Flirting With Danger (27 page)

Tuesday, 2:12 p.m.

“Change of plans,” Rick said, an hour and a half into their flight. He hung up the phone at his elbow, the one he’d been on almost constantly since they took off.

“What change?” Sam had given up pretending to be too jaded to be impressed by a private jet with plush carpeting, a private cabin attendant, and a private back room with a bar, conference table, sofa bed, and a television. She turned from playing with the remote of the main cabin television to look up at him. They’d left later in the day than she’d expected, but after four hours of peering out the jet’s windows and looking for cops, Interpol, FBI, and Eliot Ness, she was just glad to be airborne.

“He’s not in Stuttgart. That was Tom, angry that we left without telling him.”

“Neaner neaner,” Sam returned. “Where are we going, then?”

“He’s at the London branch.” Rick sat back, sipping at the tea the attendant had wordlessly refilled every twenty minutes without prompting. “You know, I kept wondering why
he wanted me to stay another day in Stuttgart, especially after the…extremely infeasible amount of money he wanted in exchange for controlling shares in his bank.” He blew out his breath, disgust in every line of his handsome face. “He even offered to arrange a tour for the two of us at the Mercedes-Benz plant.”

“Give him some credit,” she returned. “He didn’t want you walking into the middle of a robbery.”

“Which begs the question of whether he knew about DeVore and the explosives or not.”

“If he did know, he didn’t want you blown up.”

“Of course not; I wouldn’t be able to bail out his bloody bank if I were dead.”

Sam cleared her throat. “How sure are we that Partino didn’t just feed you a name to get you off his case? Can you imagine Meridien doing this to you?”

The frown he’d worn since last night deepened. “How did you describe DeVore? Larger than life, ambitious, not too squeamish about how he did business as long as the results were satisfactory?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, that’s pretty much Harry, too. He’s tried to beat me to a deal a few times—and ended up taking some heavy losses because of it.”

“Which is why he wanted you to buy shares of his bank.”

He pushed to his feet. “Yes. I’ll be right back. I have to tell Jack we’re going to Heathrow.” As he passed her he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. “You should get some sleep. The couch in the back pulls out.”

She could use some sleep. Before he could vanish into the cockpit, Sam reached up and touched his fingers, curling hers around them. “I’ve discovered something.”

He stopped, facing her. “What?”

“I…like having you with me while I sleep.” She scowled at his abrupt smug, arrogant expression. “It’s just that you’re nice and warm.”

The smile curving his mouth deepened to his eyes. “Hm.
And here I am, just remembering that you promised I could have my way with you.”

Damp heat started between her legs. She could certainly think of worse ways to spend a few hours. Especially when last night she’d thought the partnership had ended. “What a coincidence.”

“Isn’t it, though?”

When he returned from the cockpit a few minutes later she’d found a werewolf movie to watch, but not much else. She smiled at the lustful look in his eyes. It was a good thing Godzilla Week was over.

Rick knelt in front of her, sliding his hands slowly up her thighs and around her waist. “How long has it been since I’ve been inside you?” he murmured, gazing at her face.

“Oh, about sixteen hours, I think,” she said, wishing her voice sounded a little steadier.

“Far too long.” He leaned in, kissing the base of her jaw. Apparently he’d already learned that he could make her bones melt by kissing her there.

“Holy cow. I’m practically having an orgasm right now.”

“Well, allow me to join you, then.” He took her mouth, kissing her with lips and teeth and tongue.

“Okay, buddy, in the back room. Now,” she said in as commanding a voice as she could muster.

He slid an arm under her thighs and another behind her back and lifted her up. “I can’t believe how much I want you,” he said. “I always want you.”

He plunked her down on the conference table, returning to the door to close and lock it. “That’s handy,” she noted as he returned to her, yanking the buttons open on his shirt as he approached. “Are you a frequent flyer in the mile-high club?”

His mouth twitched. “I’m a member,” he returned. “How can you have your own jet and not be? But as for frequent-flyer miles, no, I really haven’t racked any up lately.” He parted her knees, tugging her to the edge of the table and going to work on her jeans zipper. “No time like the present, I always say.”

Sam reached up, pulling him down on top of her as his hand slid between the jeans and her panties. She gasped, lifting her hips. No one had ever made her feel like this, like she was floating, just by looking at her. When he touched her, time simply stopped. How was she ever going to give this up, give him up?

Rick leaned over her to push up her shirt, unfastening her bra and going to work on her nipples with his tongue and his teeth. She moaned, her hands clumsy as she unsnapped his jeans and shoved them down. He kicked them off, and slowly pulled hers down, kissing every inch of skin he exposed until she was panting for him.

“Dammit, Rick, now,” she demanded, half-sitting up to grab his shoulders.

He groaned as he pulled her forward, planting himself deep inside her, the sound alone making her come. He ground into her, hard and fast, until she wrapped her legs around his hips and sat up, sliding her arms around his neck.

Still inside her, Rick lifted her in his arms, and they fell together onto the nearest couch. “God, you feel good,” he panted, running his tongue along her ear. He lifted off her. “Turn over, Sam.”

With a breathless laugh she complied, and with a slow slide he mounted her from behind. Rick reached beneath her to fondle her breasts, and she drew tight and shattered again.

“Rick,” she groaned, feeling every inch of him as he continued his assault.

His pace increased, and with a growl he emptied himself into her. He collapsed to rest his head alongside hers, his weight warm and welcome.

Whether it was lust or safety or some kind of mutual need, for that moment together they were…perfect. They lay together for a long time, dozing, until Samantha finally lifted her head to look at him, then apparently gave up and let it sink back onto the couch. “Food. I need food,” she grumbled.

“I think today’s menu is fried chicken,” he said, shifting the two of them so he was on the bottom, her agile body
sprawled across his. So beautiful, she was, and in ways he didn’t even think she realized. With his free hand he gently brushed hair from her temple.

“Chicken good. Me hungry,” she returned, closing her eyes and resting her head on his chest.

He chuckled. “I could call Michelle and tell her we’re ready to eat.”

“Can’t move. Dead.”

“Yes, I figured it’d be up to me.” Groaning, he stretched over to the end table and flicked the intercom button. “Michelle?”

“Yes, Mr. Addison?”

“Could you manage something for lunch for us?”

“Is ten minutes all right, sir?”

“That’s splendid. Thanks.”

He released the button, drawing his fingers along Samantha’s arm. Even when he felt…satisfied, he still wanted to touch her, to hold her, to keep her safe.

“Rick?”

“Yes?”

“You totally rock.” She curled her fingers around his as their hands met.

“Open your eyes,” he whispered, looking up at her relaxed face.

Long lashes fluttered, and moss green gazed back at him. Very slowly he leaned up and kissed her, relishing the soft warmth of her mouth against his.

“Totally, totally,” she added, smiling as he lowered his face from hers again.

“Samantha, promise me something.”

“What?”

“Promise me that you won’t leave without telling me, and without giving me a chance to change your mind.”

She slid down his body. “I promise,” she said.

He wanted to go straight from the airport to Harry’s town house. It was still early, though, for the banker to be home.
Besides, it would mean having the limousine take them. Being driven to the kind of confrontation he anticipated wouldn’t be nearly satisfying enough. His own place, just off Cadogan Square, was only a few blocks from Meridien’s, anyway, so he settled for planning his attack and glaring through the bulletproof glass.

“Is this yours, too,” Samantha asked from beside him, “or do you rent?”

“It’s mine. Once I knew where we were headed, I had Ernest drive up from Devon to meet us.”

“Devon. That’s your other place, right?”

“That’s my actual home, I guess you would call it. I grew up there.”

“What’s it like?”

He turned from his view of London to look at her. “Are you trying to distract me?”

She shrugged. “You look like you’re ready to explode.”

“And that’s bad because…” he prompted.

“As Khan in
Star Trek
once said, ‘revenge is a dish best served cold.’”

Richard couldn’t help smiling at her. “I think someone else said it first.”

“I know. But Khan’s cool. He even quotes Melville.”

“Do you remember everything?”

“Things that interest me, or are important to me, yes.”

He wanted to ask what she remembered about him, but that sounded rather pitiful. He wanted to say something else to her, as well, had almost said it on the jet, when she couldn’t run away, but that hadn’t seemed fair. He wanted to tell her that he loved her.
Don’t push
, he told himself. It was a large enough risk in his own mind. To include her, as possessive as he felt of her, could be…dangerous.

“It’s not precisely revenge that I want,” he said after a moment, returning to his view. “I mean it is, but first I want to know how and why and—”

The limousine slammed sideways. Metal crunched around them as Samantha hurtled against his shoulder hard enough
to bruise. He grabbed her, bracing his legs on the floor and one arm against the bending sides of the car as they lurched in a sickening spin halfway into the air and smashed down to the road again.

“What—”

He caught sight of a large, heavy lorry through the broken window on Samantha’s side of the car just as it hit them again, sending them across incoming traffic and toward the river. The limousine engine roared and clanked, and they lurched forward, spinning again as the truck slid with the shriek of tearing metal down toward the boot.

“Ernest!” he bellowed.

“I’m going, sir! He’s trying to knock us into the Thames!”

They were grinding forward again, lurching like a broken crab, and the lorry roared up behind them. On the right, dizzyingly close, the banks of the Thames dropped steeply down to the river.

“Can we get to the trunk from here?” Samantha rasped, lurching against him again as the truck rear-ended them hard.

“Through the seats.”

He didn’t question as she dug into leather, looking for the latch. Instead he helped, yanking the seat forward and nearly falling to the floor as the truck rammed them from behind again.

“Open the roof,” she snapped, diving into the smashed boot and reappearing with her hard-sided case.

He slammed down on the button, but after sliding open an inch, the moon roof stuck. Richard jammed his hand into the opening and shoved, his attention on Samantha as she opened her case and yanked out three pieces of what looked like a gun with a bulbous belly. She screwed them together, knees braced against his side to hold her steady.

“Grab my legs,” she yelled, hefting the monstrosity and standing up through the opening in the roof.

He steadied her from below while she took aim and fired three shots in rapid succession. White paint exploded onto the windshield of the truck with enough force to crack the
glass. It lurched sideways, swiping the side of a bus as it veered around blindly, windshield wipers smearing at the thick stuff.

“Get out, Ernest!” he shouted, grabbing Samantha back inside and kicking open his side door.

They tumbled out, diving behind the guardrail beside the river as the truck roared by them, smashing the limousine again, and continued on down the road. Richard stumbled around and half fell beside Samantha, who held the paint gun cradled in her arms as though her life depended on it.

“Are you all right?” he asked, pushing back her hair, trying to keep his hands from shaking.

“I’m fine. You’re white as a sheet.”

He kissed her, hard and deep. “That’s twice I’ve almost lost you,” he grunted, turning to find Ernest vomiting over the side of the road. “Ernest?”

The driver waved a hand at him. “Okay. Just bloody scared.”

Two-toned police sirens came into hearing, and Samantha stiffened. “Shit. I can’t go anywhere with you,” she said, putting her finger through a hole in his light jacket.

“Give me the gun,” he ordered.

“But—”

“This is my town,” he said, “and my car. I can be a paint gun enthusiast if I want to. The fewer questions about you, the better.”

She handed it over. “Okay. But your town sucks, so far.”

With his free hand he gripped her arm and pulled her to her feet. “Very clever, by the way. I didn’t know you’d brought your gear.”

With a weak smile she brushed a shard of broken glass from his collar. “I never leave home without it. Rick, I think Dr. Evil knows we’re here.”

Sometimes you just couldn’t catch a break. Sam sat in a hard-backed chair in her second police station in less than twenty-four hours while Rick gave his statement to the officer in
charge. They’d believed him about the paint gun, and she hadn’t had to do more than give her name—though handing over even that small amount of information gave her the willies. England was full of stuff she’d either stolen or at least been asked to relocate.

The police didn’t seem that surprised that someone would want to kill Richard Addison, and she remembered what he’d said about receiving threats before. Apparently they had both found themselves in dangerous lines of work.