“What am I bidding on?” she asked.
“No bids,” Vincent said. “This one’s a fundraiser for some children’s art charity. A thousand bucks a plate, too. You’d think they could afford to adopt those fucking rug rats.”
“You shelled out a grand for this?” Ari raised her eyebrows. “This must be a pretty sure thing, then.”
Davidson sprayed her with his machine-gun laugh. “A grand? Fuck, no. That ticket is Vincent’s handiwork.”
A forgery. Great. Let’s hope they’re not checking these against the guest list.
“According to our sources,” Davidson said, “the estate is one of only a handful of private residences in the hamlet. It’s furnished extensively with rare artifacts and art dating back to ancient times.”
“The guy also collects vintage cars,” Vincent said.
“Sounds like you’ve got this one locked down.” Ari stuffed the paperwork back in the envelope and tossed it onto the coffee table. “What exactly do you need me for?”
“We need confirmation from the inside,” Vincent said. From a leather folio, he pulled out a stack of surveillance photos and a detailed floor plan of the house. “We’ve got a good handle on the external points of entry,” he said, pointing out the red Xs marked around the perimeter, “but we don’t know the precise security situation, or how many people have access to the place. Preliminary surveillance reports suggest two groundskeepers, a cook, and at least three housekeepers on a rotating weekly schedule, and only occasional guests. We’re pretty sure the alarm system was upgraded in the last year, too.”
He showed her a photo of a security company van, a pair of contractors standing next to it in the driveway. Ari wondered if the contractors were on Davidson’s payroll, too.
Either way, with all of that intel, it was clear that Vincent and Davidson had been working on this for months—maybe even longer.
It was just like them not to involve her in something big until they needed her for bait. That’s all she’d ever be—a pawn. If anything went south, she’d be the first to go down, and no one else in Davidson’s employ would ever worry about her ratting them out.
Even more than the money, the penthouse, the credit card bill he paid without fail, Tasha’s life would always be Davidson’s true bargaining chip, and everyone in the room knew it.
“In addition to the security details,” Davidson said, “we need more info about the cache itself. We’ve traced a lot of artwork to this location, but we can’t be sure exactly what’s there. When we go in—not if, but when—we need to be prepared for anything. We won’t get another shot.”
Ari took the folio from Vincent, giving everything a closer look. The property featured a 6,000-square-foot mansion situated at the edge of 10 acres, with stunning views of the Hudson River and Catskill Mountains beyond. There was also a massive garage, a garden guesthouse, and several smaller outbuildings, everything pristine and perfect.
A ridiculous amount of property for one man.
If Ari needed to make a quick escape, her only recourse would be to run on foot, hide out in the surrounding woods until she could phone for backup.
Worse, fundraisers required a lot more social interaction than auctions. With no main event to keep people occupied, everyone wanted to talk and network and generally pry into one another’s business—all things that could get her noticed, particularly if the hosts were familiar with most of the other guests. She’d have to really be on her game, and Vincent’s “attorney” cover story was too complicated, to easy to screw up.
It was a lot to consider.
But like all of Davidson’s “requests,” refusing wasn’t an option.
“I want a driver,” she said. “He’s got to stay within a mile of the home at all times.”
“Already arranged,” Davidson said.
“I’m not sitting in weekend traffic on I-87, either. Get me a room for Thursday night.”
“Consider it done.”
“I’ll need a new dress.”
“Of course.”
“Shoes and accessories too.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” Davidson sipped his drink, smiling at her over the rim of his glass. “Any other demands?”
“Just one.” Ari closed the folio. “After this job, I want a vacation. Three weeks in Spain, all expenses paid. And that’s for me and my sister. Nonnegotiable.”
Davidson narrowed his eyes at her, but he was already nodding. “Do the job right, and you’ll be rewarded in kind.”
It was as close to a yes as she was going to get from him.
“Count on it,” she said.
“We’ll do just that.” Davidson handed her the envelope with her fundraiser ticket, map, and details about the host. The rest of the documents in the folio—the sensitive stuff—would stay locked in Davidson’s safe.
She shoved the envelope into her purse, glancing once more at Vincent. He was watching her like a hawk about to devour its prey.
“I’m so glad you’re getting in bed with us on this,” Vincent said.
Other than the forged ticket and surveillance details he’d provided, she couldn’t figure out why he was here.
“What’s your involvement, exactly?” she asked.
He reached across the couch and squeezed her knee. “I’m your driver, baby. Just you and me, like old times.”
Chapter Fourteen
The cool, white sheets of the bed were the best invitation Ari had gotten all night.
After insisting on escorting her into the elevator, Vincent had spent the entire 50-floor ride down groping and pawing at Ari’s breasts, pressing her against the wall like a dog in heat. He’d stopped just short of climbing into the cab with her, and that was only because she’d slammed the door in his face before he’d gotten the chance.
A long, hot shower helped calm her nerves, and now Ari sank into her luxurious down pillows, hoping to put that part of the evening squarely in the rearview.
But the oblivion of sleep wouldn’t take her, her thoughts racing through the details of the fundraiser, the cover story she’d have to embellish, the risks she’d have to anticipate, the contingency plans, the backup contingency plans. With Vincent as her driver, she couldn’t leave anything to chance.
After an hour of tossing and turning, she finally got out of bed, clicking the remote to open the blinds. Thirty stories below her windows, the streets of Park Avenue pulsed with life, the car horns a muted symphony through the glass.
She wondered if her man was awake. He’d said he lived and worked in Tribeca, a neighborhood she couldn’t see from her place on Park. As the cabs raced by below, she imagined getting into one of them, the driver ferrying her downtown to the stranger’s apartment, straight into the blissful pleasure of his touch.
The cell phone taunted her from the nightstand, silent and black, nothing but pure, untarnished potential. Before she could talk herself out of it, she grabbed the phone and pulled up his number.
ARI: Hi. Are you awake?
STRANGER: Yes. And thinking of you, actually.
ARI: What a coincidence. ;-)
STRANGER: What are you doing Friday night?
ARI: Hey, rule breaker! We said no dating.
STRANGER: It’s not a date. It’s a party. A terribly boring party. Please come.
ARI: Why would I come to a terribly boring party?
STRANGER: Not come TO. Come AT.
ARI: Again with the assumptions!
STRANGER: We’ll have access to at least a dozen closets.
ARI: Hmm… this party is sounding less boring by the minute.
STRANGER: So… it’s a non-date, then?
ARI: :-( I’m sorry. I really can’t. Work thing.
STRANGER: Cancel.
ARI: I wish. Rain check?
Ari froze, her fingers hot over the phone screen. Why did she just ask him for a rain check? When she agreed to exchange numbers at the museum, it was her decision to forbid anything more than casual contact—and e
ven that was risky. But in the heat of the moment, his lips pressed against her neck as they huddled together in the alcove, she hadn’t thought it through. All she’d known was that she couldn’t let him walk out that door.
Her phone lit up with his reply.
STRANGER: I’ll hold you to it. The hot dog cart just hasn’t been the same without you.
ARI: :-) I’ll bet. Ok, gotta go. Time for bed.
STRANGER: Alone?
ARI: Wouldn’t you like to know?
Seconds later her phone vibrated with a call. STRANGER flashed on her screen, sending a thrill to her core.
Don’t fucking answer it. Just hit ignore, delete his number, block him…
“Hello, Stranger,” she said.
“Yes,” the man said.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I would like to know. I would very much like to know if you’re in bed alone.”
“I am,” she admitted. “Unfortunately. And before you get your hopes up about what I’m wearing, it’s just boxer shorts and an old T-shirt from—”
“Take them off,” he said. “Now.”
The command, so firm and delicious after all their earlier jokes, made her instantly hot. She set the phone on the bed and stripped off every last scrap of fabric. She thought about closing the blinds, but decided against it, her body basking in the glow from the neighboring towers. With her bedroom lights turned off, no one could see inside, but the thought that someone might be watching anyway sent a forbidding thrill to her core.
“Okay,” she said. “I’m here.”
“Are you naked, love?”
“Yes.” She lay back on her bed, stretched out over the top of her soft down comforter, grateful that her sister’s suite was clear on the other side of the penthouse. “Naked and alone, spread out on this huge king bed, and I’m very, very wet.”
“Jesus,” the man said. “Do you have any idea what I’d do to you if I were there right now?”
“I’m a little hazy on the details.” Ari was playing with serious fire, but she couldn’t stop. Honestly, it wasn’t just the museum run-in. She hadn’t stopped thinking about him for more than five minutes since he’d bought her that first drink at the auction. He’d made her laugh, and then he’d touched her in ways that no other man had ever dared, making her ache with a desire that still pulsed hot through her veins.
Her fantasies would never let her be free of him.
She didn’t want to be free of him.
“Tell me,” she whispered, her hand trailing over her belly, down to the soft mound below. She stroked a finger lightly over her clit, shocked at how wet she really was. “Tell me what you’d do to this pussy if you were here right now.”
He groaned in her ear, a deep vibration that made her nipples rise into stiff points.
“Are you touching yourself?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you touch yourself last night, all alone in that great big bed without me?”
“Yes,” Ari moaned, her fingers slipping gently inside. “I thought of you, your face buried between my thighs, fucking me with your mouth.”
“That’s precisely what I’d do to you. I’d tie you to the bed first, though, good and tight, just so you couldn’t sneak away. Then I’d lick every inch of your flesh, sucking and tasting until I had my fill, until you were writhing on the bed, begging me to let you come. Would you like that, love?”
“So much,” Ari breathed. She stroked her clit, slipping her fingers in and out of her pussy, coating herself in her juices. With her eyes closed she pictured his face, his lips, imagining them sucking her nipples, licking a path down her belly with hot, delicious strokes. “You have no idea.”
“You’re getting close—I can hear it in your voice.” He moaned softly, a sound that raised goose bumps on Ari’s skin as she drove her fingers inside, then out, massaging her clit in slow, tantalizing circles as the sound of his voice made her even wetter.
She was almost there, her muscles clenching, her heart beating wildly as she stroked faster and harder…
“That’s it, gorgeous,” he purred. “I want you to come hard for me, come like it’s my tongue between your thighs, sucking that exquisite—”
“Yes! Oh god, yes!” She exploded, panting into the phone as she came undone with a force she’d never before experienced through her own touch. It took her a minute to come back down, and when she finally did, her man was still on the phone, waiting patiently for her return. In the neon blaze of the city lights, her skin glistened, her body spent and relaxed.
“I wish you were here,” she whispered, an admission that felt more needy than sexy, but Ari didn’t care. She did wish he was there, lying next to her in that great big bed, whispering about the naughty things he wanted to do to her. Kissing her. Holding her close as she drifted into a dreamless, worry-less sleep.
“Me, too.” The stranger’s breath was slow and even, his voice gentle when he finally spoke again. “Sweet dreams, love.”
Chapter Fifteen
An hour into the party, Jared stood on the patio overlooking the river, contemplating drowning himself in that godforsaken infinity pool.
No one had cancelled, no one was fashionably late, and no one would give him a moment’s peace in his own home. He’d answered enough inane questions about the house to fill an entire issue of Architectural Digest, smiled at dozens of terrible jokes, nodded sympathetically through another lengthy debate about Manhattan preschools, and warded off no less than three propositions, two of which were from married women whose husbands were also in attendance.
This, Evan Drake, is why I don’t favor parties.
Worse, while the Hastings people, museum staff, and variously intolerable New York socialites oohed and ahhed over his art collection, drank his Champagne, fawned over his vintage cars, and ingratiated themselves in ways civilized human beings should find utterly embarrassing, all Jared could think about was the woman.
He hadn’t seen her since the JHS run-in, but they’d talked on the phone every night this week, save for last night—he hadn’t been able to reach her. It had become the best part of Jared’s evenings, alternately making her laugh and making her come, sending her into the best kinds of dreams.
He hadn’t mentioned the party again. In fact, there was a lot he hadn’t mentioned. She wanted to keep things simple, no attachments, nothing too deep. And as much as he wanted to know more about her, to see her, to feel the soft touch of her velvet skin beneath his lips, to drive his cock into her tight, gorgeous pussy, he didn’t want to push. Not like that.
He still didn’t even know her name.
So fucking hot.
“Mr. Blackwell, there you are,” a voice called from behind, shattering his perfect visions.
Jared took a swig of his scotch as he turned to face the guy—one of Hastings’s lower-level execs whose name Jared could not for the life of him recall.
“Good evening,” Jared said cordially, reminding himself to be nice to his guests, even if they had followed him outside and broken into his most private, pleasurable moments. “I hope you’re enjoying yourselves. Dinner will be served within the hour, I’m sure. Have you tried the Champagne?”
“It’s great. Everything’s great.” The guy—Tom or Todd or Tim something—tossed his arm around his companion, a woman who looked like she’d rather be manhandled by just about anyone else. “I’d like you to meet my wife, Jen.”
Slipping out from her husband’s grasp, the wife extended a slim arm, her handshake cold and insincere. “You have a lovely home, Mr. Blackwell. And these gardens are so lush!”
“Thank you,” he said.
“That painting in the foyer, is that a Chantuille?”
“Chanteaux,” he said. “Blackbirds in Flight.”
The woman elbowed her husband. “Told you.”
“My wife, the art major,” Tom-Todd said.
The woman placed her hand on Jared’s forearm, slinking further away from her husband
to give Jared what she probably thought was a furtive look. “I’m wondering if you might find a moment to show me around later? I’d love to see the other pieces in your collection.”
“Ah, another time, perhaps,” Jared said, grateful to see Evan approaching. “Lovely to meet you, Jen. The garden paths are well lit—feel free to explore.”
“Won’t you join us?” she asked.
“I’m sorry. If you’ll excuse me, it seems another matter requires my attention.”
“Oh, of course.” She forced a smile as Jared walked right between them, making a beeline for his friend.
Without waiting for Evan to speak, Jared grabbed his arm, dragging him through a side door that led into the massive garage.
The scent of car wax, motor oil, and rubber tires calmed his nerves, the stately presence of his cars a familiar comfort. Thankfully, he and Evan were alone.
“Don’t let anyone else in the garage tonight,” Jared said, bolting the door. “I don’t want them breathing on my cars. I already caught the old man trying to take the Rolls Royce for a joyride.”
“Hastings still has a driver’s license?”
“No, the old codger. He doesn’t. Thankfully I got to him before he found the keys.”
Evan clapped him on the shoulder, his smile unwavering. “Sounds like you’re having a splendid evening, just as I predicted. Have you had enough to drink, mate?”
“Just so you know,” Jared said, “I’m holding you personally responsible if any of these prats steal the family jewels.”
“Aren’t your family jewels in England? With your family?”
“It’s a figure of speech, Evan. Don’t test my patience.”
“You don’t have any patience. But if it makes you feel better, I don’t think your guests are thieves. After all, they’ve paid handsomely for the privilege of your company.”
“That’s fine, as long as you understand it’s coming out of your paycheck if they are.”
“You need a drink,” Evan said.
Jared tipped back his glass, an ice cube clanking against his teeth.
“Here, have mine.” Evan handed over his scotch. “I insist.”
Bared to the Billionaire: The Complete Series Page 9