Rick nodded his assent. His eyes followed Sebastian's gaze, which had drifted back to Georgina. Rick clenched his teeth, fighting a burst of temper. Georgina was prancing around in front of macho Colombian thugs, wearing that goddamn white scrap of a bikini that hardly covered anything at all. Did the woman have no sense at all?
"It's a pity you came out all this way,” Sebastian said, his gaze lingering on Georgina. “I'll take care of the gringa. You'll not be needed after all."
Rick struggled to keep his voice even. “What are you talking about?"
Sebastian flicked his eyes away from the pool. “Didn't Diaz explain?"
"He said she needed persuading. I didn't think there was a problem. She's a willing seller."
Sebastian shook his head. “Diaz wants insurance that she won't talk. He wants her to be the go-between and do the cash drops. That way she'll be tainted enough to go down if something goes wrong."
"Is she refusing?"
"She's hesitating. Diaz thinks it would help is she gets involved with one of the men. Keep her loyal. Ramon tried last night, but she laughed at him. But no problem, I'll take care of it tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “If I can wait that long. She's sexy as hell. The intellectual type really turns me on. I might have her this afternoon."
Rick told himself to keep his mouth shut until he had counted to ten. He only made it up to four. “The gringa is mine,” he said. “Perhaps you father didn't realize."
Sebastian's forehead furrowed. “Was yours,” he countered with a nonchalant wave. “I'm taking her over."
"No,” Rick said. “She's mine."
Sebastian turned slowly. He lowered the glass on the table. “How do you suggest we settle this?"
Georgina floated in the pool, getting used to the cold water that had stung when Sebastian had first pulled her in. Her mind mulled over things. She realized that Rick was probably right when he claimed she had a problem with thinking too much.
She couldn't help it, though. Analyzing events and feeling was the best way to make sense out of them.
For example, why did Sebastian make her feel threatened? Rick was bigger and stronger and more masculine, but he made her feel safe. Was it because she'd got to know Rick by now, but Sebastian was a stranger? It couldn't be that, because Rick had made her feel safe as soon as he'd first spoken to her. It had to be something else, some fundamental difference in the two men and how she reacted to them.
Georgina flipped over to tread water and searched for Sebastian with her eyes. She found him standing by the side of the pool, sipping a drink from a tall glass. Georgina almost gulped in a mouthful of water when she saw who stood next to him.
Sebastian set his glass down on the table, saying something Georgina couldn't hear. Rick shrugged out of his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Sebastian reached over to a chair and covered his bare torso with a long-sleeved jersey with a white number four sewn on the back.
Then the two men crouched and began to circle each other, their hands clenched into fists, raised level with their faces.
Georgina splashed over to the steps and waded out of the water. Not stopping to dry herself, she pulled on her skirt and top, over the wet bikini. By the time she was dressed and reached the men, the first blows had already been exchanged.
"Stop,” she screamed.
Rick gave her a quick glance. That distracted him just long enough to allow Sebastian to connect with a lightning jab.
"You keep out of this,” Rick shouted at her. Then he charged at Sebastian.
Georgina watched in horror for a few seconds. Rick had the power, but Sebastian had the speed. There was no way she could tell which way it would end. Why did men have to be such children? It was probably some stupid disagreement that would be forgotten by tomorrow.
A thud sounded as Rick's fist connected with Sebastian's chest. Another followed when Sebastian repaid him. Then the men tangled together, like in an awkward dance, until Rick shunted Sebastian away, and the circling with fists raised resumed.
There had to be something she could do. Georgina spun to search the surroundings. Her gaze fell upon the open-topped red sports car that had to be Sebastian's. If she could get the alarm to go off, that would draw their attention and stop the fight.
She dashed over, slowing down to an awkward gait when the cobblestones ended, and the sharp gravel bit into the tender soles of her bare feet.
The keys were still in the ignition. Georgina reached into the car and pulled them off, but the alarm remained silent. She leaned inside and pummeled the dashboard with her hands. Nothing happened. The car was a European design, with a stick shift, and a handbrake on a lever between the two front seats.
Georgina reached out for the handbrake. She lowered it and tried to rock the car to make it move. Nothing happened. Realizing the car would have to be in neutral gear to move when the engine wasn't switched on, she curled her fingers over the gear stick and yanked. A terrible crunching sound echoed somewhere deep in the bowels of the car. The gear stick felt loose now. She could wiggle it side to side, which meant it was in neutral.
Leaning her weight against the bodywork, Georgina pushed as hard as she could. The car rolled a foot, but the alarm didn't go off.
Of course. She was a fool. Because the keys had been in the ignition, the alarm wasn't activated. She needed to press a button on the remote. Georgina reached into the car to retrieve the keys she'd tossed over the seat. Her weight, as she leaned over the side, rocked the car another foot. Then it caught its own momentum, and begun to roll along the stretch of gravel that sloped down toward the pool.
Georgina barely managed to push herself free and remain upright. She watched in horror, Rick and Sebastian and the fight totally forgotten. The car tilted as it hit the edge of the pool. Then the front toppled in. With a horrible screeching noise, the bottom scraped against the edge of the concrete. For a few seconds, the rear wheels spun in the air. Then the car slid into the water. The front bobbed up again, and the little red vessel sailed safely for a few moments, before it began to sink.
"Your car,” Georgina yelled, remembering the fight.
Sebastian glanced in her direction. She pointed. His eyes followed. His jaw fell open and he stood and stared, his fists lowered down his sides. Rick took advantage and slammed in a right hook. Sebastian flew backwards through the air, falling into an inert heap over the cobblestones.
Georgina rushed up. She kneeled next to him and began to pat his face. Rick reached down to grab her arm. “He'll live,” he said, yanking her up.
"Let me look at him."
"No,” Rick grunted. “You're coming with me."
When she resisted, he grabbed her by the waist and hauled her over to the garden table. He lifted her to sit on top of it. Flicking up her wide skirt, he dragged down the white bikini bottoms and tossed them to one side. Then he undid his trousers and pushed her thighs apart with his body.
"What are you doing?” Georgina asked, her eyes going wide with shock.
"What does it look like?” Rick replied. “Sit still."
"You can't,” Georgina said. “People will see."
"That's the idea,” Rick told her, but he pulled her skirt down to cover where their bodies were joined. Then he thrust inside her and began moving.
"Say you are mine,” he demanded, sliding in and out of her, gripping her buttocks to keep her in place.
To Georgina's horror, the fight, the car, and the public spectacle they were making all combined to an unbearable erotic abyss she found herself sinking into. Her body began to respond. She threw herself back, leaning her hands against the table behind her, arching to meet his thrusts.
"Say you are mine,” Rick demanded once more.
"You're mine,” she retorted.
"That, too, but you know that's not what I meant."
Georgina kept silent. Her eyes flew open and locked into his.
Rick stopped, as abruptly as he had started. “Say it."
"Don't stop,” she pleaded.
Every nerve of her body was on fire, screaming for completion of the decadent act they had started.
"Say it.” Rick's fingertips dug into the soft flesh on her buttocks as he pulled her closer, fitting himself deeper inside her, but not moving.
"No."
"Do as you are told,” he said. “That was the deal."
She glared at him, remembering the promise he'd extracted from her. “I'm yours.” She threw it at him like a curse.
He began to move again inside her.
The world around her disappeared, leaving just the two of them, and the tension that grew and grew inside her like a tightly wound spring, until it broke and sent her into a wild burst of madness that was so complete she wouldn't have believed such utter abandon existed.
"I'm yours, yours, yours.” She chanted it louder and louder, following the rhythm of her bucking and thrashing body while he emptied himself into her.
Rick stood absolutely still, wedged between her open thighs. Georgina slumped against him, her hands draped over his shoulders. Then Rick came back to life. He pulled away from her, shaking himself and buttoning up his flies. “I'm glad we got that sorted out,” he told her. “Smile for the camera.” He pointed up to the edge of the cabana roof. Then he swaggered away.
Georgina steadied herself against the tabletop. When she looked up, she saw the steely glint of a security camera against the sun. It pointed directly at her. Then it jerked into motion and resumed its steady sweep over the pool area.
She jumped off the table. It was only when the sticky discharge began to run down her legs that Georgina realized Rick had made love to her without protecting her from pregnancy.
She ran back into the house, wiping her legs with the hem of her skirt. The back door swung open as she gave it a push. No need to lock up when the place is wired with cameras and teeming with security guards, Georgina thought bitterly.
When she got to her room, the maid who'd served dinner the night before was packing up her clothes. “Thank you,” she said to the maid. “How did you know I'm leaving?"
The maid gave her a baffled look. “I didn't know you're leaving. I've been told to move your things into Mr. Camacho's room."
"What?"
"Mr. Diaz told me,” the maid said quietly. She kept her eyes to the ground.
Georgina whirled and charged down the stairs. Had they all gathered together around the security screens and watched? Why had it happened? Why had Rick humiliated her in such a dreadful manner?
"Where is Mr. Diaz?” she asked Ramon who sat at the desk in the small surveillance office by the back door.
Ramon grinned at her and shook his head.
Georgina began a systematic search. The third door she flung open was to a study furnished in lightweight furniture, totally out of keeping with the rest of the house. Open fronted bookcases, desks without pedestals. It took her a while to realize it must be so that potential hiding places were minimized.
"Mr. Diaz,” she said. “I'm afraid I need to leave.” Her voice shook. She tried to steady it by taking deep breaths.
"No need to worry, my dear,” he told her. “My son and Mr. Camacho had a small disagreement over which one you should belong to. They resolved it to everyone's satisfaction. Yours, too, I believe.” A shadow of a smile played around his mouth.
"Did everyone watch?” Georgina whispered.
"Only me and the two guards.” Mr. Diaz looked at her with his sad eyes. “You cause me a great deal of regret that I'm not a younger man, Miss Coleman. Twenty years ago I wouldn't have offered you to anyone else."
"That's quite an old fashioned concept, Mr. Diaz. Women aren't chattels any more, to be owned and traded."
"I'm an old fashioned man, Miss Coleman."
Georgina gave him an unflinching stare. “I want that tape. If you don't give it to me, I swear that I'll trace every penny ever flown through your hands. If I discover one cent that hasn't been declared to the fullest extent of the law, I'll make it my life's mission to come up with legal proof, so that you can be prosecuted."
Mr. Diaz pulled open a desk drawer. He took out a video tape in a cardboard sleeve with the Panasonic logo on top. “I'm afraid my equipment is no longer the state of the art.” He handed the tape to Georgina “The wiring was done in the eighties. I don't have the heart to rip the walls open again."
Georgina took the tape. “Is this the only copy?"
"You have my word on it."
"Thank you,” she said curtly.
"I look after my associates,” Mr. Diaz said. “You'll come to understand that."
"I'm not sure we'll have any further dealings with each other,” she told him. “Thank you for your hospitality. When can the driver take me home?"
"You should plan to depart tomorrow morning,” Mr. Diaz said. “I'll have some lunch sent up to your room. We'll all dine together at nine."
"You'd better have dinner sent up too,” Georgina said. “I'd rather starve than come down. Everyone is sniggering at me.” She left the room, clutching the video tape in front of her with both hands.
Outside, Rick lounged on a leather sofa, sipping coffee from a large cup. Sebastian sprawled next to him. Both were watching a polo match on a huge screen mounted over the fireplace in the spacious marble foyer.
"Hey, Georgina,” Sebastian called, leaping up. He pressed an ice pack against his chin. “Do you want to watch your tape? I can stop this."
"Why couldn't you two just kill each other?"
Sebastian looked offended. “Hey, that's no way to talk to a friend."
Georgina relented a little over his bruised face. “I'm sorry about your car."
"No problem. It's insured. My only regret is that I was out cold. I didn't even get to see the tape."
"I'll strangle the next person who mentions the tape,” Georgina said tartly. Then she marched off, holding her back straight and her head high, clutching the video cassette against her chest. When she got back to her room, she found that her clothes had been unpacked again.
For the next few hours, Georgina occupied herself by taking a bath to wash the pool water out of her hair. Then she ate some of the salad that had been wheeled in on a little two-tiered brass trolley.
Her fury at Rick and every other male on the Diaz estate kept her going until the afternoon. Then honesty prevailed. She admitted that the worst of it was the shame over her own conduct.
How could she?
She'd spread her legs wide open for Rick Matisse, like some wanton floozy. Clung to him, and screamed in ecstasy while he screwed her in front of an audience. A few short weeks earlier she'd been too embarrassed to borrow a blue movie from a video store. Now she had performed in one.
She had let herself be blinded by lust. Rick had snapped his fingers, and she'd been his.
Georgina fetched her book on the world's currency markets from the canvas bag the maid must have retrieved from the pool and brought in while she lounged in the bath. She would educate her mind. Do something positive. Neutralize the corrupting influence of Rick Matisse.
Stretching out on the bed, she opened the book at the page marked by a little steel clip and focused her eyes on the text. The words refused to transfer from the paper into her brain, but she persisted for the rest of the afternoon in trying.
When the evening drew in, voices and laughter began to drift in through the open window covered with a wire-mesh insect screen. Georgina put out the lights and sneaked closer to the window. Standing to one side, hiding behind the curtains, she craned her neck.
Out in the lush watered part of the garden, on a circular stone patio surrounded by flowering trees, a long wooden table was covered with a white cloth. Naked flames burned at the end of tall torches scattered all around to punctuate the darkness. A cluster of men stood to one side, drinking and smoking and talking.
Silent maids trooped back and forth from the kitchen, bearing plates, and arranging them over the white cloth. Enticing smells floated up to Georgina's window. She breathed
them in, feeling her mouth water. The hollow ache in her stomach made her realize she was ravenous.
Sex gives you an appetite. That was the saying, wasn't it? She fought against her hunger but lost, and gathered courage to go downstairs and join the group. Then she saw a man she'd never seen before. He stepped up to Rick and pounded him on the back, hollering out something in Spanish. A chorus of masculine laughter erupted all over the patio.
No prizes for guessing the joke.
Any plan to go outside came to an abrupt end. Georgina pulled back, her face burning with shame.
She stripped out of her clothes and crept into bed. As she prepared to sleep naked, something she had loathed the last time she tried, she relished the feel of cool sheets against her flushed skin. Despite an effort to push everything out of her mind, she couldn't stop thinking about the scene by the pool. Over and over, she played it in her mind.
The worst part was to realize that more than anything she yearned to experience again that moment of complete abandon. It horrified her to realize Rick Matisse had the power to make her lose control like that.
* * * *
In the morning, Georgina awoke tired and ill tempered. A breakfast trolley stood already by her door. She must have slept through the knock when the maid wheeled it in.
Georgina ate the mango and papaya and left the rest. Then she packed her bags and stormed downstairs.
Rick hunched on the leather sofa in the foyer, idly flicking through a newspaper. Further down the hall, Sebastian crouched on the floor, strapping some kind of padded shields over his shins.
Georgina looked at neither man but spoke into the air somewhere between them. “Where's the driver? I was told to meet him in the morning."
"No driver.” Rick folded the newspaper and stood up. “I'm taking you home."
"What?” she cried. “You can't expect me to agree to that."
"There's no one else.” His manner conveyed no regret or apology. “José has the day off. If you don't come with me, you'll have to stay here until tomorrow."
"I can't. I've got to be at work by seven."
Rick shrugged. “Then you know what to do."
She gave him an angry scowl. “My car's at the Pacific Bank parking lot."
Project Seduction Page 20