by Francis Ray
She ran to him, her long legs flashing. “Then all those weeks of searching were worth it.”
He lifted the box in his hand. “For you.”
Her eyes widened. She pulled the brown ribbon off the distinctively wrapped box and stared inside. “Truffle lollipops. I love truffles.”
He shrugged wide shoulders. “I saw them and thought about you always trying to feed me.”
“We’ll have them for our dessert.” She took his hand. “I had to decide between the table in front of the love seat or the chest at the foot of the bed and discovered that the chest top opens out.”
The desk chair and side chair were in front of the makeshift table set with crystal glasses, silver dome-covered plates, heavy flatware, the yellow rose, and five-arm candelabra.
“You went to a lot of trouble.”
“I enjoyed every second, just knowing we’d be together.” She motioned to a seat, then briefly tucked her head. “If I sat in your lap, I don’t think we’d finish the meal, and I’d really like this cleaned up before Sierra and Blade return.”
“Good thinking.” He pulled out her chair.
She took her seat and said grace after he was seated. Beneath the dome tops were sea scallops with mushrooms and spinach.
Rio took a bite and smiled his appreciation for the great-tasting food. “You cook like a chef, multitask with ease, shoot a gun and defend yourself like a pro, and pull off events like the auction with aplomb, all the while remaining caring and beautiful.”
“Thank you, but you’re the multitasker extraordinaire. You oversee the security of all of Navarone’s properties, plus his personal holdings. All the time emanating that dangerous mystique and looking gorgeous.”
Rio snorted. “Eat.”
“I will.” She sipped her sparkling cider. “I thought we’d listen to music and dance later.”
His fork poised in midair. “Dance?”
She smiled over the rim of her flute. “You know, where a man takes a woman in his arms and moves to the tempo of music.”
“I don’t dance.”
She leaned to within inches of his stoic face. “It’s easy. I’ll teach you.”
He went back to eating. “I didn’t say I didn’t know how.”
“Then why don’t you want to dance?” she persisted.
His gaze lanced up to hers. “It seems a waste of time.”
“Not if you do it right.” Getting up, she went to her iPad. Almost instantly, Johnny Mathis singing “Chances Are” came on. “It’s Grandfather and Grandmother Carrington’s favorite song. I grew up watching them dance to it.” She went to Rio and lifted her arms. “If you still think that way after the song is over, I won’t bother you again.”
He looked dubious, but placed his napkin on the table and took her into his arms. He heard her sigh an instant before she placed her head on his shoulder, softly humming to herself. He inhaled the orange blossom and honey rose fragrance she always wore. His cheek brushed against her silky hair; his arm held her slim body close to his. His blood began a slow throb. She felt good in his arms. She fit perfectly.
His hand swept upward to the smooth bare skin of her shoulders and her neck, and made lazy sweeping gestures. She stopped humming. Her breathing altered. She leaned her head back and stared up at him. He saw the same desire in her eyes that he felt coursing through him.
“I see what you meant.”
“I never doubted.”
He wanted to kiss her. Among other things. “You didn’t eat very much.”
The tip of her finger grazed his lower lip. “Food is the farthest thing from my mind at the moment.” Her eyes softened. “Just you.”
“Skylar.” His head lowered. He brushed his lips across hers, once, twice. Then, gently settling against them, his tongue slipped into her mouth to lap against hers. His fingers found the back zipper to her dress and drew it down. When it would go no farther, he moved slightly away and lifted her out of the dress. It pooled at her feet, his mouth still on hers.
She moaned. His breath shuddered as he felt the warm softness of her breasts pressed against his chest. Finally he lifted his head and stared down. His breath stalled.
She wore a gossamer lace bra that cupped her firm breasts, a garter belt over barely there panties, sheer stockings, and evening shoes the same color as her gown.
He tossed back the covers on the bed and placed her with her legs over the sides. With his eyes on her, he undressed. Finished, he leaned over her and kissed her quivering stomach, his teeth nipping at the top of her garter belt, his blunt-tipped fingers brushing over her breasts, her thighs, her woman’s softness.
She twisted beneath him, her hands clamped on the sheet. Pleasure swept through her body like a swift tide. All she could do was enjoy.
Undoing the front fasteners of her bra, he took one taut peak into his mouth and suckled. He rolled the other nipple between his fingers. He switched to the other breast, suckled, blew, gently tugged.
Her fingers fumbled until she removed his hair clamp; then she clasped him to her breast. After one last delicious flick of his agile tongue, his head began to move downward, his sinful lips nipping and kissing all the way. She whimpered when the garter belt and panties slid off her legs. He kissed her at the lowest point of her stomach.
She had a taste, a fragrance that he’d carry with him to his last moment on earth. Both were as unique as she was. Her pleasure became his pleasure as he lavished her with kisses, the slow movements of his hands, and the tantalizing brush of his hard body against hers.
Slipping on a condom, his feet planted firmly on the floor, he slid his hands under her hips and brought them together in one sure thrust. She lifted her hips, then came upward to wrap her arms around his neck and take his mouth in hungry desperation. He thrust again and again into her satin heat. She closed around him like a tight glove, meeting him thrust for thrust.
He loved her the only way he knew how, completely and with a searing passion only this woman could quench. A woman who had given to no other man what she had given him.
A possessiveness rose in him that he’d never experienced before as he took her body and she took his. This woman was his and only his. He felt a surety, as he held her sweat-dampened body and brought them together again and again, that she felt the same way.
He felt her body stiffen and took her cry of release into his mouth. Seconds later, he joined her. His breathing loud and labored, he gathered her to him and lay down with her in his arms, their faces inches apart. She was and would always be all that he desired.
After long moments, her sated, slumberous eyes flickered open. She smiled. “I think we just found our favorite love song.”
Chapter 15
When Blade and Sierra arrived at the castle a little after ten that night, Skylar and Rio were there to greet them. Skylar hugged Sierra and hoped she didn’t look any different. She and Rio had spent a good part of the evening in her bed. She’d fed them only one truffle before she’d decided nibbling on him was much better.
“I’m so glad you’re all right,” Sierra said.
“Thanks to Rio,” Skylar replied, glancing around at Rio.
Blade slapped Rio on the back. “He does come in handy.”
Rio grunted. Blade laughed. “Let’s go into my study and we can talk.”
Blade and Rio followed the women inside. They met Patterson in the entryway. The older man wrung his hands with obvious unease.
“Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. Navarone. I’m so sorry about what happened while you were gone,” he said.
Blade stopped in front of his house manager. “Not your fault. Sierra and I still trust you to run the house for us.”
The servant let out an unsteady breath. “Thank you, sir. I’ll see that your luggage is attended to. I don’t see Martin and Jenkins.”
“We dropped them off in Dallas,” Sierra replied. “The two were meeting some friends. They’ve become as thick as thieves and are flying in early tomorrow. Before
breakfast.”
The women laughed.
“I’ll see to your things and make sure everything is in order.” The house manager moved toward the front door.
Blade lifted a brow. “I wonder if you would have married me without Martin to cook for you and Jenkins to keep house for us wherever we go.”
Sierra went to Blade and kissed him. “Yes, but one of us would have had to learn to do those things, and I don’t think it would have been me.”
Blade’s grunt was an exact replica of Rio’s. He continued into his office. He sat behind his desk, and Sierra perched on the arm of his plush executive chair. Rio seated Skylar in an armchair in front of Blade’s desk and stood beside her.
Rio spoke first, telling them about the intruder being from Chicago, Matt Hampton’s visit, and Rio’s growing suspicion that Tennyson was behind the attacks. He finished by saying, “Tennyson is supposed to be in his office all day tomorrow. He’s desperately trying to raise capital and stay afloat. Some of his financial deals have fallen through.”
“Imagine that.” Blade linked his fingers on the desk as he and Rio shared a look.
Skylar saw it and wondered why any sane person would make an enemy of Blade Navarone. He was fair and honest, but if you went after him or hurt what was his, he went after you fast and hard. With his billions and his connections, and Rio’s keen intelligence and dogged determination, there was no place you could hide.
“The jet takes off at eight in the morning for Chicago.” Rio folded his arms. “I’m looking forward to meeting Tennyson.”
Skylar’s head jerked up. Rio’s expression was devoid of warmth. She reached for his arm before she thought. “Please don’t do something you’ll regret.”
“I won’t be the one regretting it.” His voice was deadly quiet.
She stared at him, then pulled her hand back. Rio would follow his own counsel. She could only hope that Shane or Blade would step in if Rio went too far. She faced forward and froze. Sierra gave her a teasing smile and Blade looked surprised. She wasn’t sure how Rio felt about anyone besides his men knowing they were involved.
“Ten extra men are coming in from headquarters. I want one of our men on every entry of this house and the other buildings. The gunman had to have been smuggled in and have inside information to know the location of Skylar’s bedroom. We’re rechecking everyone.” Rio briefly placed a hand on Skylar’s shoulder. “Creating a diversion at another site would be a good way to take the focus off keeping her safe.”
Skylar relaxed. Rio wasn’t the touchy-feely type of man unless they were alone. “But if it did happen, I’d have my ankle holster and the gun you provided me with.”
Sierra came off the arm of the chair. “Rio is going to let you have a gun?”
“After she demonstrated her knowledge of weapons and placed nine out of nine bullets exactly where she wanted them.” Rio crossed his arms again. “You have yet to show me you can use a handgun.”
Sierra’s chin lifted. “You should take my word.”
“I didn’t take Skylar’s and I’m not taking yours,” he came back.
Sierra glared at him. Rio remained expressionless.
“If I did, could I ditch the bodyguards?” she asked.
“No,” Rio replied.
“Absolutely not,” Blade responded.
Sierra sat back down and crossed her arms. “Then what’s the use of showing you I can shoot?”
Skylar realized at that moment that Rio and Sierra liked sparring with each other. She did things to annoy him and he knew it, but he wouldn’t give an inch.
Blade cleared his throat. “Since I’ll be with you, you won’t need a gun, Sierra.”
“I wanted a holster a bit higher up, but Rio nixed that idea,” Skylar said.
Sierra lifted a brow. “I just bet he did.”
“There were logical reasons,” Rio told Sierra, then spoke to Blade. “We’ll leave here at seven thirty since we don’t have to worry about loading luggage.”
Sierra’s arms uncrossed, her eyes narrowed.
Blade glanced at her and got to his feet. “I’ll be ready. It’s been a long day. We’ll go on up to our room.”
Sierra waited until they reached the door. “You know I’ll think of a way to pay you back.”
“Let’s go, Sierra.” Blade gently urged his wife out of the room, closing the door after them.
Skylar was up and in Rio’s arms in an instant. “You and Sierra like teasing each other.”
“I don’t tease,” he said with a straight face.
“Hmmm,” she said with a smile and sobered. “I mean it, Rio. Don’t let Tennyson push you into doing anything that will get you in trouble and have me flying up there to show him the error of his ways.”
His lips curved as he brushed her hair away from her face. “You would, too.”
“In a heartbeat. No one messes with what’s mine,” she said.
Mine. The single word reverberated in his brain. His hand stilled in her hair just as she did in his arms, her expressive eyes wide.
He didn’t know if the admission caught her off guard just as it did him, or if there was another reason. He just knew that it felt right hearing her say the word.
“Mine,” he repeated and kissed her until she trembled in his arms, until he banished every thought from her consciousness except him.
She was his and anyone who tried to harm her had a ticket to hell.
* * *
Shane Elliott was waiting for Rio and Blade at the downtown Chicago office building that housed Tennyson Corporation. Shoulder-to-shoulder, the three well-dressed men, each over six feet, with dark, piercing eyes, swept through the glass door and headed straight for the elevator. Neither looked to the left or the right. However, the interested or curious looks of those in the lobby followed them until they stepped on the empty elevator.
Rio, his eyes hard, jabbed the button for the forty-ninth floor.
Shane glanced at Rio, then Blade, then back to Rio. “What changed?”
“Skylar,” Rio answered. The three men kept no secrets from one another. They’d been through hell and back together and would remain lifelong friends.
Shane grinned and slapped Rio on the back. “About time.”
Rio didn’t comment. Shane might have resigned from his position as head of security to live in Atlanta with Paige, but the three men always managed to get together monthly. They never planned to let their friendship take a backseat to anything, except their wives. Luckily, Paige and Sierra got along well so they didn’t mind entertaining themselves while the men did their thing. Rio couldn’t help thinking that maybe Skylar could join them.
Two women got on the elevator and spent their time going three floors up eyeing the men. None of the men even glanced at them.
When the elevator was empty again, Shane said, “You’d think Tennyson would have learned by now.”
“He will this time,” Rio promised.
“Skylar told me to make sure you came home with me,” Blade said. “Sierra also extracted the same promise. She said I might hire someone else who was even more difficult to deal with.”
“I’ll do what has to be done.” The elevator doors opened on the forty-ninth floor. Rio stepped off first and went down the plush carpeted hallway. Blade and Shane followed.
Up until he’d tried to smear Blade’s name and reputation nine months ago, Tennyson had almost the entire forty-ninth floor, Rio remembered. Since that time his business had steadily declined. He’d had to let employees and office space go. Presently, he had only ten employees. He’d kept his lavish office suite, but the rest of his employees, other than his executive secretary, were in a smaller office suite down the hall.
“For a braggart like Tennyson, this has to hurt his pride,” Shane sneered. “Couldn’t happen to a more well-deserving man.”
“He tried to put the word out that he’s looking for office space on the Magnificent Mile or even thinking of building and intentionally
downsized,” Blade said. “No one believed the lie.”
They stopped in front of a polished wood door with TENNYSON CORPORATION—SHERMAN TENNYSON PRESIDENT on a plaque. Rio looked at Blade and Shane. “I handle this my way. No one touches Tennyson except me.”
“Rio—” Blade began.
Rio ignored him and opened the office door. His gaze took in the office at a glance. A woman sat behind a U-shaped desk on the phone. To her left, a large man slowly rose from a seat on a plush sofa. The rise hadn’t been easy for the bulky man, who had a sixteen-inch neck and bulging muscles that stretched his jacket and revealed the weapon beneath.
“Gotta go,” the woman whispered and turned to them, her smile slipping. “May I help you?”
“I got it. Thanks.” Rio kept walking.
The muscle-bound man moved to block the door to Tennyson’s office. “Mr. Tennyson is not seeing anyone today.”
“I say he is.” Rio stepped to one side as if going around the man.
The man jabbed an elbow toward Rio’s face. Rio went low and punched the man in the gut. He staggered back an inch, then lunged. A hard kick to the chest sent him crashing against the door. He shook his head, his face enraged, and reached for his gun.
“Unless you want a broken wrist, which will put you out of work for a long time, move your hand. Now,” Rio ordered.
The man hesitated, his gaze going beyond Rio to Shane and Blade, who hadn’t moved.
“Last chance and the clock is ticking,” Rio said.
With a sneer, the man plunged his hand deeper into his jacket. Rio moved, grabbing the man’s right wrist and twisting it backward. Bones snapped. With a cry of pain, the man crumpled.
“My wrist! You broke my wrist,” he moaned. “I’ll kill you!”
Bending, Rio removed the gun, put the safety on, and tossed it several feet away on the carpeted floor. He rose to his feet and opened the door of Tennyson’s office. He found another man, this one thirty pounds leaner and, from the squinted eyes, meaner, waiting for him.
“Better and better.”
The man ran at Rio, then high-kicked. Rio dropped and sent his booted foot straight into the man’s knee. He went down, moaning and holding his leg.