A Touch of Minx (13 page)

Great. So Stoney hadn't even told the girl he was kind of dating where he'd gone. The nice, straitlaced Samantha with a security business partner missing and nothing to hide would have gotten back out of the car so she could commiserate with the girlfriend and they could call the cops together.

She wasn't straitlaced. Samantha put the car in gear and drove off, making the first right turn she could to get out of sight of the house. Then she dialed Stoney's celfphone again. Still nothing—not even the choice of leaving a message, probably because the techno-dummy didn't know how to set up an account.

If the cops were going to bust in they would find nothing but neatly stacked mail, which would probably make them figure one of his neighbors was watching the house for him. She couldn't leave a message on his home machine other than the one she had last night—which purposefully didn't have anything weird in it.

Shit. The day had started out okay, but it was definitely going downhill.

Her opinion didn't change when she got to the office. "Hey," she greeted Aubrey, putting a turkey club sandwich and fries down in front of him. "And an iced tea," she finished, pulling it from the holder and handing over a straw.

He popped the plastic lid and looked inside. "You even added a lemon slice, you darlin' you."

"I know what my men like. Anything exciting?"

"Tom Donner called. No message, but he asked you to call him back at your earliest convenience."

She stopped just past the reception door. "Did he really say 'earliest convenience,' or are you cleaning it up?"

"Well, the actual quote was 'when she gets her ass into the office,' but a gentleman wouldn't repeat such things unless specifically requested to do so."

Samantha chuckled. "Gotcha."

Once she'd seated herself in her office and pulled out her Chinese chicken salad, she called Donner's office. "Donner, Rhodes and Chritchenson," the pert receptionist drawled after one ring.

"Donner, please. It's Jellicoe, returning his call."

"One moment, Miss Jellicoe."

Mozart's Eine kleine Nachtmusik reverberated through the line until it clicked open again. "Are you in your office?"

"Yes." She frowned. That was even less friendly than usual. "Is something wro—"

The line clicked dead and then returned to the dial tone.

"He's not going to get a Christmas present, if he keeps that up," she muttered, hanging up the phone. And if Rick had asked Donner to call and keep an eye on her, he wasn't getting a present tonight when he got back from New York. Which was a damned shame, because she really wanted him to get this one—her in nothing but a bow.

Six bites of salad later, she heard the outside office door open, followed by Aubrey's voice and then Dormer's deeper one. She stiffened as he appeared at her office door. "I knew I rented this office too close to yours," she said, finishing her bite but keeping the plastic fork in her hand. It wasn't exactly lethal, but it would damn sure hurt.

He reached behind him to slam her door closed just as Aubrey reached it. "Did you, or did you not, take my wife on a burglary yesterday?" he snarled, all six-foot-plus of former Texan trying to intimidate her.

Samantha stood up. She might be five-foot-four, but she didn't intimidate. And she didn't like to be yelled at on her own turf. "I did not."

"Okay, so you didn't steal anything. You know what I mean, dammit."

"And if you're so sure you know the answer, why are you asking me?" she shot back.

Her door rattled. "Do you need assistance, Miss Samantha?"

"I'm fine, Aubrey. As you were."

Dormer's gaze didn't leave her face. "I asked you a question."

"And I answered it."

"Are you going to dance around this all day?"

"You're the lawyer. Make me talk."

"You had lunch together. Which car did you take afterward?"

"You know what I think, Mr. Lawyer? I think you don't know anything, but you have some weird hunch, and you're trying to confirm what you want to hear. And I'm not saying anything one way or the other. Draw your own conclusions. I'm not a rat."

"You're not a rat. You're a cat, but they're both animals in my book."

"Ooh, very nice. I bet you worked on that one for a while. But being nasty isn't gonna make me spill anything."

"So you admit there's something to spill."

"I admit that you think there's something to spill."

"Dammit, Jellicoe, I should kick your ass."

"You should give it a try."

"Why won't you answer me?"

She folded her arms. "Because I don't want to."

Cursing under his breath, he stalked over to her window and pulled the blinds open. His own gleaming office building stood just across Worth Avenue, and he glared at it for a long moment. "Let's try this again. What did you and Katie do yesterday?"

"That's better. You're not accusing me of anything, anyway. Tell me why you want to know, and maybe— maybe—I'll tell you."

Donner muttered something to himself, then faced her. "Katie and I have three kids. Chris is twenty, for Christ's sake." His tanned face reddened. "I guess my point is that we've been having… we've been intimate for a lot of years."

"Yipes. And you're telling me this because?"

"Because last night she…" He cleared his throat. "I can't believe I'm saying this to you."

She was beginning to suspect what he was about to tell her, and she couldn't quite believe it, either. "So don't."

"Last night was the craziest, wildest night we've ever had," he fumbled in a rush. "She—she rocked my world, Jellicoe."

Samantha couldn't have stopped her grin for a million bucks. "And you have a problem with that?"

"It depends. Rick said that your theft thing is kind of a high for him. A sexual high."

"He actually told you that?" Samantha asked, lifting both eyebrows.

"Not exactly in those words, but yeah."

Great. Now she was embarrassed. "So you figured that because your wife was more into you than usual, something must be wrong? That's lame, even for a Boy Scout like you."

He shook his head. "You're not going to tell me, are you? She wouldn't say anything, either. But I know you were up to something. Just… was she in any danger yesterday? Other than the usual driving-around-in-Palm-Beach danger?"

"No. I wouldn't do that, and I hope you know that by now."

"I don't get you, Jellicoe. Rick's dancing around like you're going to break when he gives—" Donner swallowed. "But you stand up to me tike you've got balls of granite."

She cocked her head sideways. "I've been shot, Dormer. Being yelled at by a Boy Scout from Yale doesn't shiver my timbers. So whatever Katie and I did yesterday was our business, two girls on the town."

"Shit."

"But if you want another night like last night, tell her I said we'll have to do it again sometime. And you're welcome."

"One of these days, Jellicoe, you're going to give me a straight answer."

"Doubtful," she returned, walking to her door and pulling it open for him. "Because you're too straight to take on somebody as crooked as me. Have a nice day."

Once Donner left she returned to her desk and sat down again. And then she pushed her chair back and laughed.

Wednesday, 4:18 p.m.

"Is she home?" Richard asked as Reinaldo pulled open the double front doors of Solano Dorado.

"Upstairs, Mr. Rick, in the suite. Hans has hamburgers and potato salad on the menu for tonight, if that is acceptable."

"Samantha's choice?"

Reinaldo cracked a grin. "You guessed it."

"That's fine. About seven?"

"I'll tell him."

Upstairs in the master suite he dropped his travel bag and briefcase onto the floor. "I'm home," he called, then noticed the trailing end of a wide red ribbon over the back of the couch.

A small card was attached to the end of it. Pulling it from its envelope, he unfolded it. '"Follow me,'" he read aloud. That was all it said.

He walked around the couch. The ribbon coiled and twisted loosely over an armchair, around the base of a floor lamp, and then flowed into the bedroom past the half-closed door. "It had best be you in here," he said with a smile as he slowly pushed the inner door open, "or I'm going to embarrass myself."

Silence. But he could feel her in there, her excitement, the warmth of her presence. His smile deepening, Richard stepped into the room. His jaw dropped. "Wow."

It was the only sound he could choke out. All the blood left his brain and headed south.

Samantha stood, one leg bent and slightly in front of the other, one hand on the ornately carved bedpost and the other at her side. In between she wore nothing—nothing but that red ribbon, looped once around her hips and once across her breasts and back over her shoulder to the floor again. If this was Christmas, he'd obviously been a very good lad.

"What—" He cleared his throat. "What did I do to merit this present?"

"I believe," she said, her voice husky with suppressed excitement, "that this is the one-year anniversary of the first time you unwrapped me." She flicked her fingers toward the bed. "And right there, too, as I recall."

So it was. Three days after they'd met. Three very eventful, unforgettable days that had been followed by three hundred and sixty-five more. Shrugging out of his jacket, he dumped it to the floor. When he reached her, he slid his hands around her bare waist and leaned down to kiss her upturned mouth.

Chuckling against his lips, Samantha worked her fingers into the knot of his tie and tugged it open. "I thought about wearing pink thongs, but this seemed more fun. I know you like when I wear red."

"It's definitely working for me."

"I can see that." She skimmed a hand down the front of his trousers, then went to work on his shirt buttons. At the same time he slipped the ribbon down her shoulder and watched it float gracefully to the floor.

Drawing his fingers across her breasts, he listened with deep satisfaction to her sharp intake of breath. Whatever he'd accomplished in New York, whatever the news Gorstein had given him, it all could keep until later. She'd set this up for him, waited for him to come home, initiated this little party. She could be aggressive and demanding and proactive, but when it came to private matters between the two of them, he was the one who generally led the way. Not this afternoon, though.

He gently pushed her back against the bedpost, deepening his kiss, letting the feel of her skin beneath his hands flow into him. Some of his favorite nights were when they climbed into bed together and simply fell asleep, but nothing was better than sex with a revved-up Samantha. Nothing.

Once she'd stripped off his shirt and belt, he undid his pants himself and kicked them and his shoes off. He couldn't imagine that he looked very studly with his black dress socks on, so he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled them off, as well.

Samantha leaned over him as he yanked off the second one, pushing him flat on his back and crawling up to kiss him before she sank down to run her tongue across his nipples. Then she moved lower. As she took his cock in her soft mouth, his eyes rolled back in his head. Good God.

"Come here," he growled when he couldn't stand her enthusiastic bobbing any longer, pulling her up along him again and twisting to put her beneath him.

He kissed her mouth, her jaw, her throat, and trailed his lips down to her breasts, sucking and licking and trying to hold himself in check against the sounds of her moans of pleasure. Reaching down, he lowered one hand between her thighs. Teasing her folds apart, he slipped a finger inside her.

She bucked, gasping. "How do you always make me feel like that?"

Richard lifted his head for a moment. "That would be a trade secret. Kind of a James Bond thing."

She wrapped her fingers into his hair as he returned his attention to her tits. "You are so full of—"

He curled his finger, pressing against her. Samantha jumped, yanking hard on his hair. "See?" he murmured.

"Okay, okay. I give. Quit teasing and give me the main course."

"Not yet. I'm still snacking."

Richard trailed his mouth down her body, kissing her flat belly and the insides of her thighs and then moving in again with his fingers and his tongue. Her hard breathing, the writhing and the keening sounds she made drove him half mad, and he slid up over her again.

He parted her knees with his and slowly buried his cock inside her. She gave a shuddering sigh that nearly made him come right then. Holding his breath, he fought to gain back some control before he started moving on her and in her.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, meeting his gaze squarely as he pumped his hips against hers. "God, you feel good," she panted.

"So do you."

"Mm. Try this." With a quick, hard twist she rolled them both, putting him on his back with her on top.

"This is nice, too," he grunted, as she lifted up and down on him, arching her back and putting her palms flat on his chest for leverage. He tightened his grip on her hips, thrusting up to meet her downward strokes. Sex with a woman who knew what she wanted and who had excellent muscular toning and control. Yes, he'd been a very good lad.

She moved faster, harder, deeper, until she squealed, spasming. With a last push he joined her, pulling her face down for a kiss as he surged up into her.

"Holy smokes." Breathing hard, Samantha settled in against his shoulder, curving her arm across his chest and tangling her legs with his. "And welcome back, in case I forgot to tell you," she murmured.

So there she was, Miss Slip Into the Night Without Regrets, smiling happily and relaxed enough to doze off in her fella's embrace. Times had definitely changed, and nothing pointed out that fact more than the way she felt just touching this tall, lean Brit who ate lesser beings for lunch on a regular basis.

"Thank you," he returned. "That was almost enough to convince me to leave and return more often."

"'Almost'?"

"The only thing holding me back was the realization that I'd be dead after a week."

She laughed. "You and me both."

Rick shifted a little, moving his hand to entwine his fingers with hers. "I love you, you know."

"I know. I love you, too." For a minute she debated telling him about her little spat with Donner earlier, but that would just spoil the mood. Besides, she was pretty sure she'd be the one to come out looking evil for taking Katie Donner to the scene of a break-in. "Did you like the building?"

"I did. My people are putting together a bid."

"If you don't watch it, you're going to have all of downtown Metropolis under your control. I'll have to start calling you Lex Luthor or something."

"Oh, please. Luthor was bald. Trump can be Luthor." He kissed her hair. "How goes the search for Anatomy Man?"

"There's somebody I want to talk to, but that probably won't happen until the weekend." With Mike's sports and homework schedule, he was nearly as hard to get to as a piece of artwork she was trying to steal.

"It's good that you have a lead. By the way, Tom called me this afternoon." Fuck. "Did you fire him?"

"No. He was actually concerned that he might have said something to you that he shouldn't have."

She started to give him a flip answer, but his tone was a little off. Whatever this was, it was serious. She lifted her head to look him in the face, at the same time running her earlier bout with the lawyer through her mind. Nearly photographic memory or not, nothing had particularly stuck in her craw at the time. Except… "He fumbled around about you giving me something," she said. "If you're going to give me a present, I'll pretend I don't know anything about it."

"Ah. So you wouldn't mind another present?" Samantha pushed herself up onto one elbow. "The diamond necklace and the earrings were very nice. And the garden. And Godzilla totally freaked out Reinaldo. It was great." She grinned. "I never would have guessed that Reinaldo screams like a girl. But you never have to give me anything," she continued, figuring he wanted a serious answer. "You know that. I'm here for you, not because of the decor."

"One of these days very soon I'm going to ask you to marry me, Samantha."

She chuckled. "Oh, you talk big, mister. How was New York? Did you see anybody famous? Relatively speaking of course, since you've been on the cover of Time and nearly everybody else pales in comparison."

For a second he didn't say anything. "I saw Detective Gorstein, as a matter of fact," he finally contributed.

"Gorstein? What did he want?"

"Actually, I approached him."

"Oh, really? And why is that?" She sat up to look down at him.

"I wanted to know if the NYPD had any useful information about Toombs or the Picaults."

So he was stepping into her gig again. "You figured I needed the help, I suppose?"

"I thought that since I was there, I would ask. You did mention getting in touch with him. I'm assuming you have a problem with that?"

"You know I have a problem with that." She slid off the bed and grabbed her robe. "Dammit, Rick, you can't keep riding in and mowing over everything in sight."

"Actually, I probably can." He stood and made his way, naked and very sexy, into his walk-in closet. "Do you want to know what he said?"

If she said no, he probably wouldn't tell her. She hated the way he manipulated everything so that now she had to ask him for information that technically belonged to her.

"Fuck you." She grabbed her bra and green T-shirt and panties from the chest where she'd left them and pulled them back on.

Snatching up her jeans, she stalked into the sitting area of the master suite. Jamming her feet into the legs, she hopped to the balcony door and went outside. Down below in the pool area the lights flickered on, bathing the pool and patio in a soft white glow.

Dangerous or not to stay ignorant, she wasn't going to play that game. He was the one who'd stepped out of line this time, not her. She sat in one of the patio chairs facing away from the house and folded her arms across her chest. And to think, ten minutes ago she'd been completely satisfied.

A couple of minutes later she heard him come down the stairs and take a seat beside her. A cold can of soda touched her elbow, and she reached back to pick it up and pop the top. "Jerk," she said.

"Perhaps I should have unbuttoned immediately," he drawled, from his tone more than a little pissed off, himself, "but I took into consideration the fact that I had to make an appointment and walked into the police station at eight o'clock this morning. I imagine there will be some speculation about that on E.T. tonight."

"Did you tell Gorstein why you were asking questions? Because I don't think the Met wants to spread around the news that their security from time to time apparently sucks." Resolutely she kept turned away from him, her gaze on the area she was supposed to be re-landscaping. At least he hadn't brought that up again. Yet.

"Don't you think I know how to ask questions by now?"

"I think you're a billionaire whose conversations people tend to remember and repeat because they're going to end up in a book someday—The Wit and Wisdom of Richard Addison."

"The only thing I mentioned to Gorstein is that his failure to cooperate with me could cause the museum to lose out on a prestigious."

Not bad. "Okay. What did he say?"

"First torn around and face me. Your back is lovely, but 1 prefer gazing into your eyes."

"And you still have to be in charge," she retorted, even though she did twist her chair around to face him. She preferred seeing the face of the person she was arguing with, herself. "Happy?"

"Indescribably so." Rick reached over, brushing her fingers as they clenched around the soda can. "Toombs showed up on two watch lists after items went missing elsewhere, but nothing more than that. One of those items was an antique samurai war bridle, by the way. That nearly gave me a stroke."

She ignored his commentary in favor of the facts. "What was the other?"

"A fifteenth-century shogun battle flag."

"That follows. I'll keep an eye out for bridles and battle flags tomorrow. How about the Picaults?" Just because she hadn't found anything during her piecemeal run through their upstairs didn't mean they weren't guilty of something. And from what she'd been seeing and hearing, nobody had a more extensive collection of Japanese antiques outside of Japan—with the possible exception of Toombs.