Imminent Conquest (24 page)

"That's all the cops would listen to. Innocence wasn't something they believed in to begin with. I was at the scene of the crime. I held the murder weapon. In other words, I had opportunity and the means, although they might never find out what the motive was.” A long sigh escaped his lips.

Nicole's shoulders shook as she cried quietly. He had suffered more than enough because of her callousness and her youthful and misguided actions.

"I couldn't bear to think you believed I would hurt you that day, that you ran because you feared me and what I might do to you."

His eyes were rimmed with red although he repressed the tears in a way she couldn't. She saw him with new eyes. He was crushed, broken hearted and betrayed by the one he loved the very most. “If you didn't"—she couldn't say the word murder—"your father, who did?"

"I've been looking into it since I got out of prison, and I'm very close to the answer.” Terrible sadness mingled with raging anger for the briefest second before his expression faded to neutral.

"Who is it?"

"I'd rather not say until I have more conclusive proof.” He shifted, crossing his legs and picking a piece of white lint from his black sock.

With the tears still streaming down her cheeks, she trailed her finger down his left cheek, starting at the corner of his eye and ending at the curve of his lips. “Are you in danger from the one who murdered your father?"

"Not at the moment. I don't believe he has any inkling I'm garnering facts.” Abruptly, he looked guilty, lifted her hand from his cheek and got off the bed. “I'm thirsty as all hell. Can I get you something? Wine or juice?"

She shrugged listlessly, not caring. The horror of what she had done to him began to sink in.

"I'll see if I have some chamomile tea to help you relax."

She hardly heard him leave, his footsteps were so quiet across the Persian carpets.

No longer dizzy as she had been before, she rose and looked around the room at the stark simplicity even though the furnishings were, no doubt, expensive. She found a TV and turned the screen on with a remote control. She watched listlessly as the female newscaster reeled off the day's events.

"Once again the top story tonight is a murder in our community.” Footage of Michael's burned out car followed. “Brad Jenkins is confirmed as the man who was in the trunk of this car when his estranged girlfriend drove it up Old Eastwynd Road and pushed it over the edge of a cliff where it burst into flames. The medical examiner is uncertain if Brad was still alive at the time the car plunged over a four-hundred-foot embankment. The police ask if you see Nicole Harris or know of her whereabouts—"

The rest of the words were lost as Nicole stared at her own face on the screen. Her knees turned boneless. She slid to the floor and felt the cool carpet against her forehead. Michael had been telling the truth. The cops were searching for her, believing she was guilty of murder.

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Bryan collapsed in an armchair in his bedroom and stared at the floor. Where had Cathy gone? Why did Colin want her so badly that he was willing to kill? Nothing made sense. Cathy was a passionate, sexual woman, but what was her connection with Iceman? Or was Colin making this all up for one of his sick reasons?

He didn't hear the soft footfall.

"Thank goodness. He's gone?"

Bryan vaulted out of his chair. Cathy stood in the doorway, bundled in her fur-lined jacket. “It's freezing out there with all that wind coming from hell."

He leapt forward and caught her in his arms. “How did you know he was coming? Where did you go?"

"Simple. I put a transmitter on the back bumper of his SUV. And where do you think is the best place to hide?"

"Evidently not in a closet."

"Right under his nose,” she declared.

"I'm not going to ask where that might be but I'm glad he didn't find you. Are you a spy or something?” He recalled the unpleasant tales he had heard about the Russian KGB.

"I might be.” She batted her eyes flirtatiously.

"What kind?"

"Can't a woman keep her secrets?"

"Not if the woman's life is in danger.” Relief poured through him. She hadn't left without saying goodbye, if she was planning to leave.

"Is he on that ‘I owe him thing’ again? He never means it. He's just a big ‘ole teddy bear."

"Never heard Colin called one of those before. The description doesn't suit him in the least.” Was she making light out of a serious situation?

"Don't worry, Jamikins. I can handle him."

"Jamikins?"

She stroked the flesh left bare at the base of his throat. “Yeah, Jamikins. You remind me of old-fashioned, homemade jam."

"Forget about what I remind you of. Can you really handle him? How do you go about doing that?” He doubted she could handle any man more than his own size, five foot eight and a lean one hundred and eighty pounds.

"Staying out of his way when he gets bullish.” Provocatively, her hand wandered down his chest towards his crotch.

"How do you know when he gets that way?” Bryan was getting aroused at the mere thought of what Cathy's fingers could do to his sensitive spots.

"A woman has her secrets.” Her eyes twinkled playfully.

"He says you owe him.” Getting info out of her was like getting water out of a rock. Almost impossible.

"He's afraid because of what I found out about him. I'm freezing,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her soft curves against the length of his body.

"You're an enigma, do you know that?"

"Hmm,” was all she said, snuggling closer against him.

"Tell me why Colin is so determined to get you."

She drew back, pouting. “I really shouldn't. It puts your life in jeopardy."

"A secret shared is a burden lifted,” Bryan said, copying the words his mother used to tell him when the bullies in primary school tried to beat him up. “I can handle it."

"You act tough but can you handle yourself in hand to hand combat or when someone's holding a gun to your face?"

Thankfully, he had never faced the situation. Maybe Cathy was over-dramatising her life. “I'm sure I could if I was put to the test."

The small smile that touched her lips didn't reach her eyes. “I hope you never have a chance to find out. Okay, I'll tell you but it goes no further than this room. Right?"

Finally, he could squeeze water from a rock. “Right."

"I'm a newspaper reporter. A damned good one. The day I recognised Colin, I was on special assignment. That was in Italy. He was too intent on scouting out his next target. I knew because his eyes were darting every which way but he didn't see me. Maybe he didn't recognise me. I had been in Venice reporting on a high level official. Instantly, I knew why Colin was in the same place I was, although it was mere coincidence that we were in the same city together. He had been hired to kill that official, who I'll leave unnamed not to involve you further than you already are by my telling you.

"That official was someone who intended good towards his fellow citizens, a man who had spent his life making the world a better place. I sent out the alert. If Colin had succeeded in bumping off this official, it would have put the United States, Italy, England and Yugoslavia at war with each other. No telling how ugly or widespread the war would have become. That's why Colin is after me. And that's all I'm going to tell you.” Her hand rested against his chest comfortingly.

"That sounded like history reworking itself with World War One, beginning with the death of the Crown Prince in Sarajevo. What happened to Colin?"

"This incident would have been the same kind of spark to dry tinder. As for Colin, he fucked off. He's a laughingstock in the mercenary world now. My, how the mighty have fallen."

"What do you mean?” Bryan slipped his hand over hers. At least she had stopped shaking.

"He used to be the top dog. Anyone wanted someone bumped off, they called Colin in and he did it, no questions asked."

"For a hefty price, right?"

Cathy nodded. “Of course."

He nodded. “I can see why he wants to get back at you."

"I don't want to bring you into this. There are complications but you don't need to know about them. I've told you far too much as it is."

"Complications?” He knew Cathy was different but hadn't been able to put his finger on why. She was cosmopolitan, urbane, yet deceptively at ease in her surroundings.

"Let's talk about something else. My motto is make love, not war. Talking about ‘ole Colin is a waste of time."

Despite the gravity of the subject, Bryan found himself fully aroused. She began to run the coveralls zipper down his chest towards his groin. Her lips were full and pouting, and her eyelids heavy with anticipation.

"I should make sure the doors are locked first,” he said. Man, but he wanted her the same way a thirsty man wanted a drop of cold water. She was magical fire to his body and soul.

"That won't help any.” She kissed the crown of his ear and blew warm air into his eardrum, tickling the sensitive organ.

"Let me make sure.” If nothing else, it would set his mind at ease. If Cathy was going to stay with him over the holidays, he had to think about installing an alarm system. Bryan couldn't believe what a difference she had made in his life in one day. He wanted to get to know her better, to spend all the time he could with her, and maybe take the relationship to the next level.

"He can get through anything. He's like a bad smell."

"So how will we know he's here?"

"Don't know, but right now, you have a little problem I need to take care of.” She flattened her palm against his stiff, throbbing dick.

"Yow, mama.” That's all she had to do to rev his engine.

He began tugging and pulling her clothes off. He just had to see those big tits and curl his mouth over them. She lifted her sweater and pushed his head down onto her breasts, which he suckled and watched them harden into marbleised nubs. He heard the zipper slide downwards and she placed her hand in his briefs to toy with his glans. “You're wet,” she whispered, pumping his shaft.

He groaned. “Don't. I'll never last long enough to get inside you."

Her tinkling laugh aroused him but she eased up on his erection. Her hand was hot.

He pulled the sweater over her head, ruffling her hair out of its plait so the wisps curled lazily against her cheeks. She wasn't wearing a bra. She seized his wrist and dragged him down the stairs and into the kitchen. “Sit down,” she said, pushing him into a chair, “and let me turn you on."

"I can't just sit here,” Bryan objected.

She laughed. “Then play with yourself."

He had never played with his cock before, at least, not in front of a woman. She took a bottle from a lower cupboard and placed the gold liquid on the counter. “Just watch. Don't say a word and keep on playing with that big cock."

"Is breathing allowed?"

"Sporadically."

He found himself holding his breath as she turned her back on him. “Not that I mind, but why don't you wear a bra?” He grinned sheepishly. That question had to take the award for one of the stupidest things he had ever said.

"Shh. Just watch.” Her back was still turned as she slipped her pants off. All she had on was a white thong.

Man, but her ass cheeks were firm and high, leading to shapely thighs and to long, long legs. She gazed at him over her shoulder, her lips full and parted. He caught a glimpse of the tender globe of her breast partially hidden by her arm. It wasn't possible, but his dick was getting harder.

"Are you watching?” Her sexy, hoarse voice would have spun him in maddening circles if he hadn't been seated.

She flipped her loose hair over to the centre of her back as she turned around, taking the bottle into her hand to open it. “Just look."

She canted the bottle, which he recognised as cooking oil, over her shoulder. Unhurriedly, she tipped her hand and oil poured down over her shoulder in a torturously slow path down over the top of her breast, over her extended nipple, down over the flat of her stomach and over the ridge of the elastic of her thong. She poured the oil between her breasts, and once more, he watched with riveted eyes as the liquid made its way between her breasts and into her thong that now appeared wet, and showed her patch of dark hair. He could imagine that if she opened her legs, droplets of oil would have formed on her pussy and clitoris.

She ambled up to him, still holding the bottle of cooking oil. “Why not take them off?” she suggested, indicating her thong.

He urged himself to breathe. Man, her tits were big, and her nipples as tight as unopened rosebuds. He stuck his thumbs between the thong's elastic and her thighs and pulled the scrap of silk down her legs. Daintily, she stepped out and hopped up on the table and seated herself in front of him. “Are you hot and bothered yet?"

"Yow, mama!” He stretched out his hand to touch the underside of her breast, but she slapped his hand away. “I'm not finished yet. Sit down and watch."

He leant back in his chair. “At least open your legs so I can see your pussy."

"That wouldn't be much fun, would it?"

Actually, he thought it would be a great deal of fun, but he wasn't going to argue. He wanted more, and the only way to get more was to be patient and observe.

She tipped the bottle over her left breast before she set the liquid next to her. Bryan knew she enjoyed tormenting him but he also recognised that she was stimulating herself too. She rubbed long fingers over her breast with sensuous, circular motions. He watched her massage and knead her breasts in a way that should have been banned in front of a male audience.

Several excruciating minutes later, both her breasts shone from the oil. She wagged a finger at him playfully. “Don't you dare touch the goods."

He gulped. No touching the goods, he repeated silently.

Cathy lay back on the kitchen table, her legs still pressed together. The bottle appeared in her hand again and she made a production of pouring the oil over her stomach, down over her mound and between her thighs. He could hear her ragged breaths as she circled her palms over her thighs. Her breasts jiggled with the movements.