Illicit Liaison (4 page)

He leaned back in his seat, uncomfortable with those emotions and not willing to talk to her in case she saw some of it on his face. He had never been one to give in to what he thought of as sentimental bullshit feelings. Love was not an option in his line of work and the people criminals surrounded themselves with were rarely honest or reliable.

He had once heard his mother say that it was better to trust a sharp and heavy blade hanging over your head than trust someone who said they loved you. This was because you had a chance of surviving the blade falling, but no chance in hell of surviving the sword betrayed by love.

She had been floating on a serious mix of downers and alcohol that morning. They had been driving down some freeway, rushing to get out of town before the cops could crash in the door of the house they had been living in with several other people, including her recently ex-boyfriend, who had gotten pissed over a twenty dollar bag of cocaine someone had refused to share and called in the cops. The words had been spoken through tears that had dragged her false eyelashes from her eyes, they hung like broken spiders in a muddy puddle of mascara, and eyeliner and she had sent the smell of cheap vodka into the air with each word.

He should have forgotten the words, his mother had said a lot of things he no longer recalled, but he had not. As he grew older, he had begun to notice more and more that almost every time they fled town, she got beaten up, or some scam did not get done so that there was no food on the table it was due to her being in love.

Love was the sharpest weapon. He had never trusted it and he did not now, he had never felt lonely either, the women he met, seduced, and lied to had always been enough. The curve of Lolita’s cheek and the long arch of her neck kept drawing his eyes.

I am just in lust.

He wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe it very badly.

**

The limousine was waiting for them at the airport and they climbed in. They were both exhausted and they slumped into the seats, ignoring the sights that spread out in front of them.

Lolita was too worried about the family that had housed Jamie, and Jamie herself, to enjoy the Italian Rivera though it was one of her favorite places in the world usually.

Portofino was a small fishing village spread out on the Ligurian Sea. The water was a vivid blue, the sky equally cerulean and the hillsides topped with expensive and luxurious villas, hotels and restaurants. The bay was home to more of the same, as well as the houses of the locals. The colorful buildings were home to bustling and trendy art galleries, exorbitant boutiques and even more restaurants that sought to tantalize the most snobbish of gourmands.

Lolita knew that as soon as they arrived at the villa they would be under close surveillance. Everyone was, and for obvious reasons. Carmen’s lover Carlos was so paranoid he had even demanded that the celebrities be watched carefully, just in case the government had set them up to help nab him.

Lolita had not known whether she should laugh or cry when Antony had told them that. How Antony had known was anyone’s guess but she had her own ideas. Carmen was wearing a ring that purportedly belonged to his mother and he was Carlos’ rival. He had likely tried to woo her out of malice and wound up losing his mother’s ring to her.

As far as Lolita was concerned, it served the sister-stealing bastard right.

The villa came into sight. It stood four stories high on a long hillside whose sloping walls were almost hidden by colorful stone walls. They drove through the gates and the gardens spread out around them, bringing the fragrance of flowers and freshly mown grass to her nose.

A couple was standing on a third floor balcony and a knot formed in Lolita’s throat as they embraced then did a slow dancing walk across the balcony, clinging to each other as they went.

“They are probably snookered. They will be lucky if they don’t fall off there and die on the patio stones below.”

“Aren’t you the hopeless romantic,” Lolita shot back. Darien grinned at her as the limo glided to a smooth halt in the circular drive.

“What could possibly be more romantic than a tragic death among beautiful roses?”

“I think you should jump from the balcony and see how that works out for you,” Lolita deadpanned.

“You don’t really hate me darling,” Darien whispered into her ear. “You love me, now act like it. Somebodies always watching.”

His mouth captured hers. Lolita’s pulse quickened as his fingers slid casually down the buttons of her blouse, just brushing them. Her nipples stiffened and her pussy grew damp, her mind told her to pull away but she did not, could not.

The door of the limo swung open, shedding bright sunlight into the leather and wood interior.

Instantly uniformed help came out of the doors, ready to usher them inside and haul their luggage. Lolita and Darien did not miss the fact that there were deadly telltale bulges below the uniforms that the men, and even a woman or two, were wearing.

Carmen was waiting inside, at the base of the magnificent staircase and directly below the skylight. Jeweled tones played over her, highlighting the emerald dress she wore, putting gold and red streaks into her dark hair and sparking off the jewels that adorned her. The ring was not on her finger.

Damn, Lolita thought, that makes it a little less difficult but now I have to find out where she keeps her jewelry. Her original plan had been to drug Carmen, rip the ring off her finger while she was knocked out, and then flee the scene as quickly as possible. It was hardly a plan of finesse but she had been operating on little sleep and a lot of distractions had kept her from being able to think clearly.

One of those distractions was standing in the foyer right beside her, smiling like a love-struck teenager as Carmen came toward them. He could not even play his part! The damn fool stared right at Carmen’s ample bosom, gave her a grin that was both goofy and leering and kissed her hand, bowing as he did it.

He was supposed to be acting like a newlywed in love and instead he was behaving like a horny high school boy. Lolita’s cheeks went red as Darien launched into a fulsome set of praises for Carmen’s beauty and the beauty of the house. Carmen seemed to take it all as her due.

Lolita was not even sure why she was angry so she told herself it was because if he fucked things up it would mean Jamie’s life. She dug an elbow into his side, gave Carmen a deceptively sweet smile, and forced Darien to take a few steps back.

“We are so excited to be here,” she said, “You have such a lovely place. This was the first place I decided on. I told Brent the minute he asked me to marry him that I wanted to honeymoon here and he agreed. Isn’t he wonderful?” She batted her eyes and placed the most vacuous expression she could muster up on her face. “Oh, I do believe that is our luggage! Honey, please make sure they put it just the way I like, you know I get headaches when things are not the way I like them.”

She pressed her body close to his and smiled up at him, “We don’t want me getting a headache tonight, do we sugar plum?”

Their very expensive luggage was being hauled toward the elevator. Lolita disentangled herself from Darien, giggled a few times for good measure, and added to Carmen, “You have to excuse us. It is our honeymoon; we are a little over-excited I think.”

“I see it all the time,” Carmen said in her gorgeously accented English. She flapped a hand at them, “Follow Marcus, he will show you to your room…and have a wonderful afternoon. I hope to see you at dinner.” She directed the last sentence at Darien, who gave her a cocky little grin and wink.

They walked through the main reception room, the room featured a tinkling fountain, mosaic tiles, groups of chairs and sofas and long vases filled with fresh flowers. There was no desk; all reservations had to be paid in advance and any charges incurred during the stay would be added to a bill that would arrive after the stay was over. A desk filled with people checking in or arguing over a few dollars, as so many wealthy people were wont to do, would have been too crude, too jarring, and taken away from the splendor of the décor.

“You do know Carlos will put your balls on a skewer and serve them to you for dinner?” Lolita whispered into his ear.

“Oh Lily Hall, you say the nicest things,” he returned.

He moved ahead of her and it took all of her willpower not to kick him square in his ass. His very firm and rounded ass, the ass that showed off to great advantage in smoky gray slacks, the fabric cupped his cheeks, the seam running snugly between them. She ground her teeth together; she had no business staring at his bum. For all she cared he could …

Her unkind thoughts were interrupted by the ding of the elevator doors. The archway that recessed it was decorated with stunning frescoes and red carpet; unless one looked close, you would never know it was there.

“Why not just take the stairs?” Lolita asked.

Marcus shrugged, “You can, most guests prefer not to.”

He sure as hell did not seem inclined to do so. “Why ever not?”

“It is very steep and the landing splits, a lot of guests get confused, especially after some wine.”

Marcus lapsed into silence for a few moments then he began to tell them about the sights to be seen in town, what shops to look into, the latest hot nightclubs and so on. Darien and Lolita both were familiar with the place though they were pretending not to be so they asked questions and feigned excitement during the short ride up to the third floor and then down yet another hallway to their suite.

Lolita had to admit the suite was the epitome of decadent living. Rich silks and satins covered the king-sized bed, the four posters of which were obviously, very much extinct, American rosewood. The floor was marble, white with silver threads running through it and the rugs were all gloriously faded antiques.

A white marble fountain sat in the center of the living room, lending a charming little musical jangle to the room, as well as coolness. The bathroom had a huge Jacuzzi tub, his and her sinks, a walk in shower and a bidet with gold faucets.

The towel racks had built in heaters and there was a small painting of a woman on a hill, her back to the viewer. Stretched out before her were long vineyards, heavy grapes dangling from the vines.

“Do you think it is a subliminal command to defecate?”

Lolita would have given him a snappy retort but Marcus, still standing there, laughed. Immediately he stopped, his face moving back into its usual mask. Darien thrust a wad of cash at him, thanked him, and hustled him out the door.

Lolita turned to the luggage, feeling both lost and weary. Everything was wrong and she would have loved to just sit down and have a good cry about it all but it did not seem to be such a good time for that.

Her emotions were getting the best of her, and that was dangerous for all of them. She took a long breath and tried to think but could summon up nothing at all but despair and anger.

Her eyes went wide when Darien grabbed her by her upper arms and yanked her toward him. His face was far too close to hers, his full lips so near. “I think I still owe you one for that little stunt with the cops back in LA,” he whispered into her ear then he bit the lobe of it, sending pain coursing into that tender bit of flesh.

Her makeup bag was on the floor and Darien spotted the hairbrush hanging out of the top of it. It was good solid one with a sturdy wooden handle and he took it out, tapping it against his palm in an almost thoughtful gesture.

“What the hell are you doing?” She began backing up.

“I think you need a lesson in obedience Mrs. Hall.”

She gave him the finger. “Obey that.”

“I sure will, in fact I think I won’t mind that at all.”

He sat down in a chair without arms. Gaining courage, she approached him, intent on getting close enough to be able to spew some venomous words at him without being overheard but they never left her mouth. He grabbed her again and before she could even react, she found herself staring at the floor and his shoes. Her fingertips brushed the cool marble and she fought, trying to understand what it was he was about to do.

Her dress was yanked up to her waist. The material bunched and lumped together, exposing her bare ass cheeks to his gaze, and he ran a finger down the lacy little strip of her thong.

Lolita tried to bite him and he yanked her thong even tighter, sinking it into the cleft between her cheeks. Pain stung her labia and she whimpered, her pussy growing so wet that her panties soaked through.

His fingers pressed into her ass cheeks, sinking cruelly into them. She thrashed about, almost losing her precarious balance and toppling head first to the floor between his feet.

She was breathless and slightly dizzy; her heartbeat became more rapid with each passing second. The brush came down on her right cheek and she shrieked, her teeth meeting the flesh of his calf.

Darien swore and brought the brush down on her left buttock. Lolita could feel her skin growing hotter by the second. Her passion was burning higher as well, although she had no idea why. She should have been angry or screaming for a cop, not that that was ever a good choice for her, given her profession.

His fingers slid beneath the fabric of her thong, stroking her wet center. A shudder went through her and she whimpered. His fingers grazed her clit, stoked it, and rubbed it until she was close to coming, so close she was grinding against his fingers in desperation.