All the Queen's Men (28 page)

"Easy," he whispered and pressed himself to her opening.

No. He couldn't actually be doing this. Not here, not like this. She didn't want their first time to be like this.

Everything was happening too fast; her body hadn't had time to prepare itself, even with the moisture he had given her with his tongue. How
could
she be prepared, when she couldn't believe what he was doing, not now, not like this?

He pushed slowly into her and she wasn't nearly wet enough, her inner tissues yielding reluctantly to his intrusion. "Scream," he said, the word almost soundless.

Scream? That would certainly bring Ronsard-but that was what John wanted. The realization seared through her dazed mind. Anyone up to no good wouldn't make that kind of noise, which was guaranteed to attract attention, or be doing what they were doing.

He put no limits on what he would do to get the job done.

He withdrew a little then thrust again, forcing himself deeper, inch by inch. "Scream," he repeated, demanding now.

She couldn't. She didn't have enough air, her lungs were paralyzed, her entire body arching under the almost brutal lash of sensation. Every nerve ending felt electrified, her loins clenching as she fought the relentless swell of pleasure. She fought him too, not with her fists but with every muscle inside her, clamping down, trying to hold him, prevent him from going deeper and pushing her beyond control.

She wasn't strong enough. He thrust slowly past her resistance, bracing his hands on either side of her rib cage and leaning over her. Quick, shallow breaths panted between his parted lips; his eyes were narrowed, brilliant, the blue more intense than she had ever seen it before. With one swift movement he pulled down the left strap of her gown, baring her breast. Her nipple was already tightly beaded, flushed with color. "Scream," he insisted, thrusting harder. "Scream!"

Her head thrashed back and forth on the cushion. She choked back a sob and desperately struck out at him, trying to squirm away. She couldn't, she didn't want to, dear God please don't let her be climaxing as Ronsard walked through that door, she couldn't bear it. John caught her wrists and pinned them to the sofa, relentlessly probing ever deeper.

She couldn't stop it, couldn't contain it. She convulsed, waves of sensation pulsing through her loins. She sank into the climax, head thrown back and eyes closed, breath halted, everything fading around her until her only focus of existence was the searing pleasure. She did scream then, silently, beyond despair, as she waited for the door to open.

The door didn't open. There was nothing but silence in the hallway.

The sensual paroxysm began to ebb, the tension fading from her trembling flesh until she lay limp and pliant beneath him, her legs still open and her body still penetrated. She couldn't think, couldn't move. She felt hollow, emptied out, as if he had taken everything.

Humiliation crawled through her like lava. She turned her head aside, unable to look at him. How could she have climaxed in such a situation? What kind of person was she? What kind of man was
he,
to do this? Tears burned her eyes, but she couldn't wipe them away because he still held her wrists pinned.

Time stopped.

Ronsard wasn't coming into his office. She didn't know where he had gone, but he wasn't here. She waited for John to withdraw, waited for a moment that stretched on and on until the tension was more than she could bear and she had to look at him again, had to face him.

His expression was set in almost savage lines, his eyes so bright they seemed to burn her. He seemed to have been waiting for her to look at him. "I'm sorry," he said, and began moving-not away from her but inside her, thrusting, forging a deep, fast rhythm, and pierced her to her very core.

He came hard, gripping her hips while he plunged and bucked, his head thrown back and his teeth grinding together to hold back the hoarse sounds in his throat. He sank against her, panting, his chest heaving as he gulped in air.

She didn't say anything, couldn't think of anything
to
say. Her mind was emptied, dazed with shock. Nothing she'd ever read in Miss Manners covered this situation. The bizarreness of that thought almost made her laugh, but the laugh turned into a sob that she choked back.

Carefully he levered himself away from her; her breath caught at the drag of his flesh leaving hers. He pulled her to a sitting position. "Are you all right?"

She nodded silently, swinging her feet to the floor and pushing her skirt down to cover her thighs. He neatened himself with brisk movements, tucking in his shirt and fastening his trousers.

Her panties were lying on the floor in front of the desk. John picked them up and held them out to her. In silence she took them. Her legs felt too wobbly for her to trust them, so she sat on the sofa and worked the panties up her legs until she could lift her hips and tug the flimsy garment into place. She was very wet now, the moisture dampening her underwear and drying stickily on her inner thighs.

He walked around the desk until he could see the closed-circuit monitor. "The coast is clear," he said, as calmly as if nothing had happened. "I don't know where Ronsard went."

Shakily she got to her feet and gathered her evening wrap, fumbling with the folds to make certain they still held everything securely. John shrugged into his tuxedo jacket and straightened his tie, then raked his fingers through his hair. He looked cool and controlled.

"Are you ready?"

She nodded, and he checked the monitor again. "Here we go," he said, taking her arm and ushering her to the door.

Somehow she controlled her voice, and found the words. Somehow she sounded as casual as he did. "What about the lock? Are you going to fix it?"

"No, he'll just think it malfunctioned. This type does occasionally."

He opened the door and swiftly looked out, then ushered her into the empty hallway. He was pulling the office door shut, his hand still on the handle, when the hallway door abruptly swung open and a guard stepped through. He checked when he saw them, shouting something as he automatically reached for his weapon.

John was moving almost before the guard saw them. He pushed Niema against the wall as he went down on one knee, going for the weapon in his ankle rig. The guard panicked and fired too soon, the bullet plowing into the floor ten feet in front of him. John didn't panic. Niema saw his face, calm and expressionless, as his hand swept up. He fired twice, the first shot in the chest and the second, an insurance shot, in the head. The guard jerked like a puppet with broken strings as he crashed backward through the open door.

John gripped Niema's hand and with one motion pulled her to her feet. Screams rose beyond the open hallway door and running footsteps pounded toward them. "Come on," he said and shoved her toward the left exit, and people poured through the door behind them.

Upstairs, the three shots froze Hossam. He leaped off the bed and grabbed his pants from the floor, jerking them on as he ran for the door. He grabbed his shoulder holster as well, sliding the weapon free.

"Hossam! Don't leave me like this!" Cara's voice was sharp with panic-he had long since taken off the gag-but he ignored her and ran out the door. He did have presence of mind to slam the door closed as he went out, but that was all he took the time to do.

Barefoot, he raced down the hall to the stairway at the end and instead of using the steps he put his hand on the rail and vaulted down to the next tier, again and again until he reached the ground floor. The shots seemed to have come from directly below and to the right, which meant they were near Ronsard's office.

The long hallway was jammed with people, some of them Ronsard's guests who were exclaiming in horror. The security personnel were trying to clear them out of the hall, but the arrival of a huge, half-naked, armed man had the guests shrinking back.

"Where?" Hossam shouted.

"Out this entrance," a guard replied, pointing to the door. "It was Temple and one of the women." Hossam wheeled and plunged into the night.

Where would Temple go? Hossam briefly paused, thinking. He would try to get transportation, rather than get away on foot, but the guests vehicles were secured in a fenced area. The estate vehicles, however, were not. Hossam ran barefoot across the damp lawn, heading for the garage area.

Bright emergency lights flashed on all over the estate, lighting up the area like a football field. Armed men swarmed the lawn. Hossam yelled, "The guest vehicles! Check them!"

A large group formed, racing for the secure area. Hossam ran on toward the garage, his weapon held ready. Damn, this guy Temple had piss-poor timing! He'd had Cara ready to come for about the tenth time when he heard the shots, but he'd had to jerk out of her and leave her on the brink, still helplessly tied to the bed.

The long, shadowed garage was silent as he moved down the row of cars and Land Rovers and Jeeps. "Are you here?" he whispered.

"Here."

Hossam whirled as Temple stepped out of the shadows, towing a woman behind him. "Go, man," he hissed, pulling a set of keys out of his pocket and tossing them to Temple, who released the woman to catch them with his left hand. "The green Mercedes there."

"Thanks. Turn around."

Sighing, Eric Covert turned around. He just hoped he wouldn't be out too long, or Cara would be hysterical with rage. He never heard Temple move or felt the blow that left him stretched out on the cold concrete floor.

>C
hapter Twenty-Three

John bent down and scooped up the big man's weapon and tossed it to Niema. "Here, hold this."

She pushed that pistol, too, into the bundle of her evening wrap. It would look suspicious if they didn't take the weapon. He unlocked the car with the automatic lock release on the key ring and they got in. "Get down on the floor," he said, putting his hand on the back of her head and pushing to make sure she obeyed.

She crouched in the well of the floor as he started the car and hit the garage door opener. The door began to slide upward and the automatic light came on overhead. He glanced at her and smiled, and shifted into gear. The powerful car shot forward, tires grabbing traction so smoothly there was no squeal or burning rubber.

The first shot shattered the window above her head, spraying glass over the interior of the car. She bit back a startled cry, covering her head with her arms as a second shot went through the passenger door and the back of the seat not three inches from John's arm, the bullet making a funny
whfftt
sound as it passed through the leather and fabric.

He floored the gas pedal, smoothly shifting through the gears. With each new gear the increased G-force pushed her hard against the seat. "Stay down," he said, and ducked a split second before the drivers' side window shattered.

The gates. He was heading for those massive, steel-barred gates. She barely had time to brace her hands before the impact. Metal screamed and glass shattered, and she heard more shots, the rapid coughing of automatic fire. She was thrown sideways, her head banging the gear shift. One of the heavy gates, torn off its hinges, landed half on the hood.

"Are you all right?" John shouted as he shifted into reverse. The gate spun and slid to the ground. He shifted gears again and the car shot forward, bumping over the gate, metal bars clanging.

"Yeah," she yelled, but she didn't know if he heard her over the gunfire. He wasn't returning the fire, using all his concentration to drive. She fumbled for the two weapons in the folds of her wrap; the first one she touched was the big one the Company man had been carrying. She got to her knees as she thumbed off the safety.

"God damn it, stay down!" John roared, reaching for her as if he would shove her back into the floor.

"Just drive!" She jerked away, wrapped both hands around the heavy weapon, and began firing out the window. Even if she didn't hit anyone, return fire would at least make them duck for cover. If she didn't do something, the car, with them in it, would be shot to pieces.

The heavy weapon bucked in her hand, the deep cough deafening her as hot casings ejected into the car. One bounced off her bare arm, leaving behind a sting.

The car wasn't running as smoothly as before; it jerked and hesitated, the engine cutting out. Some of the bullets had hit something critical but at least they were off the estate grounds. More shots zinged after them, but they sounded like handguns, which meant the shots didn't have their range. "We have to ditch the car," John said, turning his head to check behind them. The rearview mirror was nothing but a shattered metal frame, the mirror blasted into tiny pieces all over them.

"Where?"

"As soon as we're out of sight. With luck, they won't find the car until morning."

Niema peered over the shredded remains of the seat back. The estate was lit with so many lights it looked like a miniature city. Dozens of lights bloomed as she watched, neatly spaced apart in pairs-headlights. "They're coming," she said.

They went around a curve, and a thick stand of trees hid the estate from sight. He drove off the road, slowing so the tires wouldn't churn up the ground, easing the heavy vehicle into the trees. They bumped over limbs and rocks, and bushes scraped at the once-pristine paint job.

He didn't touch the brake pedal, just in case one of the taillights was still working. When they were far enough off the road that passing headlights wouldn't glint on metal, he stopped and killed the engine. They sat in silence broken only by the engine pinging and hissing, listening to the pursuing vehicles roar past their hiding spot.

They were less than a mile from the estate. "Now what?" she asked, her voice sounding funny, but then her ears were still ringing from the gunfire. The car interior stank of burnt gunpowder and hot metal.

"Do you feel like a nice run?"

"It's my favorite thing to do in the middle of the night, wearing sandals and a two-thousand dollar dress, with a hundred guys chasing and shooting at us."

"Just be glad the sandals aren't high-heeled." He rapped his pistol barrel on the inside lights, shattering covers and bulbs so there wouldn't be any betraying light when they opened the doors.