All or Nothing (2 page)

“Then she would think your old headmaster came to say hello since I’d already come to see another former student’s concert at the Côte d’Azur.” Salvatore wore his standard gray suit, red tie and total calm like a uniform.

“This is not a good time.” Having Jayne show up unannounced had turned his world upside down.

“I’m just hand delivering some cleanup paperwork—” he passed over a disc, no doubt encrypted “—from our recent...endeavor.”

Endeavor: aka the Zhutov counterfeit currency case, which had concluded a month ago.

If Conrad had been thinking with his brain instead of his Johnson, he would have realized the colonel would never risk bringing him into another operation this soon. Already, Jayne was messing with his head, and she hadn’t even been back in his life for an hour.

“Everybody wants to give me documents today.” He patted the tux jacket and the papers crackled a reminder that his marriage was a signature away from being over.

“You’re a popular gentleman tonight.”

“I’m sarcastic and arrogant.” According to Jayne anyway, and Jayne was a smart woman.

“And incredibly self-aware.” Colonel Salvatore finished off his drink, his intense eyes always scanning the room. “You always were, even at the academy. Most of the boys arrived in denial or with delusions about their own importance. You knew your strengths right from the start.”

Thinking about those teenage years made Conrad uncomfortable, itchy, reminding him of the toxic time in his life when his father had toppled far and hard off the pedestal Conrad had placed him upon. “Are we reminiscing for the hell of it, sir, or is there a point here?”

“You knew your strengths, but you didn’t know your weakness.” He nudged aside the cut crystal glass and stood. “Jayne is your Achilles’ heel, and you need to recognize that or you’re going to self-destruct.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.” The bitter truth of the whole Achilles’ heel notion stung like hell since he’d told his buddy Troy much the same thing when the guy had fallen head over ass in love.

“You’re definitely as stubborn as ever.” Salvatore clapped Conrad on the shoulder. “I’ll be in town for the weekend. So let’s say we meet again for lunch, day after tomorrow, to wrap up Zhutov. Good night, Conrad.”

The colonel tossed down a tip on the bar and tucked into the crowd, blending in, out of sight before Conrad could finish processing what the old guy had said. Although Salvatore was rarely wrong, and he’d been right about Jayne’s effect.

But as far as having a
good
night?

A
good
night was highly unlikely. But he had hopes. Because the evening wasn’t over by a long shot—as Jayne would soon discover when she went to her suite and found her luggage had been moved to their penthouse. All the more reason for him to turn over control of the casino to his second in command and hotfoot it back to the penthouse. Jayne would be fired up.

A magnificent sight not to be missed.

* * *

Steamed as hell over Conrad’s latest arrogant move, Jayne rode the elevator to the penthouse level, her old home. The front-desk personnel had given her a key card without hesitation or questions. Conrad had no doubt told them to expect her since he’d moved her clothes from the room she’d chosen.

Damn him.

Coming here was tough enough, and she’d planned to give herself a little distance by staying in a different suite. In addition to the penthouse, the casino had limited quarters for the most elite guests. Conrad had built a larger hotel situated farther up the hillside. It wasn’t like she’d snubbed him by staying at that other hotel. Besides, their separation wasn’t a secret.

She curled her toes to crack out the tension and focused on finding Conrad.

And her clothes.

The gilded doors slid open to a cavernous entryway. She steeled herself for the familiar sight of the Louis VXI reproduction chairs and hall table she’d selected with such care only to find...

Conrad had changed
everything
. She hadn’t expected the place to stay completely the same since she’d left—okay, maybe she had—but she couldn’t possibly have anticipated such a radical overhaul.

She stepped into the ultimate man cave, full of massive leather furniture and a monstrous television screen halfway hidden behind an oil painting that slid to the side. Even the drapes had been replaced on the wall-wide window showcasing a moonlit view of the Mediterranean. Thick curtains had been pulled open, revealing yacht lights dotting the water like stars. There was still a sense of high-end style, like the rest of the casino, but without the least hint of feminine frills.

Apparently Conrad had stripped those away when they separated.

She’d spent years putting together the French provincial decor, a blend of old-world elegance with a warmth that every home should have. Had he torn the place apart in anger? Or had he simply not cared? She wasn’t sure she even wanted to know what had happened to their old furnishings.

Right now, she only cared about confronting her soon-to-be ex-husband. She didn’t have to search far.

Conrad sprawled in an oversize chair with a crystal glass in hand. A bottle of his favored Chivas Regal Royal Salute sat open on the mahogany table beside him. A sleek upholstered sofa had once rested there, an elegant but sturdy piece they’d made love on more than once.

On second thought, getting rid of the furniture seemed like a very wise move after all.

She hooked her purse on the antique wine rack lining the wall. Her heels sunk into the plush Moroccan rug with each angry step. “Where is my bag? I need my clothes.”

“Your luggage is here in our penthouse, of course.” He didn’t move, barely blinked...just brooded. “Where else would it be?”

“In
my
suite. I checked into separate quarters on a different floor as you must know.”

“I was informed the second you picked up your key.” He knocked back the last bit of his drink.

“And you had my things moved anyway.” What did he expect to gain with these games?

“I’m arrogant. Remember? You had to already know what would happen when you checked in. No matter what name you use, the staff would recognize my wife.”

Maybe she had, subconsciously hoping to make a prideful statement. “Silly me for hoping my request would be honored—as your wife.”

“And ‘silly’ me for thinking you wouldn’t embarrass me in front of my own staff.”

Contrition nipped at her heels. Regardless of what had happened between them near the end of their marriage, she’d loved him deeply. She was so tired of hurting him, of the pain inside her, as well.

She sank into the chair beside him, weary to her toes, needing to finish this and move on with her life, to settle down with someone wonderfully boring and uncomplicated. “I’m sorry. You’re right. That was thoughtless of me.”

“Why did you do it?” He set aside his glass and leaned closer. “You know there’s plenty of space in the penthouse.”

Even if he wouldn’t offer total honesty, she could. “Because I’m scared to be alone with you.”

“God, Jayne.” He reached out to her, clasping her wrist with callused fingers. “I’m fifty different kinds of a bastard, but never—never, damn it—would I hurt you.”

His careful touch attested to that, as well as years together where he’d always stayed in control, even during their worst arguments. She wished she had his steely rein over wayward emotions. She would give anything to hold back the flood of feelings washing over her now, threatening to drown her.

Words—honesty—came pouring out of her. “I didn’t mean that. I’m afraid I won’t be able to resist sleeping with you.”

Two

W
ith Jayne’s agonized confession echoing in his ears and resonating deep in his gut, holding himself still was the toughest thing Conrad had ever done—other than letting Jayne go the day she’d walked out on their marriage. But he needed to think this through, and fast. One wrong move and this confrontation could blow up in his face.

Every cell in his body shouted for him to scoop her out of that leather chair, take her to his room and make love to her all night long. Hell, all weekend long. And he would have—if he believed she would actually follow through on that wish to have sex.

But he could read Jayne too clearly. While she desired him, she was still pissed off. She would change her mind about sleeping with him before he finished pulling the pins from her pale blond hair. He needed more time to wipe away her reservations and persuade her that sleeping together one last time was a good thing.

Pulling back his hand, he grabbed the bottle instead and poured another drink. “As I recall, I didn’t ask you to have sex with me.”

If she sat any straighter in that seat, her spine would snap. “You don’t have to say the words. Your eyes seduce me with a look.” Her chin quivered. “
My
eyes betray me, because when I look at you...I want you. So much.”

Okay, maybe he could be persuaded not to wait after all. “Why is that a bad thing?”

A clear battle waged in her light blue eyes that he understood quite well. The past three years apart had been a unique kind of hell for him, but eventually he’d accepted that their marriage was over. He just refused to end it via a courier.

Call him stubborn, but he’d wanted Jayne to look him in the face when she called it quits. Well, he’d gotten his wish—only to have her throw him a serious curveball. She still wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her.

Granted, sex between them had always been more than good, even when they’d used it to distract them from their latest argument. One last weekend together would offer the ultimate distraction. They could cleanse away the gnawing hunger and move on. He just had to persuade her to his way of thinking

The battle continued in her eyes until, finally, she shook her head, a strand of blond hair sliding loose. “You’re not going to win. Not this time.” Standing, she demanded, “Give me my clothes back, and don’t you dare tell me to go into our old bedroom to get them myself.”

He’d been right to wait, to play it cool for now. “They’re already in the guest room.”

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry for thinking the worst of you.”

He shrugged. “Most of the time you would be right.”

“Damn it, Conrad,” she said softly, her shoulders lowering, her face softening, “I don’t want to feel bad for you, not now. I just want your signature and peace.”

“All
I
ever wanted was to make you happy.” Tonight might not be the right time to indulge in tantric sex, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t start lobbying. He shoved to his feet, stepped closer and reached out to stroke that loose lock of hair. “Jayne, I didn’t ask you to have sex, but make no mistake, I think about being with you and how damn great we were together.”

Teasing the familiar texture of her hair between his fingers, he brushed back the strand, his knuckles grazing her shoulder as he tugged free the pin still hanging on. Her pupils went wide with awareness and a surge of victory pumped through him. He knew the unique swirl of her tousled updo so well he could pull the pins out of it blindfolded.

He stepped aside. “Sleep well, Jayne.”

Her hands shook as she swept back the loose strand, but she didn’t say a word. She spun away on her high heels and snagged her purse from the wine rack before making tracks toward the spare room. He had a feeling peace wasn’t in the cards for either of them anytime soon.

* * *

Jayne closed the guest-room door behind her and sagged back, wrapping her arms around herself in a death grip to keep from throwing herself at Conrad. After three long years without him, she hadn’t expected her need for him to be this strong. Her mind filled with fantasies of leaning over him as he sat in that monstrously big chair, of sliding her knees up on either side until she straddled his lap.

There was something intensely stirring about the times she’d taken charge of him, a scenario she’d half forgotten in their time apart. But she loved that feeling of sensual power. Sure, he could turn the tables in a heartbeat—a gleam in his eyes would make that clear—but then she would tug his tie free, unbutton his shirt, his pants...

She slid down the door to sit on the floor. A sigh burst free. This wasn’t as easy as she’d expected.

At least she had a bed to herself without arguing, a minor victory. She looked around at the “tomato-red room” as Conrad had called it. He’d left this space unchanged and the relief she felt over such a minor point surprised her. Why did it mean so much to her that he hadn’t tossed out everything from their old life?

Shoving back up to her feet, she tapped a vintage bench used as a luggage rack and skimmed her fingers along the carved footboard. He’d even kept the red toile spread and curtains. She’d wanted a comfortable space for their family to visit. Except Conrad and his older sister only exchanged birthday and Christmas cards.Since his parents and her mother had passed away, that didn’t leave many relatives. Jayne definitely hadn’t invited her father and his new wife...

Had she let some deep-seated “daddy issues” lead her to choose a man destined to break her heart? That was not the first time the thought had occurred to her—okay, how could she dodge the possibility when Conrad had tossed it in her face at least a dozen times? She’d forgotten how he had a knack for catching her unaware, like how he’d sent her clothes here rather than demanding she sleep in their old room.

Like the way he’d tugged the pin from her hair.

Her mind had been so full of images of them together, and she’d actually admitted how much she still wanted him. Yet, he’d turned her down even though it was clear from his eyes, from his touch—from his arousal—how much he wanted her, too. She knew his body as well as her own, but God, would she ever understand the man?

She tossed her purse on the bed and her cell phone slid out. She snatched it up only to find the screen showed three missed calls from the same number.

Guilt soured in her stomach, and how twisted was that? She wasn’t actually dating Anthony Collins. She’d been careful to keep things in the “friend” realm since she’d begun Hospice care for his aged great-uncle who’d recently passed away from end stage lung cancer.

She’d seen a lot of death in her job, and it was never easy. But knowing she’d helped ease a person’s final days, had helped their families as well, she could never go back to filling her time with buying furniture and planning meals. She didn’t even want to return to working in an E.R.

She’d found her niche for her nursing degree.

While there were others who could cover her rounds at work, she wanted to resume the life she’d started building for herself in Miami. And to do that, she needed closure for her marriage.

She thumbed the voice mail feature and listened...

“Jayne, just checking in...” Anthony’s familiar voice piped through with the sound of her French bulldog, Mimi, barking in the background since he’d agreed to dog sit for her. “How did your flight go? Call me when you get a chance.”

Beep.
Next message.

“I’m getting worried about you. Hope you’re not stranded from a layover, at the mercy of overpriced airport food.”

Beep.
Next call from Anthony, he hung up without speaking.

She should phone him back. Should. But she couldn’t listen to his voice, not with desire for Conrad still so hot and fresh in her veins. She took the coward’s way out and opted for a text message instead.

Made it 2 Monte Carlo safely. Thanks 4 worrying. 2 tired to talk. Will call later. Give Mimi an extra treat from me.

More of that remorse still churning, she hit Send and turned off the power. Big-time coward. She pitched her phone back in her purse. The
clink
as her cell hit metal reminded her of the ring Conrad had slipped back inside. She’d won a battle by delivering the divorce papers, and she could think of plenty of charities that would benefit from a donation if—when—she sold the ring.

She may not have gotten to place her bet, but she’d won tonight. Right?

Wrong. She sagged onto the edge of the bed and stared at her monogrammed carry-on bag. Good thing she’d packed her ereader, because there wasn’t a chance in hell she would be sleeping.

* * *

Parked on the glassed-in portion of his balcony, Conrad thumbed through the Zhutov document on his tablet computer.

Monte Carlo rarely slept at night anyhow, the perfect setting for a chronic insomniac like himself. Beyond the windows, yachts bobbed in the bay, lights glowing. No doubt the casino below him was still in full swing, but he’d soundproofed his quarters.

The divorce papers lay beside him on the twisted iron breakfast table. He’d already reviewed them and found them every bit as frustrating as when his lawyer had relayed the details. And yes, he knew the contents even though he’d led Jayne to believe otherwise.

She was insistent on walking away with next to nothing, just as she’d done the day she’d left. He’d already drawn up an addendum that created a trust for her, and she could do whatever the hell she wanted with the money. But he’d vowed in front of God and his peers to protect this woman for life, and he would follow through on that promise even beyond their divorce.

He hadn’t made that commitment lightly.

Frustration simmered inside him, threatening his focus as he read the Zhutov report from Salvatore. He’d given up his marriage for cases like this, so he’d damn well better succeed or he would have lost Jayne for nothing.

The world was better off with that bastard behind bars. Zhutov had masterminded one of the largest counterfeiting organizations in Eurasia. He’d used that influence to shift the balance of power between countries by manipulating the strength of a country’s currency. At a time when many regions were struggling for financial survival, the least dip in economics could be devastating.

And from all appearances, Zhutov had played his tricks out of an amoral need for power and a desire to advance his son’s political aspirations by any means possible.

Helping Interpol stop crooks like that was more than a job. It was a road to redemption after what Conrad had done in high school. He’d committed a crime not all that different from Zhutov’s and gotten off with a slap on the wrist. At the time he’d manipulated the stock market, he’d deluded himself into thinking he was some sort of dispenser of cosmic justice, stealing from the evil rich to give to the more deserving.

Utter crap.

At fifteen, he’d been old enough to know better. He’d understood the difference between right and wrong. But he’d been so caught up in his own selfish need to prove he was better than his crook of a father, he’d failed to take into account the workers and the families hurt in the process.

He might have avoided official prison time, but he still owed a debt. When Salvatore had retired as headmaster of North Carolina Military Prep and taken a job with Interpol, Conrad had been one of his first recruits. He’d worked a case cracking open an international insider trading scam.

The sound of the balcony door opening drew him back to the moment. He didn’t have to turn around. Jayne’s scent already drifted toward him. Her sea-breeze freshness, a natural air, brought the outdoors inside. She’d told him once she’d gotten out of the practice of wearing perfume as a nurse because scents disturbed some patients. And yes, he remembered most everything about her, such as how she usually slept like a log regardless of the time zone.

That she was restless now equaled progress. It was already past 2:00 a.m.

He shut down the file and switched to a computer game, still keeping his back to her.

“Conrad?” Her husky voice stoked his frustration higher, hotter. “What are you doing up so late?”

“Business.” The screen flashed with a burst of gunfire as his avatar fought back an ambush in Alpha Realms IV.

She laughed softly, stepping farther onto the balcony silently other than the swoosh of her silky robe against her legs. “So I see. New toy from your pal Troy Donavan?”

Conrad had the inside track on video games since a fellow felonious high school bud of his now ran a lucrative computer software corporation. “It’s my downtime, and I don’t even have to leave town. Did you need something?”

“I was getting a glass of water, and I saw you’re still awake. You always were a night owl.”

More than once she’d walked up behind him, slid her arms around his neck and offered to help him relax with a massage that always led to more.

“Feel free to have a seat.” He guided his avatar around a corner in dystopian city ruins. “But I can’t promise to be much of a conversationalist.”

“Keep playing your game.”

“Hmm...” Alpha Realms provided a safe distraction from the peripheral view of Jayne sliding onto the lounger. The way the silky robe clung to her shower-damp skin, she could have been naked.

Her legs crossed at the ankles, her fuzzy slippers dangling from her toes. “Why do you keep working when you could clearly retire?”

Because his fast-paced, wealthy lifestyle provided the perfect cover for him to move in the circles necessary to bring down crooks like Zhutov. “You knew I lived at the office when you married me.”

“I was like any woman crazy in love.” She cupped a water glass between her hands. “I deluded myself into believing I could change you.”

He hadn’t expected her to concede anything, much less that. He set aside his tablet, on top of those damn divorce papers. “I remember the first time I saw you.”

The patio sconce highlighted her smile. “You were one of the crankiest, most uncooperative emergency room patients I’d ever met.”

He’d been in Miami following up on a lead for Salvatore. Nothing hairy, just chasing a paper trail. He would have been back in Monte Carlo by morning, except a baggage handler at the airport dropped an overweight case on Conrad’s foot. Unable to bear weight on it even when he’d tried to grit through the pain, he’d ended up in the E.R. rather than on his charter jet. And he’d still protested the entire way.