Deadly Little Secrets (23 page)

It was the desk that gave her the idea. This time, she would take the lead. She edged away, to arm's length. He looked surprised. “Problem?”

“No,” she smiled. “No problem.” She glanced over her shoulder. The sturdy, built-in desk would do nicely. “Sit here,” she said, drawing him forward to the comfortable office chair. It was padded and had an angled back. Perfect.

“Sit?”

“Yes, sit,” she said, pushing on his shoulders until he complied. “So I can do this,” she said, bending into him, kissing him deeply, a war of tongues and passion. “And this,” she said, swishing the dress apart at the dramatic front split so she could kneel between his knees. “We have to go back out, be presentable, but I think that this would work, don't you?”

Without any other preamble, she freed him from his tuxedo pants, letting her hands and mouth bring him to near orgasm within minutes.

He groaned his pleasure as she laved his cock, sucking it gently until he was on the brink, then backing off to blow cool air on the length of him, teasing and tasting to her heart's delight. When they'd been together the previous night, they'd been so tired, so eager, they hadn't had time to play, or tease.

They didn't have time now, not really. They both felt the weight of responsibility, of the need to be working. Somehow that made the interlude feel that much more illicit, that much sexier.

“Ana, we should,” he began, eyes nearly crossed in delight. “Ahhhhhh.”

“We'll go back in a minute. I know. We shouldn't be…”

“What? We're off duty, remember?”

“Yeah,” she growled. “That's why you've got your mic and your weapon. That's why I've got my credentials in my bag. We're off duty.”

“Ana,” he moaned, “I…”

“You what?” she teased, rising over him, spreading the dress farther so she could straddle him, kiss him again with passion and verve. “You want me, Gates? Do you?”

“All of you. Sit on the counter so I can taste you, do to you what you did to me,” he muttered between kisses.

“No,” she said, still in charge. “Not now, not enough time,” she explained, knowing that if he started on her that way, they could never avoid the total disruption of their clothes. It would be too obvious.

Instead, she moved away, which made him protest, but just for a second. Aroused beyond belief, she smiled. It only took her a moment to step out of the flimsy lace thong and scoot up on the solidly built desk. “Now you,” she said with deliberate intent, “Come to me.”

She'd never been so wanton, so free of inhibition. It couldn't be the wine, she'd had very little. It was Gates, gorgeous, intoxicating Gates Bromley. She twitched the silk and lace of the bottom of the dress to her sides, leaning back, exposing the creamy flesh of her thighs, with their silky stockings and lace garters, to his gaze.

“Oh, God,” he said, moving up and to her, his hot hands spreading over her hips, lifting her slightly so he could touch her, slide into her with the deepest growl of delight she'd ever heard. He'd protected them both, but that hadn't slowed him down at all.

She was so wet, so ready for him, that they joined easily, almost effortlessly. She could see his arousal in his face, feel him everywhere. The sight of their joining was titillating, tantalizing, and driving her higher.

Just as revved, Gates murmured words of passion, moving with strength and power, but with the utmost control as they rose together. “That's it,” he crooned, when she licked her lips, her mouth dry from panting her excitement. “Let it go for me. You're so excited,” he murmured. “I can feel you, so tight, so hot.” He leaned in, reaching down to tickle her innermost folds with his finger until he found the sensitive nub buried in curls. One flick was all it took. The sensory overload of seeing him in passion, knowing they weren't alone, weren't entirely safe from being disturbed all came together for her in a sensual haze, and she vaulted over the edge into freefall, her body clenching and throbbing.

Through her release, she heard him cry out as well, muffled as he bit down on his lip to stifle the noise. More, she felt him, felt the powerful thrust of him inside her and the heated grip of his hands on her hips, drawing him as close as possible, locking them in love's embrace.

“Oh, my God,” he managed to say, the words ringing softly in the cool room. Still pulsing together, they rocked, unwilling for a moment to move apart, to let the moment pass. “You are”—he shook his head, a bemused smile lighting his features—“incredible. I can't believe you.”

He grinned, and she felt relief steal over her. He wasn't upset about her taking it farther than a mere kiss. “I couldn't resist you,” she murmured, inordinately pleased with herself.

“You make me crazy, woman,” he muttered. “I don't usually do this sort of thing, you know that.” He made it a statement. Watching her. He was still panting from their exertions, but he was telling her something important, and she realized it immediately.

“I know. I don't either,” she said, her own breath catching a bit, realizing that they were both implying a deeper connection, an intimacy beyond the physical.

“I'm glad you see it,” he said, tracing a finger down her cheek. “Know it. Whatever this is,” he murmured, indicating the passion between them. “It's more.”

“More?”

“Just more. More than I was looking for. More than I expected.”

She nodded and sat up farther to embrace him. They stayed like that for a long minute as their breathing leveled out. Finally, they cleaned up and helped one another set their clothes to rights. She made a move to straighten his tie, but he deflected it. “I don't want to risk activating the mic,” he explained, a boyish grin slipping over his face. “No need to advertise our indiscretions, even if I'm not here in my official capacity.”

“No.” She grinned back, smoothing his lapels and refastening one of the studs that had slipped out of place. “That's the last thing we'd want.”

She checked her makeup, noting that she looked flushed, and satisfied, but that nothing had run or smeared. Thank goodness for waterproof mascara and good cosmetics. Taking a small compact from her evening bag, she swiped a light dusting of powder over her nose.

“You look beautiful,” he said, running a light touch down her neck as she refastened one of the jeweled clips that held her hair.

“Just as long as I don't look like I just had mind-blowing sex in a…” She looked around the small room. “Security waiting room,” she concluded. “Then we're okay.”

“No, but you do look—” He cocked his head, considered.

A bit panicked, she looked at her mirror. She couldn't see anything wrong. “What?”

“Delicious.”

She snorted out a laugh, “Stop. We have to get out of here before someone misses us.”

“I doubt we'll be missed, seeing as how we're not bigwigs.” He sighed dramatically. “But, I guess we must.”

They checked one another a last time, which was occasion for a bit more kissing and play, but eventually they slipped out the door and into the corridor, melding into the crowd without anyone being the wiser.

They were nearly to the mezzanine railing when a huge surge of noise and applause rang out. Shrill voices called out for silence, and to Ana's surprise, the noise died down. Gates shot her a questioning look, but she had no idea what was going on.

Together they hurried to the upper mezzanine rail.

 

The phone rang, and Drake Yountz recognized the number. Jurgens. The party was in full swing so no one would miss him if he stepped out to take a call.

“Yes?”

“The job we discussed. I have someone. An insider.” Jurgens's message was clipped, precise. “Already he has given me product.” Jurgens's use of the term meant that the insider had been able to give him something or do something that would throw off the search, or deflect it away from any connection to him.

“Good. What else?”

“Your rival, he is under scrutiny, but I do not think it is sanctioned. He has—” Jurgens paused. Drake sensed strong disapproval when Jurgens spoke again. “He is in trouble with many people, some of them family.”

“Fascinating.” Drake let the word stretch out, pleased to know that Santini, his East Coast rival, was snared in something nasty. “Did you get his name? And the trouble, can we use it?”

“Ja.”

“Good. Start that going. Do you need resources?”

“No. I will work first.”

“Excellent,” Drake said. “The original party we were discussing?” He paused, waiting for Jurgens to figure it out.

Jurgens filled in the blank. “The woman?”

“Yes,” Drake agreed. “A guest this evening at my event. Quite lovely, really.”

“Huh. With the Greek?”

“His assistant.”

“Bromley,” Jurgens snarled. He didn't like Bromley on principle, it seemed.

“Exactly. On the resources, let me know.” Drake nodded to a couple strolling down the terrace, turned his back, and murmured, “Is that all?”

“Ja. I'll call.”

The line went dead, and he stood, contemplating the new turn of events. If his New York rival could be neutralized, or better yet, if he could be opened up to take the fall for all of the art-fraud cases, Drake could step away and no one would be the wiser. None of his collection would ever be questioned, since he already claimed them to be no more than excellent copies.

It was his own delightful joke to show off his paintings all while discounting people's praise with the comment, “Oh, I never buy the real thing. Too much money for too little return. I like art, but it isn't my kind of investment.”

His friends would nod and smile and move on, never knowing they'd just seen millions of dollars of real art, casually hanging on his walls.

“Where's Dav?” Gates questioned, scanning the seething crowd below. “Ana?”

She was looking as well, but saw no sign of Dav. “I don't know. We need to get down there.”

Moving to the left to find another gilded, but blocked door, Gates ignored the sign directing him to go another way and pushed through to a smaller anteroom. They crossed it at a near run and hit the door to the stairs as one.

With the elegant dress streaming behind her, Ana managed the stairs easily. She prayed that the lace wouldn't snag on anything because if Dav was down, or hurt, she would rip the dress if she had to, to get where they needed to be.

At the bottom, Gates stopped. “Hang on,” he said. He yanked up the back of his coat and turned his back to her. “Hook me back up. The wire's come undone from the battery.”

She plugged the wire back into its socket, and he was immediately online. “Thompson, report,” he snapped, opening the door and moving into the crowd, Ana at his back.

He gave her a terse, but very quiet rundown as he got the live feed. “Dav's still in the auction room. The newcomers are members of the Opera, in costume. Evidently Dav's still with Carrie—they're avoiding the crowds out front.”

“Thank God,” she sighed, wanting to sag with relief. Since no chairs were in sight, she sucked it up and kept moving in Gates's wake. They were both feeling guilty about sneaking off for a moment to themselves.

“Dav's at twelve o'clock,” Gates murmured, bringing her along. “It's stupid, I know, but I'd like to get over there. Make sure.”

She understood, and let him get ahead of her just a bit so he could see what he needed to see. The rush of adrenaline was fading, and she was feeling the pang of regret. What if Dav had been in danger while she and Gates were fooling around? Neither she nor Gates would ever forgive themselves if something happened to Dav while they were supposed to be on watch.

“Not on duty,” she reminded herself, but it didn't really matter. They'd been there. Duty was implied, for both of them.

She nearly bumped into Gates's broad back as he stopped abruptly. With a hopefully inaudible “Oof,” she sidestepped, merely grazing his arm instead of plowing through him.

Recovering her aplomb as quickly as she could, and ignoring the looks of disapproval tossed her way by matrons and youngsters alike, she searched for Dav.

There. Safe. He and Carrie were standing to one side, his arm at her back. They were obviously engaged in a lively conversation.

“Make way!” a loud voice called from behind Dav and Carrie's position. “Make way for the players!”

Pushing through the throng came a number of vividly dressed performers. They were laughing and shaking hands with people, bussing cheeks, and making their way through the crowd.

“Hang on,” Gates said, moving into the open space the caller had created, slipping them both closer to Dav.

Ana saw him activate his mic. Before she caught up with him, a lovely woman stopped him. “Gates, so good to see you.”

“Miriam.” Gates bent and kissed her cheek. “How lovely to see you.”

“And you,” the woman replied. “Are you here alone?” She looked around, spotted Dav. Then said something Ana couldn't hear.

Gates laughed and pointed her way. The woman looked at Ana, did a double take, then looked back at Gates. “Okay. Wow.”

Puzzled, Ana hoped Gates was going to explain the comment, but before she could give it any more thought, Drake Yountz appeared at her side.

“You seem to have been abandoned, Ms. Burton,” he drawled, again slipping his hand around her waist. “Can I get you a…drink?” His insinuation was obvious, as was the groping rise of his fingers.

“If you don't remove your hand in one second,” Ana said, as pleasantly as she could, “I will break all your fingers.”

“What?” Drake recoiled, his hand dropping away.

“That's better.” Ana smiled but not with amusement. “Don't touch me again, Mr. Yountz. My…friends,” she almost said contacts, which would betray something of her place in the order of Gates and Dav's lives. “May be donors, and may hold your Foundation in some regard. I, however, am not interested. Are we clear?”

“Of course, of course.” Drake oozed charm, as if she'd not just threatened to break his hand. “I totally understand. Just making sure you were all right. I noticed you disappeared.” He smirked, lowering his voice on the last phrase. “Trouble with that gorgeous dress?” Now his features shifted into a mask, which was probably the true Drake Yountz, she decided. Plain and nasty.

To quash his egotistic jab, she just smiled. “Of course not. Madame Misioia would never let that happen.”

The mask hardened, but dissipated the moment someone called his name. Like a chameleon, he smiled and answered the hail. The only sign that he wasn't exactly what he seemed was the look he shot her, as he turned away.

“If looks could kill,” she murmured, “I'd be headed for the morgue.”

It wasn't long before Gates returned to her side. “You okay?” He touched her arm, then without hesitation, linked their fingers together. “I saw Yountz. What did he want?”

“Down boy,” she said, appreciating his willingness to protect her. “No problem. I just threatened to break all his fingers if he touched me again.”

She said it with such nonchalance that it obviously took him a minute to process her statement. When he did, he began to chuckle. In full view of God and everyone, he bent and kissed her. “Oh, my God, that's perfect.”

She laughed, embarrassed to be the focus of so many eyes, thanks to his public display of affection. The noise level rose back to normal as the performers rolled through the crowd and out into the spacious outer hall.

“Miriam's the artistic director for the Opera. She's got something prepared to keep the crowd busy between the end of the auction and the announcement of the winning bids.”

“That's good. Lots of high spirits in here. I'm surprised at how many people are bidding. I know the economy's tough, but it hasn't stopped this crowd,” she said with amusement, watching two elegantly coiffed matrons argue over a lovely framed print. She caught snatches of, “Beautiful in my bedroom,” and “Perfect for the foyer.” Apparently, they were trying to dissuade one another from bidding on the piece they both coveted.

“We should look around, since we're here,” he said, glancing at her, then looking away. She could tell he was upset.

“Gates?”

“I nearly panicked when I couldn't find Dav,” he admitted.

She nodded. “Me too. If anything had happened…” She let the “might have been” trail away. Thank God, it hadn't. “Gates,” she began.

“Shhhh, let's just get through the rest of the evening, okay? There's still the performances, and then the auction. We'll talk about it then.”

“Oh, is that all?” she said sarcastically. “So, you think we should act like we're looking at auction items?”

“No, I think we should actually look at the auction items,” he said, laughing. “I'm a fan of the organization too, so I'll put in at least a few bids.” With his hand at her back again, directing them forward, they made their way toward the show tables. She could get used to that warmth, that amazing sensuality.

The thought stopped her dead in her tracks.

“Ana?” Gates looked at her, concern written on his handsome features.

“It's okay. It's nothing,” she lied. “I just slipped out of my shoe a bit.”

“Oh.” His features cleared, and he gave her a sly, knowing look. “Nice shoes, by the way.”

Heat suffused her face again.
Damn that blush!
God, what he could do to her with just that kind of comment. It was insane. It was delicious, and scary, and no…not scary; terrifying. She wanted him, but not what he represented. She wanted the feelings, the passion, but not the fear and the depth of emotion he brought out in her. She'd cut herself off from that in order to survive.

Part of her, a little whispering part of her mind, said,
Isn't it time to start living again, instead of just surviving?

The thought followed her as they wandered along the tables. Ana saw very little of the magnificent prizes everyone was bidding on. Instead, she was focused on the feelings that were pouring through her. How could she be falling for Gates? Was it just the mind-blowing sex?

No, she shook off that thought. She'd had good sex before, although not quite
that
good. It wasn't sex, or at least not entirely. That she, that both of them, had been willing to set duty aside, even briefly, was a testament to the power of what pulsed between them.

“What do you think of this?” Gates asked with a poker face, pointing to a garish, glossy painting of a nude woman, her face pink, her body a screaming electric-blue blob with enormous, pointy breasts. “For the foyer, perhaps?”

A laugh snickered out, and she bumped him with her hip. “Stop that.” She glanced behind them. “The artist could be nearby.”

“Oh, of course. What about that for the bedroom?” he said, his hand at her back directing her farther down the line to an amazing bronze sculpture of amorphous human shapes, one obviously female, the other blatantly male, but joined together so that the obvious wasn't so obvious. It was erotic, but somehow not overt. It spoke of heat and joining, reminded her of their midnight rendezvous at her apartment.

“Remind you of anything?” he murmured.

“Hmmmm.”

“Lovely, isn't it?” Dav joined them, Sophia on his arm. Carrie was nowhere to be seen, and Dav's face was a study in deliberate nonchalance.

“It is, yes,” Ana responded, smiling at the other woman, trying not to be obvious in her scanning of the crowd. Sophia looked spooked, uneasy, and tension radiated from her in waves.

“Problem?” Ana asked.

“She thought she saw someone she knew,” Dav said obliquely, locking eyes with Gates. “Someone from another time, another land.”

“Do we need to go?” Ana read the signs of imminent threat on both their faces.

“No.” Dav's voice was flat, sure. “I confronted the individual.” He smiled at Gates now, a look of dark amusement and self-deprecation. “You'd be pleased to know that every one of our men was at my side within three seconds.”

“I'd be royally pissed if it had been otherwise,” Gates said, his voice even and calm. Ana could feel the quiver of his muscles under her arm though, and realized how tightly he was leashing his emotions.

“It wasn't him, Gates,” Dav said, his mood changing with mercurial speed. He looked off into the distance. “I frightened a total stranger half to death,” he said, turning back. “For nothing.”

“It wasn't nothing,” Sophia said, her teeth chattering slightly. “It looked so much like him, the build, the hair. Everything.”

Dav stroked her hand. “Sophia-aki,” he soothed. “We were both fooled. We must maintain our dignity now. We must be strong.” He seemed to be trying to convince himself as well as Sophia.

Ana was lost at sea, unsure who or what had caused the uproar. What she did know was that somewhere back in Dav's past, his family's past, someone had put together one hell of a threat. A threat so widespread that even a distant relative like Sophia was aware of it and alarmed by the thought of it.

Ana tapped Gates, whispered, “Is this something I can help with?”

He shook his head, but smiled. “I'll tell you later,” he said quietly. “It was before my time, but deadly serious.”

“Now,” Dav said with forced joviality. “Let's examine the rest of these treasures, see what we can see. We will not let this ruin our evening, eh?”

By the time they reached the end of the rows of tables, Dav had revived, joking with Sophia about the befrilled dressing table that was up for auction, and the huge gilded parrot in an equally huge gilded cage.

They passed the rest of the evening in relative ease, with Dav, Sophia, and Gates bidding on several things. Gates and Sophia were making a game out of trying to read one another's bids, with much peering and guessing going on. They each made a great show of protectively writing their bids and sealing the envelopes.

“Is there anything you'd like to bid on?” Gates asked her, noticing that she wasn't joining in.

“As well as I get paid,” she remarked facetiously, nodding at the frilly dressing table they'd returned to, “that is out of my league. It's also out of my,” she searched for a delicate way to say the thing was hideous, “um, design strategy.” She reminded herself once more, the artist could be anywhere, and being offensive wasn't on the evening's agenda.

“Yeah, I'll say,” he teased. “But desks,” he said, pointing out an ornate ormolu writing table with a spindly, elegant chair, “are your style.” He gave her a sly wink, hinting at their tryst. Evidently his unease at not being able to find Dav was passing. Or he was tabling the discussion of it, for now.

Before she could reply to his saucy jab, there was a ring of brassy music and a rumble of kettledrums. The sound reverberated in the foyer and in the room they were in.

“Time for the entertainment,” he said, bending low so he could be heard over the cacophony.

The crowd pressed forward, packing into the huge grand entrance. Above them on the mezzanine where she and Gates had watched the crowd, a small orchestra had been set up and several performers stood, waiting for the gathering to settle.

Drake Yountz and an attractive silver-haired woman stepped to the railing, each with a microphone in hand. They thanked everyone and indicated that the auction room's doors would now be shut for tallying, and the program would begin.

“Winners of auction items will be able to either take them home this evening or have them delivered for an extra charge,” the woman said with a smile, outlining the procedures, the payment process, and all the niceties of silent auction bidding.