Private Entrance (The Butterfly Trilogy) (24 page)

     "I only just learned my sister was adopted," he added in as casual and friendly a manner as he could.

     Ophelia stared at him. He saw no reaction in her eyes to the word "adopted." Then she blinked and said, "If you will excuse me," and turned on her heel like the assertive woman she was, and walked away.

     Jack watched her for a moment as Ophelia raked fingers through her short dark hair, and realizing she was another dead end, turned down a path and walked aimlessly among ferns, fronds and splashing fountains. It was all so strange. Three women brought here on a fake contest prize and weren't aware of it. They didn't know Abby Tyler, and yet there was a connection because it was written in Nina's notes. But what was the connection?

     It occurred to him that perhaps Tyler had lost a child to the illegal adoption ring and was searching for her, but why not run a simple DNA test? It was what Nina would have done. Why bring the three women here on false pretenses? So it must be something else.

     Had Abby somehow gotten wind of Nina's investigation? That Nina had been collecting names of babies stolen long ago? But then there was Nina's folder in Tyler's bungalow. But even more perplexing was Tyler herself. She was clearly hiding out here. None of his research on her background had turned up the smallest press item, nothing in the gossip magazines or society columns, which for someone with her wealth and social connections was odd. So what was she hiding from?

     But most significant was Abby asking him when the murder had taken place. It was so unexpected. As if she were saying,
which
murder was he investigating? So what murder was she thinking of?

     He stopped and looked up at the stars, so low and dense and brilliant in the desert sky that he almost thought he could reach up and scoop a handful.

     
Nina can you ever forgive me? I should not have let you go off to that late-night meeting on your own. I know better!

     Realizing he was close once again to being overwhelmed with grief, he pulled himself together and pushed back the tears, because an emotional detective was one who had lost his edge. He would not cry for his sister until he had found her killer.

T
HE SLIDING GLASS DOOR TO HER PATIO STOOD OPEN
, admitting the fragrances of wisteria and honeysuckle, and the song of restless coyotes in the distance. A knock at the front door. The masseuse, finally, with his folding table.

     Vanessa took in the brooding dark good looks and slender body beneath tennis whites. He was new to the resort. "You look French," Vanessa said, letting him in. "Are you?"

     His eyebrows arched. "Oui, madam. I am impressed. You have an eye."

     "What's your name?"

     "Pierre."

     "Well, Pierre, I've had a hard day and need to get some knots worked out of my muscles." She gave him a long, measured look. "Your hands are nice. I'm sure they will work magic."

     Vanessa turned and untied the sash of her satin dressing gown, letting it drop to the floor. She was naked underneath. It took Pierre a moment to unfold and set up the massage table, covering it with a clean sheet and fresh
pillow. While he busied himself with his supplies—lifting oils, creams and lotions out of his bag—Vanessa stretched unselfconsciously on the table, on her stomach, face resting on her hands.

     He began with her shoulders, using heated oil the scent of peonies. Vanessa closed her eyes as she felt his strong hands work into her muscles. Down her back, massaging, kneading, melting away all the tension of the day. His fingers worked her buttocks and then moved down her thighs, her calves. She sighed as he worked her feet, limbering up every tight little joint.

     She felt her mind and spirit, like her body, also loosen up. She was floating on a cloud without a care in the world except the feel of Pierre's hands on her.

     He began to work back up her calves and thighs, more slowly now and with less pressure, fingertips gliding over her oiled skin. He was no longer massaging but caressing. First her outer thighs, and then the inner—slowly, teasingly. She parted her legs. Pierre's hands followed her lead, sliding in and up, fingers touching her moist place.

     His hands swept down the inside of her thighs, up over her buttocks, kneading tenderly, and then up her back, down her waist and then, gently, under her arms, up and back, as if he were stroking a purring cat, each time his hands going a little lower, moving teasingly closer and closer to her breasts.

     She arched herself a little so that Pierre's hands could slide beneath and cup her breasts. He massaged them, toyed with the nipples, making delicious strokes on her oiled skin.

     As he drew his hands down to her thighs again, pressing here, rubbing there, Vanessa entertained a fantasy: she and Zeb making love beneath the stars of Africa. She opened her legs wider and Pierre slipped a finger inside, with such maddening slowness that her impatience grew. He brought her to a quivering brink, and then withdrew. She moaned. He entered again, going deeply, his thumb finding another spot. When he touched her she nearly cried out. He played her like a musical instrument now, composing the most delicious melodies on her flesh. Her breathing grew rapid. Her skin was on fire.

     She imagined Zeb, naked and hard, lowering himself onto her, his hands on her knees pressing them apart, forcing her legs as wide open as
they would go. Then she felt him plunge into her, vigorously, possessively. While Pierre increased his rhythm, using finger and thumb to send exquisite ripples of pleasure through her body, it was Zeb whom felt, rock-hard and thrusting.

     When the orgasm began, she clutched the sides of the table. Flowing from her toes, through her legs and into her abdomen, the wave crashed over her in myriad hot, ecstatic sensations. To her delight, that wasn't the end of it. She felt another wave follow, rolling up from her toes and through her body like a delicious, tingling heat. A third wave, and then another until she at last she lay spent while Pierre covered her with a sheet and put away his oils.

     Finally she sat up, reached for her robe and turned to Pierre who was waiting expectantly. Vanessa smiled. "You're very good," she said.

     "Thanks," he replied, all trace of French accent gone.

     "How soon can you start?"

     "Right away."

     Pierre had already had his medical check-up and blood work done, receiving a clean bill of health from The Grove's private physician. Vanessa never conducted an audition without one.

     She was pleased with him. Picked up on the cues right away. She had said he looked French and he knew immediately what was expected of him. His accent was flawless and when she told him she thought his hands would work magic, he knew right away she was-n't interested in all-the-way sex. Many guests at The Grove were too shy or modest to come right out and say what they wanted, so they used hints. For the most part, The Grove's escorts were sharp and picked up the cues quickly. Rarely did one misread a signal and end up offending a guest.

     Vanessa always personally put prospective romantic escorts through auditions, and to straighten them out on the rules of sexual conduct at The Grove. The female staff who were hired for their sexual talents were recruited from an exclusive escort service in Los Angeles and did not need the sort of auditioning Vanessa conducted, those ladies already knowing their craft. For the men, however, it was necessary. Back when The Grove had started offering intimate services to the lady guests, there were problems. "He came
in two seconds," was the usual complaint. "Fell asleep and snored afterward. Acted like he was doing me a big favor." So Vanessa had taken the program in hand and shaped it into the class act it was today.

     As Pierre snapped his supply case closed, Vanessa eyed his butt which was high and tight and round. She wasn't finished. There was still the final exam. Giving his crotch a significant look, she smiled and said, "Now I'm thinking you look more like a Sir Galahad."

     With a grin, he picked up the cue.

     An hour later, Pierre was strolling away from Vanessa's bungalow, where he had left her satisfied and sleeping.
Pierre
, he thought. It was as good a name as any. He had been known by so many aliases that sometimes he had to stop and think what his real name was.

     Making sure there was no one around on the deserted path, he pulled out his satellite phone and hit automatic dial. As he listened to the ringing at the other end, he decided he was going to like this new assignment. He had worked undercover before, but never "under the covers."

     Pierre didn't know who he was at the resort to hit, but he hoped the order didn't come too soon. This playground was full of gorgeous movie stars, celebrities, and rich bitches. He could have some fun before carrying out his real assignment.

     When the other end picked up, Pierre quietly said two words: "I'm in." Then he rang off. He laughed. He couldn't wait—for either job.

S
ISSY HADN'T MEANT TO READ ABOUT THREESOMES
. T
HE BOOK
,
Thirty Steps to Better Sex
, had simply fallen open to that chapter. And when her eye had caught the illustrations, shockingly graphic, she had been unable to look away.

     So
this
was how three people did it she thought as her eyes took in the multiple limbs and lips, breasts and buttocks, and his/her genitals. She felt guilty looking at the book, but excited, too, so that despite herself she was drawn into the fantasy...

     
Her doorbell rings. It's the neighbor from the next bungalow, dressed in a black leather corset that pushes her breasts up so there is no missing the nipple rings. Black garter belt and fishnet stockings, stiletto heels. Her pubic area is shaved. She has come to invite Sissy to a private party. Sissy is shocked and wants to close the door, but the woman takes her by the wrist and, with a wicked smile, draws her out onto the path and into the next cottage.

     
The man is wearing a black leather jock strap and a studded dog collar. His smile is welcoming so that Sissy finds herself unafraid. She was wearing
only her bathrobe when the neighbor came, and they tell her now to remove it. She is bashful. Although they have locked the front door, and the garden is walled for privacy, Sissy is worried someone will see.

     
So they help her out of the robe, their fingers brushing her bare skin as they draw the garment from her breasts, shoulders and arms. She reflexively covers her breasts and the woman laughs. "Don't by shy," she whispers and, pulling Sissy's arms away, teases her nipples.

     
Sissy is instantly on fire.

     
They lead her to a chaise upholstered in hot pink satin. The woman presses Sissy back onto the pillows and says, "Open your legs, dear. Wider."

     
The man leans over for a look. "Nice," he says with a smile.

     
They cover Sissy's eyes with a silk blindfold and slip her wrists into soft handcuffs and anchor them to the head of the chaise. And then they begin.

     
She never knows which part of her body they are going to touch, if it is going to be gentle or sharp. She doesn't know who is doing the touching, the man or the woman. Lips on one nipple, sucking, and then another mouth on the other nipple. Fingers exploring her moistness. Something touches her mouth, pressing, wanting to get in. She parts her lips and tastes chocolate. She opens her mouth wider and realizes it is a chocolate-dipped strawberry. She bites down and chews slowly while a soft fluttering teases the insides of her naked thighs.

     
And then something hard slips into her, filling her. And suddenly it starts vibrating. Sissy cries out. She has never experienced anything so exquisite. "Oh God oh God oh God," she screams as she explodes in orgasm.

     The book fell from Sissy's lap as she sat back in the chair, hot and bothered and shocked at herself.

     She had never been so confused in her life. Emotionally, she was angry and hurt over Ed having an affair. But physically, she felt as if skyrockets inhabited her body. And now she was fantasizing things she had not even known existed.