Body Contact (21 page)

“It's so big. So nice and hard. I think it would feel very very good inside me.”

The suggestion was like a jolt of electricity that went right to his cock.

“Don't!” he muttered.

“Okay. No more talking,” she murmured. Sliding across the bed, she reached out and took his penis in her hand.

“Don't,” he said again. This time the order ended in a gasp.

“Why not?”

“I don't have any right to get off on this,” he grated. No damn right. Not when he had gotten her into this mess.

“I don't want to be the one having all the fun,” she purred.

“I didn't bring you here to have fun,” he managed to protest. But it was hard to stay focused on that thought as the maddening hand began to stroke him, sliding the skin up and down his erection in a way that sent his blood pounding.

“Lord, you taste good,” she murmured, nibbling the words against his hot, distended flesh. His breath caught, then he stopped breathing altogether as she worked her way along his shaft, then up to the sensitive tip where she licked a circle around his head with her tongue, licked a bead of liquid from the tip.

He could only stand there in an agony of pulsing pleasure, his hands rigid at his sides as she took him as fully as she could into her mouth, lapping and sucking as though someone had given her a particularly delicious lol
lipop while one hand reached under his cock to lift and fondle his balls.

He could barely catch his breath. And he certainly couldn't move, not when she was driving him rapidly toward climax.

She drew back, wringing a moan of protest from him. The last hour had been almost more than he could endure.

Then her words penetrated his brain.

“Jack, I want you inside me. I need you inside me.”

The request released him. Coming down to the bed, he took her in his arms and pressed her body against his.

“I was hoping I could persuade you to participate.” She giggled again.

He'd never plunged into a woman without making sure she was ready for him. But Maddy didn't give him the choice. She took him in hand again, dragging him to her. And he was helpless to do anything besides follow her lead.

Any doubts about her readiness vanished as she began to move frantically, matching him thrust for thrust, setting a pounding rhythm that sent her into a shattering climax. He managed to hold himself back, keeping up the rhythm, bringing her to another orgasm that had her gasping his name, digging her fingernails into his buttocks.

He came then, giving himself over to the pleasure of pouring himself into her.

Afterwards, he held her tenderly, kissed her. Then watched her eyes flutter closed. Almost at once he sensed the change in her breathing and knew she was sleeping.

He gave a shuddering sigh. On the beach, she'd asked if he had a timetable for getting off the island. He hadn't given her an answer then. Now he knew that it had to be tonight. Because the danger was escalating. For both of them.

But was Maddy in any shape to help him? Let alone get off the island under her own power.

It all depended on the aftereffects of the damn drug—which he didn't know because he'd never encountered anything like this before. Too bad he was learning about it the hard way.

Maddy lay next to him, breathing quietly at last. He held her gently in his arms. But just as he was beginning to think they were home free, her eyes snapped open, and she looked wildly around the room, obviously on the verge of panic.

“Jack,” she moaned, her hands clutching her shoulders.

“I'm here, baby. I'm here.”

“I need you again.”

The breathy words made him instantly hard. Instantly ready to give her anything she asked. And more.

A
COUPLE OF HOURS LATER
,
when Jack got up to make a quick trip to the bathroom, Maddy stirred beside him on the bed.

“Jack?”

“It's okay. I'll be right back,” he told her.

When he slipped back into bed, she clung to him.

“How are you?” he asked, nibbling at her ear.

“Better. I think it's…uh…run its course.”

“Good.”

She raised her head and looked at him. “Jack, thank you. Thank you for rescuing me from Calista. Thank you for…for…” Her voice faltered.

“You don't have to say anything. It wasn't exactly hardship work.”

He saw her swallow. “You don't know what it was like. Being out of control like that.”

“I wouldn't have liked having it happen to me.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Maddy, I knew Calista wanted you. Yesterday when Reynard had me up here, he proposed that the four of us get together, that he and I watch you and Calista make love.”

He felt her shudder, then shake her head. “It wasn't quite like that. She doesn't really like being with women. She does it because he wants her to.”

“That hardly makes it better.”

“He's controlling her. The way he controls everything else around here.”

“Yeah,” he answered, thinking he wasn't going to minimize his role in all this. But he needed to judge what he could say, because despite what Reynard had told him when he'd brought Maddy here, he didn't entirely trust this room to be free of bugs.

He drew in a breath and let it out. “Any way you slice it, I knew you were in danger. First I kept it from you because I was afraid you'd freak out. And I'd convinced myself that Reynard wouldn't try anything without my permission. Then I knew I had to come clean with you. That's what I meant down on the beach when I started talking.”

She nodded, but the look in her eyes didn't make him feel any better.

“You don't have to apologize. This isn't exactly like Albania,” she murmured.

“What?”

At his sharp question, she looked confused, as if she wasn't quite sure what she'd said—and why she'd said it.

“You know about Albania?” he asked, his throat so constricted that he could barely speak.

She lay very still, and he waited with his heart hammering against his ribs to find out if he'd heard her right.

When she gave a little nod, he struggled to contain the sick feeling threatening to force its way up his throat. Jesus! All this time—she'd known. And she hadn't said a damn thing.

“I—I don't seem to have much self-control right now,” she stammered, obviously sorry that she'd mentioned the delicate subject. “A thought pops into my head, and I blurt it out….”

He cut her off with a fierce look, then struggled to contain his roiling emotions.

“We have to talk,” he mouthed, knowing now more than ever that they couldn't risk a frank conversation in
the bedroom. Which was good, because he needed a few minutes with his own thoughts.

“Do you think you can stand up?” he said aloud. “I want to find out how you are on your feet. And I'm sure a shower would feel good about now.”

“Yes. Okay,” she agreed.

He moved aside, and she slid to the edge of the bed. When she stood, he could see her legs weren't quite steady.

“I'm fine,” she muttered when she caught his look of concern.

Still he slung his arm around her, holding her close as they made their slow way to the bathroom.

She leaned against the wall while he opened the glass door and turned on the shower. Now that the water was running, they could start talking. But he postponed the inevitable while he adjusted the temperature.

Finally, there was nothing left to do besides step under the pounding spray. When he held out his hand to her, she followed him inside.

He breathed out a small sigh as she turned to face him and laid her head against his shoulder. So she wasn't condemning him without hearing what he had to say. That was good. For a long moment he stood there sliding his hands up and down her water-slick arms and across her back.

Neither of them spoke, and he knew he was the one who had to break the silence.

“You know my partner was killed when we were on an assignment in Albania?
How
do you know?”

Apparently she'd decided that the time for ducking inconvenient questions was over. “One of my security men had heard about it. He warned me not to come here with you.”

“But you did it anyway.”

“Yes.” She swallowed. “Can you tell me what happened?”

He did, in a flat, dead voice. “Someone had ratted on us. Men in town were looking for us. But we had a place to hide out, and I thought we'd be safer under cover. Lisa wanted to make a run for it—and we had to stick together. They have these one-lane roads running along the tops of the mountains. We came around a curve, and there was a big car, smack in front of us. It sped up as it plowed into us. I have to assume that the bad guys knew we were trying to make a getaway, and sent someone to stop us. Our car went into a ravine. Somehow I got out. Either I pulled the door handle, or the door flew open on its own. Lisa wasn't so lucky.”

“That doesn't sound like your fault.”

“I should have kept her calm, made her wait it out!”

“Could you have?”

“I don't know! I've asked myself that question a million times.”

Her hands tightened on his arms, then caressed his back in a gesture that might have been erotic. Now it was comforting.

“I think you've got nothing to feel guilty about,” she murmured.

“Easy for you to say.”

“Jack, I know what kind of man you are. If I didn't know before today, I'd know now.”

He swore under his breath. “I'm no saint.”

“But you're a good man. You know what the hell you're doing. You're calm in the face of a crisis. And you go out of your way to do your job.”

He focused on the last part. Was that what she thought? That he'd been doing a job for the past few hours? He wanted to tell her it had been a hell of a lot more than a job, but thought better of it. Maybe after what had just
happened to her, she needed to believe there was nothing personal between them. And if that was what it took to get her off Orchid Island safely, then that was the way he was going to play it.

“How are you feeling now?” he asked.

She stepped away from him, flexed her legs and arms. “Better. Not a hundred percent. But I'm coming back.”

He watched her calmly evaluating her physical and mental condition. “Do you think you can be ready to leave tonight? Because I don't think that staying around much longer is a good idea.”

“I agree. And if I have to be ready tonight, I will be,” she answered, her voice all business.

Lord, she'd just been down for the count, but she was coming out of her corner swinging.

Then her next words made him blink. “I'm not going to let you down, like Lisa did.”

“She didn't—”

“Okay. I guess I shouldn't have said it. We're not going to focus on what happened back then. We're going to concentrate on getting out of here.”

The tone of her voice told him that she was definitely on the mend.

“Right,” he muttered.

“Then tell me what you have planned.”

Jack leaned close, brought his mouth next to her ear, and told her what he'd been thinking about while she was sleeping.

 

O
LIVER HAD BEEN PRIMED
to enjoy Maddy Griffin's out-of-control arousal. After Jack spirited her away, he'd called in two of his favorite young women to help Calista satisfy him. Their attentions had taken away the physical discomfort, but his mood hadn't improved.

Jack Craig had gotten the better of him. He could have
had the man executed on the spot, of course. But he was still trying to figure out who the bastard was. And he wanted the satisfaction of confronting him about his background—before the execution.

He was getting ready to step into the hot tub off his private rooms when the red phone rang in his bedroom. The line that hooked directly into his security center.

Striding naked across the thick carpeting, he snatched up the receiver, thinking that it had better be important.

“What is it?” he snapped.

“Your operative from Winston Industries has just arrived by private plane. We're holding him here.”

“What? What the hell is going on? He's supposed to be keeping tabs on things inside their operation.”

“Yes. But he says that he's been under observation. He used an excuse to get away. And he says that it's urgent that he talk to you.”

“All right. Give me fifteen minutes. I'll meet him down there.”

He replaced the receiver in its cradle, thinking that his Winston operative was no good to him here. And if he didn't have a good story to tell, he might be the one who was executed tonight.

 

“L
OCK THE DOOR
behind me. And don't let anyone else in,” Jack said as he reached for the knob.

He saw Maddy's face pale and knew that despite her calm exterior, she didn't much like the idea of being left alone now. But they'd both agreed during their strategy session in the shower that having her lie low for as long as she could was their best alternative. Maddy had told him Calista had bragged about taking the drug. Probably she'd followed a session like Maddy's with a nice long rest. Which made Maddy's staying in the room entirely in character.

As he stepped into the hall, he found one of the household staff stationed about twenty feet away.

Like the gardeners, he thought. Undoubtedly part of the security force but wearing a different uniform.

“I was told to inform Mr. Reynard when you came out,” the man said in response to Jack's inquiring look.

“Well, Ms. Griffin still isn't feeling very well,” he answered. “I'm just getting some of her things from our villa. Some fresh clothing. Her makeup case. You know how women are. They always want to look their best. So you can tell Mr. Reynard we won't be available for socializing any time soon.” He paused for a moment. “But I would like a cart of food brought up. Something light. Sandwiches and fruit. And some coffee. Just leave it outside the door, and I'll bring it in when I come back.”

“Very good, sir.”

Jack walked briskly back toward Agapanthus Villa, as though his only mission was to make his sweetie feel more comfortable.

Once inside, he slowed his pace, giving the impression that he was thinking about the items that Maddy had presumably requested. He found her hairbrush on the counter in the bathroom and stuck it in the makeup case. He got out underwear and pretended to consider what he thought would look good on her. He found a dark-colored knit outfit and put it in a small suitcase—along with a change of clothing for himself, which also, surprise, turned out to be black.

But he left almost everything else in place, as though they'd be back to the villa as soon as Maddy felt up to it.

As he retraced his steps, he stopped briefly and looked down the path that he knew led to the workers' quarters—where Juanita lived. He wanted to contact her now, but
he decided that it would be a bad idea. So he let it go for the time being.

 

M
ADDY WAS PACING
back and forth across the room, from the Oriental rug to the hardwood floor and back again. Then a knock on the door made her go stock-still. She lowered the eight-inch-long metal statue she held in her hand so it was hidden beside her leg. Then she walked to the door and called out, “Who is it?”

“Jack.”

“Thank God,” she breathed as she unsnapped the lock.

As Jack walked into the room, she carefully placed the statue on a table. He didn't comment, only set down the makeup case and small suitcase he was carrying before taking her into his arms.

She didn't want to show any weakness now, but it was impossible not to cling to him for several moments. His hands ran up and down her back, and he turned his head, skimming his lips over her cheek and the tender line of her hair.

“We'll be out of this hellhole in a couple of hours,” he said.

She hoped it was true. She knew they were taking risks. But not getting out now was even more of a risk.

All she said was “I'll pull my weight.”

“I know you will,” he answered, and she took some comfort in the confident tone.

He opened the door again and wheeled in a cart with food. She managed to get down half a sandwich, but the bowl of fruit was beyond her. Not when Calista had served fruit to her along with that drugged iced tea.

“Probably we should relax for a while,” Jack said, after he'd wolfed down a couple of sandwiches.

She nodded, thinking that he was making the suggestion because she was the one who needed rest, but she
didn't voice the observation. He had enough to worry about without her voicing her insecurities.

Dutifully, she lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. She felt the mattress shift, felt Jack lie down beside her. Reaching out his hand, he covered hers. They lay like that for a long time. Maybe she even drifted off to sleep. Lord knows, she needed it.

Some time later, her eyes snapped open. Jack had dismantled one of the Venetian blinds and was laying out the cord on the end of the bed.

She glanced at her watch. It was one in the morning. The time when Reynard would be least expecting trouble. No. She canceled that optimistic assessment. Reynard was probably attuned for trouble at any time. But the small hours of the morning offered the most chance of a successful escape.

After finishing with the cord, Jack picked up the makeup kit and emptied out the contents. Stan Winston's diamonds were inside, and he stuffed them into his pocket. Then he began tearing out the flowered fabric lining of the case. First he removed the packing material, which was actually a long rope, made of a strong but lightweight synthetic. Then he removed a sheathed knife which he handed to Maddy. When he uncovered the transmitter, he gave her a satisfied grin. A cocky grin.