Body Contact (9 page)

Lord, he was devastating in formal attire. All the more so because the dark jacket and pants hid the lean muscular body she knew was beneath the clothing.

“Ready to go have some fun?” he asked.

She managed not to grimace as she answered, “Yes.”

She'd wondered how they were going to find the party site. But as soon as they stepped out of the cottage, she found rows of small lights along the path—blinking in sequence and pointing them in the right direction. Like that airplane emergency lighting that was supposed to guide you to the exit in case of disaster. Only now they were heading
for
the disaster, not away.

As they emerged from under the trees, there was no doubt where they were going—toward a white wedding
cake of a house that blazed into the darkness from a hundred windows.

Apparently the idea of energy conservation hadn't reached Orchid Island. Or more likely, Reynard didn't care how much money he spent on luxuries.

She confirmed the opinion as she encountered the air-conditioning which wafted into the tropical night through the open double doors. Along with the cool air came music—a big band sound played by what must be a full-size orchestra.

As Maddy and Jack strolled through the door, she automatically scanned the guests. The men were all wearing the latest fashion in tuxedos. The women were in gowns that left good portions of their skin showing. One number seemed to be all net, except for slightly more opaque patches covering crotch and nipples. If the women's clothing was light on fabric, their accessories made up for it. The gold and gems on display could have stocked a good-size jewelry store.

Through the crowd, she caught sight of the panther, its chain secured to a sturdy post at the side of the room. It was sitting up, watching the people as though contemplating its next meal.

Switching her gaze away from the animal, she saw Don Fowler watching her and Jack with narrowed eyes. Then he bent to Rosalie and said something, and they both laughed.

The little exchange made Maddy pause. Like Reynard, Fowler had apparently taken special note of her and Jack. Actually, he'd done it before. Back in the airport departure lounge. Did the mobster and his lady know something? Something incriminating?

Her mind spun back to the conversation in the beauty salon. It had seemed friendly enough—women talk. Nothing consequential. At least she hoped not.

Beside her she noted that Jack had caught the byplay, too. Not from his expression, which gave nothing away, but she was learning to read him, and his body language cued her in.

A tinkling sound several feet away drew her attention. Buffy, Jormo Kardofski's girlfriend had shaken her arm, sending half a dozen gold bracelets clinking together.

Maddy saw then that their host was talking to the couple. The woman was stunning, Maddy thought. Why couldn't Reynard hit on her? But it was obvious that the master of the house had only polite interest in Kardofski's girlfriend.

In fact, he must have been on the lookout for Maddy and Jack, because it took only moments before he headed straight toward them.

She instinctively drew closer to her man, and he slung his arm around her shoulder in a gesture that was both protective and possessive.

“I'd ask how you're settling in,” Reynard said smoothly. “But I've already been informed about the incidents with my equipment. You smashed a couple of twenty-thousand-dollar cameras.”

Jack shrugged. “They shouldn't have been in my living room and bedroom. The fact that you know so quickly tells me that they were turned on.”

Now it was Reynard's turn to shrug. “I have the right to stay informed about my guests' activities.”

“Not their
private
activities. Not
my
private activities.”

Tension crackled between the two men. Then Reynard smiled. “I suppose if you're clever enough to discover my enhancements to your quarters, then you have the right to turn the system off. But a simple request would have been just as effective.”

“I have a quick temper.”

“So I gather. I hope we won't have any further reason to incite you.”

“I hope not.”

It was Reynard who had offered a halfhearted apology, Maddy noted. Jack hadn't actually backed down.

She was starting to relax a little, when Reynard turned his attention to her again.

“You look lovely this evening, my dear.”

“Thank you,” she managed.

“Diamonds become you.”

“Jack is very generous,” she answered.

“I'd like to invite you to my private suite later tonight.”

She was about to object, when Reynard continued. “To accompany Jack, of course. He and I have some business to discuss.”

She glanced at Jack, waiting to take her cue from him.

“As you know, I'm eager to discuss a mutually advantageous arrangement between the two of us,” he answered Reynard. “What time tonight?”

“Around ten.”

“I'll be there.”

“Both of you, I hope,” their host said firmly.

“Um-hum.”

The man smiled again, a smile of triumph, Maddy decided.

“Until later. I mustn't neglect my other guests.”

“Of course not,” Jack agreed.

Maddy breathed a small sigh of relief when he'd gone off to speak to Fowler and Rosalie.

“I could use a drink,” Jack said, his voice casual yet carrying a taut underlayer.

They strolled to the bar, where Maddy got a wine cooler and Jack opted for a bottle of Red Stripe beer.

After several swallows he looked more in control. “We should eat a little something,” he told her.

She nodded, thinking that it would be difficult to choke food down, but that he was right. They needed fuel, and they needed to create a carefully cultivated impression before they got to the real business of the evening.

Jack put the bottle of beer down on a table and helped himself to crab cakes. When an attendant took the drink away, he secured another—then another—never consuming more than a few swallows from any bottle. Yet if you didn't know he was discarding most of the beer, you might think he was on his way to getting sloshed. Which was exactly the impression he was trying to create.

It was more difficult to pull off the same act with the wine coolers, because they were served in transparent glasses, rather than dark glass bottles. But Maddy did manage to get rid of one drink before ordering another and chugging half of it in a few gulps—grateful that it wasn't too strong.

Before leaving New York, they had rehearsed their upcoming moves. Reynard might be holding Dawn somewhere in the house. And if he was, they were going to figure out where.

While they chatted with the other guests, their speech slightly slurred, they stayed close together, with Jack's arm firmly around her waist, as though he couldn't stand the idea of letting go of her.

There were two components to the image they were presenting. “Sloshed,” and “Hot and bothered.” So that when they slipped out of the room, it would look like they were indiscreet enough to be searching for a place where they could make love—rather than looking for a place where Reynard might have hidden a reluctant young female guest.

Maddy wasn't having any trouble with either the tipsy
or the aroused image. It was partly the tension of dealing with Reynard. She didn't want to think about him—so she focused on looking and sounding out of control. The wine helped. But the major factor was her reaction to Jack. He turned her on, and knowing she'd been given permission to cultivate those hot feelings sent flames searing through her. Every time she moved, she felt Jack's hip rub against hers. And when he shifted his arm so that it slid along the side of her breast, she made a purring sound that she imagined was audible to anyone within ten feet.

His head turned and he looked down at her, his eyes burning into hers.

“Let's get out of here, baby,” he said in a husky drawl.

“Yes.”

They swayed together, slipped toward the door. As they reached it, she half turned and saw that Fowler was watching them intently. Still interested, apparently.

“Fowler is watching,” she whispered to Jack.

“Probably jealous of me,” he murmured, leading her down a wide hallway paved with large terra-cotta tiles. She knew that several other guests had noted their departure. Undoubtedly tongues were wagging.

Pretending she was the kind of woman who went along with anything her man proposed, she wove down the corridor with Jack, past sitting rooms, an enormous dining room with a carved mahogany table and chairs, and a billiard room.

They turned a corner into another wing, and Maddy thought for a moment that Jack might turn her loose. But he kept her close to his side as they climbed a short flight of steps.

At the top, he pressed her against the wall, thrust his hips against her, and she knew without doubt that he was aroused.

“Do you think there are any of those damn cameras around here?” he asked.

“I hope not,” she muttered.

Jack bent to slide his lips along her cheek, sending a trail of heat over her skin, and she couldn't hold back a small, pleading sound.

He lurched back a few inches, his hot gaze sweeping her face before he twined his hand with hers. “Come on. I need to get horizontal.”

She hadn't considered that the threat of surveillance cameras added to the realism of their search. But they turned out to be an excellent excuse for moving through the house. Each time they stepped into a room, Jack would look around, then mutter that he was worried about being watched.

They rounded another bend in the hallway, then stopped short as they came face-to-face with iron bars.

She and Jack exchanged looks. “Maybe that's the private side of the house,” he mused, his hand stroking up and down her arm, sending little prickles of heat along her nerve endings as he contemplated the barrier.

The private side? Or the prison side, Maddy wondered.

“We can't go in there,” she said for the benefit of any hidden microphones.

“Want to bet? When I want to get in your pants, baby, no little gate is going to stop me.”

The crude statement should have made her cringe. Somehow the words only fueled the need simmering through her. He didn't really mean it, but she was beyond caring at the moment.

He inspected the lock, then took a small nail file out of his pocket and began to work on it. When it snapped open, he made a low sound of triumph.

They slipped through the gate. On the other side, Jack reached for her, brought his mouth down on hers.

The kiss might be designed to demonstrate Jack's reckless need to anyone watching, but it had a supercharging effect on Maddy. It was rough and deep, and it momentarily swept everything else out of her mind.

Her head was spinning as he linked his hand with hers and hurried down the hallway, seemingly hell-bent on finding a bed.

They stopped at the doorway to a comfortable sitting area—where a wall rack housed a dozen machine guns.

Maddy made a small sound. Jack ignored her, then pulled her away and toward the next room.

It contained office equipment: a computer, fax, printer, copy machine, all top of the line as far as Maddy could see. And filing cabinets.

She and Jack glanced at each other. The cabinets were tempting. But if anywhere in the house was likely to be under surveillance, it was this office. Rifling through the files would be taking too big a chance.

Jack gave a tight nod, and they moved on.

They had just stepped into a larger bedroom when a sound grabbed her attention—several pairs of feet moving rapidly in their direction.

“Party's over,” Jack muttered, his eyes boring into hers. “And I'm afraid we're going to have to take some drastic measures.”

She stared back, fear leaping into her throat. She wanted to ask what they were going to do now, but she couldn't squeeze the words past her constricted windpipe.

He answered the unspoken question by pulling her against himself as he slid the straps of her dress down her arms.

“No!” she managed to say.

But he ignored her protest, exposing her breasts as he lowered his head, taking one nipple into his mouth. It immediately beaded for him, immediately set a charge of
sensation through her body and downward toward her core.

It registered somewhere in her mind that the circumstances hardly mattered. When this man made love to her, she was helpless to stop herself from responding.

There was nothing she could do besides moan her pleasure. She moaned again as his free hand found her other nipple, his thumb and finger applying pressure, doubling the heat of her response.

Every thought had been burned from her mind. Nothing existed beyond the pleasure that Jack was giving her. It had been days since he'd made love to her. Days since she'd felt this alive.

She wanted him to hurry. She wanted him to throw her on the bed and pull her skirt up so that he could plunge into her.

“Jack, please.” Her hand slid between them, finding the firm, hot shaft behind the fly of his formal trousers. She pressed, stroked, gloried in the instant response that she drew from his body—in the sound of need that escaped from his throat.

Then the spell was shattered by a voice from the doorway. “Hold it right there.”

Her hand jumped away from Jack's erection. Her eyes blinked open, colliding with those of a man dressed like the guard who had shadowed them through the foliage that afternoon. He wore the identical fatigues. Carried an identical machine gun. And standing beside him was another guy who could have been his twin.

She was mortified at being caught like this, and the mortification increased a thousandfold as Jack stiffened, then straightened and allowed the guards a quick, calculated glimpse of her breasts before pulling the bodice of her dress back into place.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then the closest guard roared, “This is a restricted area. What the hell is going on?”