"So you're saying they've not only been stolen they were hacked?"
"Yeah. That's what I'm saying. Whoever did it froze the image. The cameras showed an empty hotel suite, exactly what it was supposed to be."
"This explains a few things," Victor growled. "Barton was here, I'm sure of it, and he and Natalie had a cozy private chat. What about the security for the artwork?"
"There are too many eyes on that. The hotel security, the police, us."
"I'm fast losing confidence in us," Victor snarled. "What about the artifact?"
"No-one can get to that."
"You sound very sure."
"I am. There's no better hiding place than in plain view."
"Go back through the security arrangements. Look for flaws, any flaws, and no matter how small report them to me."
"Sure thing."
"Andy, don't let me down."
"I won't, uncle. You can count on me."
"We're not going to find anything in here," Victor exclaimed as he started marching towards the door. "Clear everything out, and make sure someone is watching Natalie's apartment in New York. She might be foolish enough to think she can collect her things."
With the two men following, Victor strode from the room, and catching the elevator to the top floor he stepped out and marched to the penthouse suite. As he stepped into the opulent living area Xavier rose from the couch and smiled across at him. Victor often thought if his lover had been born with wings he'd be mistaken for an angel. Wispy blond hair, blue eyes, square-jawed with a porcelain complexion, he'd once graced the catwalks in Paris and Milan.
"I don't need you," Victor said sharply to his thugs, and as they hurried away he walked briskly across to his lover. "I've had a bad night, Xav."
"My poor Victor," Xavier said softly. "I should have been with you."
"No, I couldn't afford any distractions tonight, and if some cocksucker had tried to pick you up…"
"That would have made things difficult?"
"Run me a bath and break out the lavender massage oil."
"And the candles?"
"Definitely."
As Xavier glided away, Victor walked across to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a shot of vodka. Xavier had left out a plate offering thin crackers, a silver bowl of caviar, and some chopped egg and onion. Victor let out a sigh of gratitude, and as he scooped up a mouthful he felt himself calm down. There was no better anti-stress drug than his pale-skinned Xavier.
CHAPTER FOUR
The house was spectacular, and as Oliver led Natalie up a flight of stairs and into the master suite she tightened his jacket around her naked body. As much as she wanted him to beg him to rip it off her and toss her on the bed, she wanted to protect her vulnerable heart more.
"I picked you up a few things," he declared, opening the door to a large walk-in closet. "Get dressed then come downstairs. I'm going to fix us something to eat."
"What do you mean you picked me up a few things? How did you know I'd be here? Wait, what am I saying? Never mind."
"Did you really think I'd let you suffer at the hands of that man once I found you?"
"Once you found me?"
"I told you I've been searching for you, Natalie," he said softly, moving across to her, "and I want to hear everything that's happened over the last two years, especially how you ended up with Pichenko. I'm making us pasta. You need the carbs. You're skin and bone. Beautiful skin and bone, but still skin and bone," then touching her arm he kissed her softly on the cheek and turned to walk away.
"Wait."
"Do you need something?"
"Yes, I, uh…"
He could see the carnal hunger in her eyes, but he could also see loneliness, fear and heartache, and stepping swiftly forward he engulfed her with his arms. Her body was stiff. She was fighting the need to be as weak and helpless as she felt.
"I'm not leaving you, Natalie. I'm in this for the long haul. You and me. I promise."
She wanted to believe him. With everything in her she wanted to believe him, but he'd made her a promise once before, a promise that had been broken and left her devastated.
"The person who was supposed to contact you at the airport couldn't," he murmured in her ear, as if reading her mind. "He was in a bad car accident. It was just one of those freak things. As soon as I heard I tried to reach you but you were gone. It's taken me all this time to track you down."
"Is that true?" she whispered, raising her head to search his eyes.
"Why would I make it up? You're the only reason I'm here."
"But—you're on a mission."
"My mission was—is—you."
"No, it's Pichenko and the artifact he's carrying."
"Natalie, I had to fight tooth and nail for this assignment. My people didn't want me facing off against him again, especially knowing how desperately I'd been searching for you."
"Oliver, I thought…"
"What? That I had simply abandoned you? That what we'd shared meant nothing?"
"There was no other explanation, and it…it…" but her voice trailed off as she tried to swallow back her tears, and burying her head into the crook of his shoulder she let out a long, heavy breath.
Closing his eyes he breathed her in. There had been times his hunt had felt impossible, but in spite of the countless dead-ends he'd refused to give up. He knew Pichenko was watching, enjoying each false lead as it fell away, but Oliver also knew at some point the evil genius would set the trap. He had, but Oliver had bested him and Natalie was finally back in his arms. Hearing a stifled sob he tightened his hold, vowing silently to do whatever was needed to keep her safe and to bring Pichenko's days to an end.
"I don't understand any of this," she sniffled. "I think you need to give me some details, assuming that's allowed."
"It was Pichenko's men who were at the cabin two years ago. I'd beaten him and he wanted revenge. He still wants revenge. He followed us there with that pendant he gave you. It was my fault."
"Why was it your fault?"
"I should have known he'd be watching me. I wasn't careful enough. He must have seen us together having dinner, or meeting at a hotel, something. It could have been his sharp instincts or intelligence gathering, but he decided if he followed you he'd find me."
"But it was the gallery owner who gave me that pendant," she said, pulling back and looking up at him "Oh, I see. The gallery owner was in his pocket."
"Of course, and after the cabin incident he would have known we'd separate, so he sought you out and hired you only to use you as a pawn. That's why he kept moving you around. He's been throwing me false leads thinking they'd make me crazy, and as soon as you truly surfaced I'd come running. He was right. He also assumed I'd be so frustrated and angry by the time I found you, I'd make a mistake."
"Did he make you crazy?"
"I hate to say, but there were days…" he admitted, his voice trailing off as he let out a sigh. "I'm only human, but I'm also trained to stay focused. Frustration is a dangerous response. He was right believing it can lead to mistakes, and in my game mistakes can be deadly."
"But you outfoxed him."
"This time. It's not over yet, but you'll be safe here, and now that I have you I can concentrate on the other elements of the mission. I do have you, don't I, Natalie?"
"Yes, Oliver, you have me. You've always had me. As much as I didn't want you in my head and in my heart you were there every single day. You've been like a shadow, sometimes sharp, sometimes diffused, but always following me around."
"You should've been a poet," he murmured, a soft smile curling the edges of his lips.
Seeing the love shining from his eyes she wondered how she could ever have doubted him, but his fingers moved into her hair and chased away all thought. As he leaned in, she closed her eyes, and yielding her lips to his she pressed her body urgently against him. Two long years of bottled-up aching need surged through their kiss. Their mouths crushed together, their tongues cavorted, and th
eir muffled utterances of joy filled the room. As he desperately yanked his jacket from her shoulders she tugged at his shirt, popping the buttons. Abruptly breaking the kiss he paused, staring down at her, then sweeping her up he hurried her to the bed, and laying her down he fell on top of her, pinning her wrists on either side of her head.
"Oliver…your chest…" she muttered, staring at his tattoo.
"I had to, for a job. What do you think?"
"You must be the only British gentleman who's been inked, and damn it's sexy."
"Look at me."
As she lifted her gaze he knew the moment would stay with him forever. He'd lost her, the only woman he'd ever truly loved, and after battling the odds he'd not only found her, but had managed to rescue her from the clutches of an iniquitous psychopath.
"Oliver, I can't believe I'm here with you like this," she breathed. "Is it real? I've missed you so much."
He saw a tear slip from the side of her left eye, and leaning down he kissed the salty droplet, then looked back at her.
"From this day forward I'll kiss away all your tears, I'll spank your gorgeous ass, I'll make love to your beautiful body, and I'll cook us delicious dinners. Is that real enough for you?"
"I don't know what to say."
"Say it's what you want too."
"You know it is."
"Say it."
"It's what I want too. I want you to kiss away my tears, spank me and make love to me, and cook us wonderful meals."
A smile crossed his lips, and kissing her softly, he sent his mouth to whisper in her ear.
"Leave your arms exactly where they are."
As he released her wrists he heard her quick intake of breath. Her love of his dominant control hadn't changed, and a rush of energy blazed through his loins. Climbing from the bed he quickly removed the last of his clothing, and opening the drawer of the nightstand he grabbed a condom, ripped open the package and slid it into place.
Natalie's heart was pumping so hard she thought it would explode from her chest. She could feel the slick wetness between her legs, and as he stretched out beside her and began roaming his hands across her body, she ached to hold him.
"Please can I move my arms?" she bleated. "Please, I want to so badly."
"I have missed your begging," he murmured, and dropping his lips to her breasts he languidly lapped at her nipples, then drew them into his mouth.
The divine bliss of his unspoken denial had sent a fresh wave of moisture through her sex, and as he hungrily sucked she heard herself pleading for his cock.
Moving his hand between her legs he found her wondrously wet, and as much as he wanted to take his time and luxuriate in their long awaited reunion, the need to be inside her was too great. Moving on top of her he held his swollen manhood in place, and as she raised her knees he pushed himself home. Her cry of elation fed his soul, and gripping her wrists he began to pump with slow, strong strokes.
She was crying out with each thrust, and staring at his muscled arms and powerful torso she squirmed in his hold, not trying to free herself, but wanting to feel his control.
"You need me to fuck you hard?"
"I do, I need…"
Before she could finish his lips were on hers in a rabid kiss, he was releasing her wrists and sinking on top of her, and as his tongue explored her mouth he began to accelerate. His cock was pounding, he was crushing her mouth, then abruptly he paused.
"Oliver…what is it?"
"I'm already close," he breathed. "You feel too fucking good."
"May I move my arms?"
"Yes, yes, move them around me."
"I'm close too, so close," she said, circling his neck.
Softly kissing her, he lightly touched his tongue against the underside of her top lip, but the respite only lasted a moment. His cock demanded he move. As he resumed his fervent thrusting, sparking energy streamed through him, his climax was looming, and just as he was about to pause for a second time she let out an urgent plea.
"Oliver, I'm there. Please may I?"
"Yes," he groaned, her anxious breathy begging sending him over the edge.
Arching her back and holding her breath, Natalie surrendered to the delicious spasms, and tumbling through the dizzying whitewash she could hear his deep groans. His fingers were suddenly underneath her, grasping her bottom, he was heavy on top of her, but as his convulsions waned and he fell limp, he rolled off her body and wrapped her into his arms.
"Never again," he panted, "never, ever, ever again will we be separated."
CHAPTER FIVE
Standing under a hot shower, Oliver had moved a foamy sponge over Natalie's body, washed her hair, then wrapping her in a towel he had rubbed her dry. As he hugged her tightly and lovingly kissed her, in spite of Pichenko's attempt to kill them, she felt at peace.
"You're looking better," he said, studying her. "You were frazzled when I found you."
"I've been frazzled for weeks. No, make that months."
"Let's get dressed and go downstairs. I'll cook, you'll talk."
"You need to talk as well."
"You first."
"I really do love this tatt," she murmured, tracing her fingers across the inky pattern on his chest. "It makes you sort of, I don't know the word, edgy. That's what it does. It gives you an edge."
"An edge?"
"Definitely."
"I'll take all the edge I can get," he chuckled, then turning her around he slapped her backside. "Now go and find something to cover that naked body of yours before I ravage you all over again."
"OW."
"There's more where that one came from, as well you know," he continued, following her out of the bathroom and smacking her again.
"Okay, okay," she laughed. "I'm going."
He watched her disappear into the closet, then striding across to his chest of drawers he searched out a track suit. Dressing quickly he headed down the stairs and into the kitchen, and as he lifted a pan from the overhead rack he thought about the coming days. If she stayed in the house she'd be safe. She could be strong-willed and difficult but she wasn't reckless, and knowing she was out of harm's way he could focus on completing his mission.
The first order of business was to locate the priceless artifact. He was hoping Natalie would be able to offer some clues, though he had other methods of uncovering information. Once found, he'd have to develop a strategy to retrieve it and high-tail it back to England. The CIA was lurking, he'd already recognized an agent at the exhibition, the Mossad was there, and no doubt other interested parties. It was a challenging operation, but it wasn't his first formidable assignment.
Oliver loved to cook. He did his best thinking stirring aromatic sauces and slicing vegetables. Setting the water to boil, he opened the refrigerator and reached for the jar of marinara sauce he'd made the day before. It was while he'd been standing at the stove that he'd finalized the details of his plan to extricate Natalie.
His IT people couldn't get past the hotel's firewall, but they were able to help him get inside Victor's personal security system. Oliver knew it had been put in place by Victor's nephew, but he was still surprised how easy it had been. The only risky part of extricating Natalie had been the drive home, but he had full confidence in his impenetrable Ferrari.
"Something smells delicious."
Natalie's voice broke into his thoughts, and raising his eyes he smiled across at the beautiful woman ambling towards him.
"I think I've been holding my breath for months," she declared. "I feel so free, and before you say anything I know I can't leave the house."
"You're a virtual prisoner and you feel liberated," he said with a grin, "but I know exactly what you mean. There's an open bottle of wine and glasses on the counter. Would you do the honors?"
"Absolutely. Why are screens over the windows?"
"The glass is a privacy shield only during the day. If you switch on a lamp at night you become visible from the outside. If I'm not around make sure the sh
ades are in place before it gets dark. I'll show you how they work. It's just a matter of pushing a button."
"I still can't believe I'm here," she murmured, approaching the counter.
"Wait a second," he said, moving over to her. "I need to hold you."
Turning to face him, she slid her arms around his waist and sank into his chest.
"Oliver, I mean it, I can't believe I'm with you. I've prayed for this every single day, even on the days I didn't think it would ever happen."
"You and me both, but I was sure I'd find you eventually. Check out the wine."
"Oh, my gosh," she breathed, staring at the label. "It's the wine we shared our first night together."
"It's been traveling with me waiting for this moment."
"You're amazing," she sighed, hugging him tightly. "You are, you're amazing."
"Determined is what I am," he murmured, "and now I need to check the pasta. Pour the wine, then you have to tell me how you ended up with Pichenko."
"It's not complicated, but it will shock you. It started with Claude Whitley."
"You're not serious, he's a phantom!"
"Before I keep going, you should probably know a number of the security agencies tried to recruit me when I left college, even your Special Branch."
"I'm not Special Branch, not exactly, but we'll talk about me in a minute, and it doesn't surprise me."
"Here's your wine."
"And here's to the first day of the rest of our lives," he said softly. "I know it's hokey but it's appropriate."
"It's ridiculously hokey but it works for me," she purred, clinking his glass, "and I can't think of any better toast."
"Getting out alive?"
"That too," she smiled, then taking a sip, she rolled her eyes. "Wow. The best wine on the planet."
"I agree. Finish your story. You passed on the intelligence agencies."
"I had no interest in leading that kind of life. It's too political, and I didn't fancy ducking bullets for a living."
"Sorry about that."
"Apparently it doesn't bother you," she said with a grin. "Anyway, I've known Claude for years through your friend and my cousin, Bradley Gilford. Claude offered me the cloak and dagger stuff searching out interesting works of art, but he's crazy paranoid and he swore me to secrecy. Even though I'm not with him anymore I couldn't tell you."
SPY: His Mission. His Orders. His Promise. Page 4