MasterStroke (34 page)

Nuanced this is not
.

But there was something so completely bizarre about this, of stepping from a small East Coast vacation village into the world of King Louis XVI of France and Marie Antoinette, that was strangely invigorating. This was real, it wasn’t a museum, it was a private home, which made it all the more other-worldly.

The heels of Sandrine’s boots clacked noisily as she followed behind the imposing dark-clad bulk of the SWAT team member. A few dozen men were scattered throughout the entry hall, flopped on enormous velvet-clad lounges or leaning against marble columns, bare-headed, their weapons holstered, looking bored.

Sandrine paid little attention to them. She was far too interested in examining her surroundings, committing to memory as much as she could without tripping over her feet.

Up a flight of stairs, along passageways, they walked on for what seemed forever before she spied a group of uniforms in the far distance. They passed closed doors but Sandrine had no idea whether they were bedrooms or not. As they neared, she saw Jack.

She rushed into his arms and hugged him tight. There had been no time to shave before their departure and his cheek bristled and scrapped her soft skin. She felt his hot breath on her neck.

“Marcus,” she said breathily, disconcerted now that she was so close to Jack, her heart hammering. “Is he all right?”

“He’s fine. A few cuts and bruises but well looked after. He’d been given a sedative and was sleeping soundly when we arrived.”

Jack led her through an open doorway into a large wood-panelled room that resembled an old-fashioned Paris apartment. A double bed with an intricately-carved headboard was against one wall and Marcus was sitting up, wearing white pyjamas, while an Army medic fussed over him.

The old man smiled as they neared.

“Sandrine, it’s very good to see you. Jack has been telling me what happened. It’s terrible, the bomb, the store so badly damaged. I’m just so happy that everybody is OK.”

The medic stepped away and Sandrine rushed up, sitting on the edge of the bed, hugging him hard enough to draw a short gasp. She looked deep into his bright, clear eyes. A stray wisp of grey hair straggled across his forehead and she smoothed it back across his pink scalp.

“Did they harm you?” she asked urgently.

Marcus shook his head.

“No. I mean, I don’t know. But I feel fine. I have no memory at all. The last thing I remember is all of us in the store, after those beastly Russians left. Then nothing until I woke up here with Jack.”

“He has a few cuts and bruises but they were treated quickly, probably when he first arrived here,” the Army doctor remarked. “There are puncture marks in his arm from a syringe and the ampules in the wastepaper basket indicate he was given antibiotics, vitamins and a tranquiliser. Mr Buckingham is well-rested and in remarkable shape, considering yesterday’s trauma. He was well looked after. We’ll take him to the base hospital for more tests and rest.”

Marcus looked imploringly at Jack.

“Could I go to Marcella’s hospital, Jack. Would that be OK? I’d like to see her.”

Jack took the doctor aside for a hurried chat in tones so low nobody could hear them. Marcus and Sandrine watched intently. The doctor’s arms were folded, Jack gestured expansively, there was much nodding of heads, glances back at the patient, nodding again. The doctor relaxed, Jack smiled and it seemed the matter had been settled in Marcus’ favour.

“All good,” Jack announced. “You’ll be transferred to Mercy General. Hope you don’t mind sharing a room?”

“I’ll have someone to talk to.” Marcus beamed broadly.

Sandrine promised to see him at the hospital as soon as she could. She joined Jack and they walked back to the entry hall. He appeared tense and his mouth was a narrow slash on a face darkened with concern. His security ID was attached to the front of his body armour, the only splash of colour on the expanse of black.

“What happened, Jack? Where is everyone?”

“Good question. We came in fast and quiet. There were some guards in the grounds who were neutralised without incident. There shouldn’t have been any warning at all but, when we breeched the mansion, we found it empty. We’ve searched every inch of this place but nothing. There are plenty of vehicles but it’s like Sylvester and his men went up in a puff of smoke.”

They walked downstairs, across the vast entry vestibule and through French doors onto a wide terrace. The grounds were quiet and soon they were at an enormous swimming pool bracketed by marble columns. The pool house was inside what looked like a Grecian temple.

The water was so clear they could see the pattern of the mosaics on the bottom of the pool but it looked cold and forbidding. Sandrine turned into Jack’s arms. He held her tight and she breathed in his scent. When she looked up at him, their lips met and her tongue urgently sought his. She could feel his body respond in that wonderful familiar way; Sandrine was already comfortably aware of her own arousal and just how short a journey it was to not being able to think straight. At those times, any self-control that remained was easily over-ridden.

When Jack mentioned there was another pool located nearby, indoors and almost as large, mirroring a classical Roman bath, a sliver of memory niggled at the edge of her perception but it slipped away before she could grasp it.
There’s something I have to tell Jack. Damn, what is it?
It annoyed her but, warm in Jack’s embrace against a chill breeze that had dogged their steps so far, it refused to return.

There was nobody within sight. It was almost as if they had the entire estate to themselves. They continued to wander around the property, working their way downhill until they reached a large boathouse on the shores of the Sound. The doors were locked tight. Inside, through dust-encrusted windows, they could see the clutter of a nautical lifestyle – ropes, pulleys, barrels, an old wooden rowboat tipped on its side, oars, a workbench piled high with boxes and cartons, and other detritus.

A covered porch encircled the boathouse. The waters of the Sound were growing choppy from a breeze strong enough to flick hair in Sandrine’s face. It was cold and she turned to hug Jack again. He was just as hard as before and she brushed her hand against the front of his jeans. The bulge pulsed and he groaned involuntarily.

“You’re very naughty,” he said, his voice barely above a growl.

“Just the way you like me.”

“True. But this isn’t the time or place.”

“When
isn’t
it?” she asked, an edge of innocence bringing a sardonic tone to her voice.

“Naughty, naughty girl. Which, ordinarily, I’d enjoy. But not now. I’m working.”

The pout was only half in jest.

“Such a shame, Jack Lucas. You know exactly what you’re missing,” she said, scraping a nail along the length of the bulge in Jack’s jeans. He jumped. “And it doesn’t seem like there’s much to do at the moment. This is the perfect opportunity.”

“I created a monster, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. It’s all your fault. If you’d left me alone, we wouldn’t be in this situation. But it is kind of fun, isn’t it?”

He nodded. Sandrine could sense his inner turmoil. No man is strong enough to resist an opportunity to have sex. Especially dangerous sex. Jack wasn’t pulling away, he wasn’t taking her hands away from his hard cock, he wasn’t arguing passionately that he should be getting back to work. As far as they were both concerned, Marcus was safe, Sylvester and his men had fled the scene, and there was little left to do except turn out the lights and go back home.

Jack took her by the elbow and steered her away from the boathouse.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“There’s something I’m sure you’d like to see.”

“Of course, there is. That’s exactly what I’ve been talking about,” she agreed readily.

“You’re sounding just like Mariel,” Jack admonished.

Sandrine stopped and swung around.

“Really? Am I? That’s terrible. I hope not.” A rush of anguish swept across her face. “Please, Jack. Tell me it’s not true.”

She looked so plaintive, Jack could only burst out laughing. He almost doubled over and found it difficult to bring himself under control.

“No, not quite. Don’t worry. I find it far more alluring coming from you than I would from Mariel.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now come on. I think you’ll like this.”

“I’m not going to say anything else. I don’t want to sound like a hussy.”

They neared a series of terraces that cascaded down the hillside from the mansion. Tucked inside an alcove was a small doorway.

“The main doors are locked. We’re using the back entrance,” Jack explained as they stepped inside, closing the door behind them and slipping the lock.

“Mr Lucas, if you expect a ribald reply such as Mariel Bould would make, you’re sadly mistaken. I’ve learnt my lesson.”

They were standing on a small balcony overlooking the indoor swimming pool. It was magnificent in a completely over-the-top sort of way, a grotto with a vaulted ceiling of the brightest duck-egg blue, with the sun and stars and moon picked out in gleaming gold leaf, and flowing murals of a mythic Grecian aquatic paradise, complete with Poseidon and Zeus and oodles of compliant half-naked women. The chamber was longer than wider and big windows looked out over the Sound. Marble statues of classical nudes, male and female, were poised at intervals along the edges of both sides of the pool, counterpointing the wall murals of forests and satyrs and, not surprisingly, more half-naked women frolicking in Elysium fields.

“From what I’ve been told, this was a popular venue for parties,” Jack offered.

“I’m sure it was. Can we go swimming?”

“I’m not sure we have that much time, darling. But we should have a look around while we’re here.”

Behind the pool were showers and change rooms with separate entrances for male and female guests, lounge areas, small rooms that Sandrine guessed were for massages or resting, a large bar area that resembled an old-style nightclub, and much more. Towels, bathrobes, even bathing suits filled the shelves in each of the change areas and looked freshly supplied. The bar fridges were cold and fully stocked, some of the tables were littered with empty beer bottles and overflowing ashtrays, and the air smelt strongly of cigars.

Sandrine wrinkled her nose.

“It’s like they just left.”

“It’s very strange. I hope it doesn’t mean there’s a leak in our organisation, that they were informed of the raid.”

“Doesn’t look like we’ll find out tonight.”

“No,” Jack agreed. “Would you like a drink?”

“Sure.”

Sandrine took a seat at one of the clean tables. Jack cast an eye over the bar, checked the wine selection in the bar fridges, then grabbed a bottle of Russian vodka and two tumblers.

“Even the ice is still fresh,” Jack noted as he filled the glasses, poured a solid shot of vodka and squeezed half a lime in each.

Sandrine preferred white wine with only the occasional foray into Marcus’ single malt whiskey so she was a little hesitant. She took a tentative sip. The astringent bite of the vodka was tempered by the citrus.
It’s quite good
, she thought. Another sip.
Very good, in fact
. A third sip.
I could get used to this
. She nodded across the table to Jack.

“Excellent,” he said. “Glad you like it. In summer, I’ll have vodka. In winter, bourbon. But today just seems like a vodka day.”

The liquor spread a warmth over Sandrine and the few inhibitions she had dissolved. The longer she sat across from Jack, watching him as he sipped his own drink, the more difficult it was to ignore her increasing arousal. There was nothing she could do about it nor did she want to. The liquid fire in the pit of her stomach flowed through her. She was so wet she could barely concentrate. She ran a hand up her thigh and it took all her concentration not to rub the blossoming softness between legs.

“Are you thinking naughty thoughts again?” Jack’s eyes crinkled with delight.
He loves seeing me like this. It’s his own fault. If he didn’t look good enough to eat, I wouldn’t be so hungry all the time.

“There’s nobody around to watch us now,” she replied in a husky tone.

He nodded gravely.

“No, there isn’t. What are you going to do about it?”

She regretted wearing jeans and the thick sweater. She wanted something she could shrug aside. She wanted to be naked as quickly as possible so Jack could push that wonderful thick cock inside her. She needed to have her thighs pried open and her desire on full display. She longed for the feel of Jack’s massive hardness spearing inside her, hammering her with all the urgency and intensity she was feeling at that moment.

He appeared off-hand, even bored, running a hand languidly through his hair, while staring her down. His eyes said so much. This is a challenge, she thought. He wants me to make the first move.

Sandrine stood a little unsteadily. The room felt like a sauna, the alcohol disorienting her. She grabbed the edge of the table and tipped it sideways, sending the glasses bouncing across the carpet, and knelt before his chair. Jack didn’t move, his cool detachment infuriating her.

She unbuckled his belt, pulled the zipper down and scooped the hot slab of his penis out almost in one movement. Gripping the shaft, she plunged her face down on it greedily as she continued to watch his expression. Still he appeared disinterested which irritated her further and she went crazy, her head a blur as she thrust repeatedly downward, working his cock deeper into her throat than she ever had before. The head, already huge, swelled further and his balls were hard and ready to erupt.

Sandrine wanted his cum, the essence of this wonderful man, and she wanted it fast. As she replayed all that he’d done to her, in his bed, in her own bed, in the games room, replaying actions and sensations over and over in her head, she lost control and tried all she could to make sure he did the same. A strange guttural groan vibrated through her throat and, finally, he began to react. She was delirious with joy, she’d found the key to shattering him and she gave herself fully to her sensual insanity. She was using her mouth to fuck him as animalistically as possible.