone calls, every word would be relayed back to the Feds.

  They had her right where they wanted her…

  …but it only made him furious.

  “When will you return to Manhattan?” his mother asked offhandedly, carrying on with casual conversation for the rest of their unappetizing breakfast.

  Nathan responded in kind, as Portia politely ate and returned poised replies when expected, and soon they parted from Guinevere’s wing. By nightfall, they arrived at his penthouse suite, having driven through a brutal snowstorm, Portia’s gloved hand draped over his leg as he’d steered the Lexus with a white-knuckle grip in silence.

  Like the darkness that had fallen over Manhattan, so too had a cold, dark feeling—devoid of human emotion—settled over Nathan’s hardening heart.

  Days passed. Nathan tried to ignore the distance dividing him from the woman he’d thought he loved—mistakenly, perhaps. He made love to her like clockwork, and in an equally calculating fashion, left files out in plain sight for her to betray him with. It might have been the plan and his mother might have been pleased with its flawless execution, but it was causing rage and resentment to build up inside of him…

  …and he wasn’t sure for how much longer he would be able to stay in control.

  The beast was rattling the cage and the bars wouldn’t hold forever.

  Chapter Ten

  PORTIA

  From where Portia was sitting, Agent Jennifer McBride really didn’t look pleased. Leaning against her desk with her arms folded, her crisp blazer pulling taught and tailored slacks showing off her musculature, the Fed towered over her and informed her, “We don’t have enough on Nathan and Guinevere Cromwell to move in.”

  “I was under the impression that since Maxum was executing the drug smuggling operations, their hire-ups would be arrested.”

  “Of course, you’re under that impression,” Jennifer said smugly. “It’s the story you’ve been feeding me for weeks.”

  Lifting her chin, Portia challenged, “Do you want to take down the responsible party, or the Cromwells?”

  “You’ve been functioning under the misconception that the two are mutually exclusive,” Jennifer pointed out with a snort of disgust as she pushed away from the front of her desk and rounded to its business side. “Any corporation that both funds and profits from organized crime of this magnitude should be exposed and shut down, its board and owners, its CEOs and CFOs arrested.”

  “I agree, but that’s Maxum.”

  “That’s what you’ve given me,” Jennifer corrected as she lifted and immediately slapped down one of the many files Portia had duplicated for her. “I’m
surprised you’re still alive.”

  “I’m surprised,” she countered without hesitation and she rose from the chair and stared dead at Jennifer, “at how bloodthirsty you are for an innocent man—”

  “He’s far from innocent,” she warned.

  “I have found nothing to prove that,” Portia reminded her. “I have heard nothing to prove that. All I’ve discovered in both his penthouse and his wing of the Long Island estate is that Nathan was born into an empire that wanted him only as a puppet. He didn’t know about what Maxum was really doing overseas. He didn’t even know that Cromwell had been investing in a company called Maxum. I’ve let it go, Jennifer.”

  The admission gave Jennifer obvious pause. She tilted her head to the side and her discerning eyes grew round with what looked like sympathy or empathy or maybe it was just pity. Portia couldn’t tell and she didn’t care, because neither would affect her emotional bottom line.

  “He didn’t kill Trystan,” she said, holding the agent’s pained gaze. “Not even remotely. I’m telling you, Jennifer, if I thought for even one second that Nathan Cromwell was behind this—and I did, you know that, for a long time I was convinced he was to blame and should be skinned alive for it, quite frankly—I would still be fighting as hard as I can to put him behind bars. Hell, I might even try to kill him myself, I really would.” She let that hang in the air between them so that the grave sentiment would really sink in. “But at the end of the day, I just want the people responsible to go down for this, and Nathan isn’t it.”

  Jennifer afforded her the courtesy of not immediately dismantling her speech, though she lowered her intense eyes, as Portia watched her subtly shake her head in profound disapproval.

  It was then that the Federal Agent’s gaze landed on Portia’s left hand, the sparkling diamond on her ring finger.

  “You have got to be absolutely fucking kidding me,” she balked.

  Portia glanced down at the engagement ring that Nathan had proposed to her with that very morning and it brought an instant smile to her face.

  When she returned her gaze to the agent, however, a sobering air of conviction washed over her.

  “What did you think would happen when you connected me to Nathan via a company like Infidelity?”

  “Are you seriously going to stand there and attempt to pass that off as anything but a symbol of your true feelings for the man?”

  “How dare you assume otherwise?”

  “Stop,” Jennifer barked. “You’re a terrible liar. You’ve fallen for him, haven’t you? You might have accepted his proposal with some sliver of our working together on this case in mind, but first and foremost, you want to spend your life with him.”

  “Fine,” she conceded. “But I’ll not have you make me feel guilty about it. Nathan didn’t kill my brother. He didn’t stuff Trystan’s body full of heroine and ship it back to Kansas. He wasn’t the one to tell my grieving parents that Trystan would have to be cremated, that his body had been destroyed. He wasn’t even the one who had ordered those soldiers to stand on our doorstep and lie to all of us like that. Like I said, Nathan is innocent, and my conscience is clear.”

  Another tense moment passed as the women stared at each other, each daring the other to strike back.

  When it seemed the argument had been exhausted, Portia informed her, “As far as I’m concerned, you don’t need me anymore.”

  Jennifer snorted another astonished laugh under her breath, but didn’t fight her any further, only supplied, “Well, the FBI thanks you for your help.”

  “I know justice will be served,” Portia said encouragingly. “I’m satisfied that you’ll be able to go after Maxum.”

  “Yeah? Then that makes one of us.”

  If Jennifer was a woman who needed to have the last word, Portia didn’t mind giving it to her. She pulled her winter coat on, made her quiet way to the closed office door, and didn’t look back as she let herself out.

  It was a very long walk up Fifth Avenue, but by the time she reached the Cromwell building, she felt just as elated as she had that morning when Nathan had proposed to her after breakfast in bed.

  After a fast elevator ride, she stepped out onto the penthouse floor and found no immediate signs of Nathan in either the living room nor bedroom. Good. The only reason she’d been able to slip off to FBI Headquarters to meet Agent McBride had been because, with apologies, Nathan had needed to attend a brief conference meeting downstairs. She’d beat him back and with any luck would have just enough time to get into position for the sensual surprise she’d been dreaming up for him all afternoon.

  Nathan had sought the matchmaking services of a company like Infidelity for a reason. He had needs—dark, dangerous desires—that must be satisfied, and yet in their whirlwind time together Portia hadn’t once truly fulfilled them.

  The hesitation had certainly been on her end. She’d never been inclined or even curious about being tied up and possibly hurt as a means towards sexual gratification. And yet, Nathan, of his own accord, had seemed to abandon those kinds of proclivities. But that didn’t mean he’d lost interest.

  She wanted to show him that pleasing him, whether his particular brand of dark pleasure came naturally to her or not, mattered; that it turned her on, and that as his wife she wanted nothing more than to keep his balls empty and his belly full.

  When she reached the foot of the bed, she let her winter coat fall to the floor then took a step towards the hidden door of his private playroom and let one boot drop. Then the next. She discarded her sweater after that, each garment falling one step closer to the hidden door, which she opened and left that way—a trail for him to follow into the glowing red chamber.

  By the time she was ready for him, Portia wore nothing but the sparkling engagement ring he’d given her that morning.

  She draped herself across the black leather bench in the center of the room and cuffed a leather bracelet around her wrist, chaining herself to the apparatus.

  Her nipples hardened as she waited, excited and nervous, for the sounds of Nathan’s return.

  She had convinced him—with Karen Flores’ help—that she wanted nothing more than to be ‘whoever he wanted her to be’.

  It was time to fulfill that promise…

  …and luckily for Portia, this time, and now and forever, it was true.

  She truly did want to be everything to Nathan.

  The rest of their lives would start now.

  Footfall.

  Dress shoes thudding over carpet.

  The sound of the bedroom door clicking shut.

  Portia’s heart surged with shimmering excitement as her gaze locked on the private playroom’s open doorway. Her breathing quickened and she felt her body grow wet between her legs.

  Playfully, Nathan called out, “Now, where could my fiancée have disappeared to?”

  Portia was grinning, giddy with tingling nerves of arousal. She loved this man. She had never been happier. And though it wasn’t lost on her that she had just cast herself away into uncharted waters, she trusted Nathan with every fiber of her being not to leave her out at sea.

  The playroom door creaked as Nathan peered into the red, glowing room. A devilish grin spread across his handsome face, drinking in the sight of her nude, curvy body.

  “Look at you,” he breathed.

  “Look at me,” she echoed and watched him close and lock the door. A little flare of terror churned in her stomach remembering the room was soundproof.

  Slowly, he stalked towards her, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up as he neared.

  “Do what you want with me,” she dared when he reached her and brought his large hand to hover over the soft curve of her fleshy hip.

  “Is that an invitation?” he challenged.

  If he was asking her if she was sure of what she was getting herself into… she didn’t know.

  “It’s whatever you want it to be, Nathan,” she told him. “I need you to feel fulfilled and satisfied always, even if
I don’t understand it.”

  He let out a raspy groan as he squeezed her supple ass.

  “We’ve had this date from the beginning, haven’t we?” he asked as his wandering gaze traveled the length of her nude, trembling body.

  She knew when to keep her mouth shut, knew when he didn’t expect or want a response, and this was one of those times. As he helped her to roll onto her back and took her free arm to chain her down with the other leather-clad handcuff, Portia moaned and felt an achy, hot swell blossom between her legs.

  He cuffed her ankles—legs spread—next and then fastened what appeared to be a dog collar tightly around her slender neck. With each brush of his warm hand across her skin as he worked, Portia felt the sting of erotic electricity shoot through her. She was growing wet for him, eager to feel his sexual touch, and the raw edge of nerves, worry, apprehension—call it terror—that was filling her only added to her building arousal.

  She was thrilled.

  Abruptly, he jerked the bench, lifting one side so that she was propped vertically, her arms pinned above her head, feet chained to either side of the bench—suspended and facing the dark man of her dreams…

  …or would this twist into a nightmare?

  It wasn’t until Nathan lifted his dark, stormy eyes and met her nervous gaze that Portia realized she may have just made a terrible mistake.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he roughly clamped the leather collar around her throat tighter. In a shocking instant there was very little air.

  Portia told herself not to panic. This was all part of the dynamic. Her life was in his hands—so-to-speak—but only so far as it translated into sexual play. Or so she was telling herself that to remain calm.

  The look in his eyes…

  The cold, almost inhuman hardening of his expression…

  It didn’t feel erotic staring into the soulless darkness of his empty eyes.

  She felt like she was staring into her future and seeing, as clearly as if the dark, empty pools of his brown eyes had been a crystal ball, that it wouldn’t last much longer.