INTO DANGER (Secret Assassins (S.A.S.S.) Book 1) Page 9

  “Do you have anything underneath this at all?”

  Marlena opened her eyes to see Steve’s dark gaze contemplating his own question. He leaned closer, as if to find out for himself.

  “Yes. My Tweety Bird tattoo,” she answered very softly. “And we’re going to be late if you mess with my dress. The trick in keeping it in place is not to play with it.”

  Her words had the desired opposite effect. She knew Stash would take it as a challenge. His hands spanned her waist, and her breath caught when he rubbed her lower belly with his thumbs. She closed her eyes again, wondering whether she could afford to be late for the party. His hands slid from her waist to her hips, his thumb scoring down the front of her tummy with erotic slowness. Lower. She felt his hands hugging her thighs, his thumbs exploring the curve where her legs met her hips. They followed a sensuous pattern as his long fingers cupped her buttocks, and desire swamped her senses as those magic thumbs explored the twin geometrical lines that ended at the point of a triangle. God, if she wasn’t careful, she would be the one distracted, not him.

  Marlena bit down on her lower lip, refusing to allow any sounds to escape. “Stash...” she began, trying to sound normal. His thumbs pressed down on the apex of the triangle and a soft involuntary moan rose from her lips.

  His voice held a trace of curiosity. “I don’t feel any panties, but there’s something here...what is it?” He pressed down again, tracing the small little bumps.

  Marlena laid her hands on his shoulder for support. Why had she come up with such a naughty idea? Part of her understood her own seductive power over him, and she had to use it, so she could conduct business while his mind was on other things. However, she was discovering there was a part of her that was very weak and helplessly under the power of the very same man. Her knees were melting under her from the delicious torture he was putting her through. But she wasn’t going to tell him that, or they would never leave this room.

  “What is it?” he asked again.

  “I already told you,” she replied stubbornly and gripped harder as his curious investigation pulled and stretched her sensitive skin. Clearing her throat, she said as firmly as she could, “We have to go.”

  He finally looked up at her. The heat in his eyes threatened to set her in flames. He slowly stood up, his thumb following the mysterious object under her gown. “All right, if you say so,” he said, but his eyes promised other things.

  She curbed the disappointment. Don’t be ridiculous, she scolded herself. Keep your mind on your job.

  As if he’d read her thoughts, Steve asked where they were going. “What kind of party is it? What do I have to do?”

  He would know sooner or later, so she told him their destination. “Do you know du Scheum?” He should. The name was synonymous with synthetic and plastic products, for both household and scientific uses.

  “Not personally, no,” he replied facetiously, as he watched her squirt some perfume on her wrists. He frowned slightly. “Hell, we’re going to a party given by du Scheum? You run around with some big names, don’t you?”

  Marlena smiled secretively. She could see he was already busy going through the possible reasons for her going there. That was why she needed to distract him. Wanting to test him, she said, “I make friends easily. Part of my job.”

  “Really. You know, you’ve never elaborated exactly what it is that you do.” He opened the apartment door for her and they stepped out into the carpeted hallway. “After all, being chased by cars and getting threatening phone calls sort of eliminated the usual socialite party animal I was told to accompany.”

  She coughed. “I can hardly believe the man who hired you told you that.”

  “That’s the description he gave me when I asked what you were like,” Steve said smugly. “He didn’t say anything about car chases. Or shopping.”

  Marlena smiled again. The last word was said with a great deal more disgust than the car chase. Surely the man had some warped priorities. She would have to teach him the fine art of shopping a whole day away another time. But for now she had to concentrate on tonight’s agenda.

  He seemed to read her mind again. “What do I do? I don’t know anybody. Do I say hi and shake hands vigorously? Do I clap Mr. du Scheum on the back and talk to him about what a wonderful invention the plastic egg beater is?” When she burst out laughing, he shrugged, as if he had the right to ask stupid questions. “It’s a tough thing to do well, this obedience thing.”

  Marlena rolled her eyes. Like he really was trying so hard. “I doubt du Scheum and you will get a chance to sit down and talk. There are more important and wealthier people there who need his attention, Stash. Unless, of course, you have connections to help du Scheum Industries?”

  “Do you?”

  Ah, a loaded question. If she didn’t, why would she be at this exclusive party? Du Scheum didn’t invite just anybody. He was a facilitator, a powerful ally between politics and business. Of course, sometimes these two things brought together blurred ethical lines.

  “Let’s just say that I know people du Scheum knows, and he knows people I know,” she told Steve. “And all I require you to do is to stay close by me, but don’t interrupt too much with your questions. Would that be too much to hope for?”

  He gave her one of those quizzical looks she was beginning to recognize. He would do as she asked but would exact payment afterward. Warm desire settled in the pit of her stomach.

  “I’ll be so good, people will want me for their lackey,” Steve promised. Marlena made a rude sound. He studied her as they descended in the lift, then asked, “You know so many people, why can’t you get a rich man to take you to one of these parties?”

  Marlena sighed. Obviously it was time to distract him again. She ran a hand down the front of her dress, knowing that his eyes would follow as she pretended to smooth away some imaginary wrinkle by the brooch. She fingered the jeweled piece. She ran a suggestive hand down her hip, adjusting the skirt. The elevator door opened to the underground garage and without a word, she stepped out first, making sure she brushed against him as she passed.

  She smiled furtively again, pleased to have interrupted his thought process. His footsteps behind her were somehow erotic to her ears, as if he were hot on her heels. Just after she slid into the passenger side of the Porsche, he leaned in, his expression scorching as his eyes traveled down her body. She inhaled the woodsy cologne he wore, mixed with a certain scent of desire. He was fast. He’d already figured it out.

  His eyes pierced the dark interior of the car, knowledge and surprise mingled with sensual awareness. “That long pearl necklace,” he muttered. “Lady, you aren’t just wearing a Tweety Bird tattoo under there.”

  Marlena scooted a little away and flashed Steve an innocent smile. It was wiser to be quiet, letting his imagination do the work. If she pushed too hard, he could see through her scheme, and where they were going, she needed to constantly be on guard, to be in control of the situation. She was there to be seen and documented, as well as to make sure everything was going according to plan.

  Turning the radio on, she chose a station playing light jazz. Steve’s silence didn’t bother her at all. In fact, it was one thing about him that fascinated her. Most people were usually deep in thought or concentrating on the task at hand when they were quiet, but she always felt Steve was constantly on alert, even when he lounged lazily on the sofa. He seemed very at ease doing nothing, as if he spent a lot of time sitting alone, yet it wasn’t a relaxed, detached easiness caused by a lazy lifestyle. Even sitting in the middle of a women’s boutique, he gave the impression of a jungle cat watching his prey.

  So the million-dollar question was—was Steve McMillan stalking her? Or was he just a pawn in this game she chose to play? Tonight she would have some answers.

  She studied him surreptiously. This wasn’t just sexual attraction. She’d dated good-looking men before and had only enjoyed their company. She’d certainly never had the urge to make them bre
akfast. Even during her last attempt at making a relationship work, she’d never played housewife. Of course, that had been the problem. She just couldn’t see herself in that role, and compromise was out of the question. She’d put the lives of some friends in jeopardy because she wanted things to work out, and she’d vowed ever since to be alone. It was better not to be emotionally dependent on others in her line of work.

  She checked her newly painted nails with distracted interest. It wasn’t good to want a man so badly. It would only end up getting her killed.

  Chapter Six

  Steve made a mental note to one day drive up here in the daylight and check out the neighborhood. They were in one of the more exclusive neighborhoods by the Potomac River, the kind of houses surrounded by walls and electronic gates, with boat docks in their backyards.

  He gave a slight grin of self-mockery. Not that he would be shopping for a pad here. Du Scheum’s pocketbook far exceeded the pay of a navy SEAL. Even with the extra money he was getting for this new transfer, he’d probably never be able to afford land a quarter the size of this—he looked around—place. He looked at the beautifully lit driveway with its swaying trees as they drove on.

  Uniformed servants opened the car doors as each limousine and expensive car inched its way to the front steps of the beautiful mansion lit up by dozens of colored globe lights. Steve stepped out of the Porsche and waited for Marlena while a uniformed servant helped her out. He frowned when her smile brought a blush to the young man’s face as he tried not to stare too hard at the front of her gown. It didn’t help to think about those pearls not far away.

  “Thank you, madam,” the usher said as he accepted his tip. “Please let me know if you need anything else. Please keep this card so we know where we parked your car.”

  Marlena’s smile became wicked when she reached Steve’s side. “Lackey,” she teased, knowing that it would get to him. “I think I’ll hire him next time.”

  Steve glowered down at her. “Better buy a cemetery plot. He’d bore you to death and have to bury you.”

  “Oh, and would you mourn my demise, Stash darling?” She laughed, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm after adjusting the light wrap folded across her arm. The night air was cool against her bare skin, but she knew it would be warm inside the mansion. “Would you come visit me once in a while? Put some flowers on my headstone?”

  She’d meant it as a joke but was surprised at how solemnly they regarded each other for a second. He turned and touched her right cheek with the back of his hand. It felt like regret.

  “I’ll do that,” he said, his obsidian dark eyes for once flat and expressionless.

  They walked through the grand arches into the hallway, already filling up with arrivals. She smiled to break the tension. “Something to look forward to, then,” she said wryly.

  Steve looked around him with interest. She wondered whether he recognized anyone there. These people weren’t exactly anonymous. She’d attended enough of these parties in the last two years to assume the mantle of the elite, where everyone needed only a first-name introduction with her, but the first time was a revelation, a culture shock to those who never understood the thin line between black and white. Here people ordinarily separated by social position rubbed elbows, kissed each other like old friends, and talked of business and politics over drinks and cigar.

  That is, she thought, assuming Steve McMillan recognized the presence of the likes of an infamous arms dealer such as Max Shoggi talking ten feet away from a UN ambassador. Or the likes of her, she added with a little irony, smiling with familiar secrecy at the royal prince of the kingdom of Desah, who silently toasted her with his flute of champagne.

  “What do lackeys do at these things?” Steve asked, light sarcasm in his voice, looking at the royal prince with a frown. He recognized him from the recent news about Desah’s new business contract with U.S. firms amid news of a coup. How well did Marlena know him? “Is there a lackey lounge area for us to sit and exchange notes or something?”

  Actually there was, but she wasn’t going to let this man stray too far. Not when he looked like that. “What kind of companion did they get for me?” she wondered aloud, with mock exasperation. “Didn’t they ask for prior experience? Whatever did you say to get hired?”

  “I told them I was good at kissing,” he deadpanned.

  She sighed, shook her head, and started walking toward the main room. “I suppose you’re good at that,” she conceded. A waiter appeared from nowhere, offering her a glass of champagne from his tray.

  “Suppose? I’ll be happy to help you be very sure about it. All doubts removed, I promise. As long as I find out where Tweety Bird is.”

  The conversational murmur in the huge room somehow enhanced the intimate invitation in his words. His hand moved down the small of her back, tracing her spine suggestively. Stay focused, Marlena reminded herself. She needed things done in an orderly fashion, so that she would be in constant control of the very charged situation they were in.

  “I’m beginning to think it’s the other way around,” she said lightly. “It’s me who is good at kissing, and you just can’t get enough of me.”

  His eyes glinted down at her, settling on her lips. “Let’s make a bet.”

  “Another one?”

  “You let me kiss you the way I want tonight.”

  The rush of excitement through her was heady. Like the champagne in her hand. “And?”

  “And by the time I’m done, you’ll show me your Tweety Bird.”

  Marlena laughed. He did have a way with words. And he was doing exactly what she wanted, keeping his thoughts focused on her. “That doesn’t sound like a bet to me.” She took another glass of champagne from another waiter passing by. “What if you lose?”

  Steve took the champagne glass from her and drank deeply before handing it back. Not exactly an appropriate lackey thing to do, he admitted, but she didn’t say anything. Instead she tossed the rest off, her blue eyes meeting his over the rim of the glass. He knew she would accept his challenge. The glass of champagne sealed the pact. Later. Tonight. Those sultry eyes promised things that were going to cause him discomfort for the next few hours.

  She’d placed those thoughts in his mind to tease him. He knew Tweety Bird wasn’t in a decent place. It couldn’t be, because there weren’t any tattoos on her exposed body in those outrageous black things the other night. That left very few possible places. A pearl necklace worn nowhere near the neck. The erotic images were going to haunt him all night. He tipped her head back with a forefinger and gave her the merest wisp of a kiss at the corner of her lips. He felt her shiver, and a mocking smile tugged at his lips as he straightened.

  However, for now he would watch and learn as much as he could about how Marlena Maxwell got things done. The important thing was to keep a step ahead of her, make sure nothing happened without his knowing it.

  Cam said that this was her shtick. She mingled among the wealthy and the infamous, the influential and the notorious, with a familiarity that suggested she knew most of them. What he couldn’t understand was how these people ended up together in the same room. Cam had given him a thorough briefing about what to expect, the usual crowd at these functions, but he still couldn’t accept it. He had questions for which Cam had no answers at all.

  He overheard snatches of conversation—politicking and gossip—among these people who wouldn’t normally be seen in public together. It disturbed his sense of ethics. Half these people he worked for, and the other half—he hid a grimace—he wanted to wipe off the face of this earth. The glimmer of jewelry on the throats, wrists, and cuffs everywhere caught his eye. Wealth, the common denominator. This was the world Marlena walked in.

  He looked around at the guests again. Everyone seemed very at home in these opulent surroundings—marble and crystal, modern art and fountains, sumptuous feast and plush furnishings. He’d never been inside a place quite like this, but then he’d never had friends this wealthy,
he thought wryly. The few rooms he’d seen, if one could call them rooms, had ample square footage to house several families. The main place where everyone gathered looked like a ballroom, arranged in several sections to accommodate those who wanted to sit in a group, those who preferred to have quiet conversation, and those who were in a more swinging mood.

  Huge aquariums filled with colorful saltwater fish decorated the walls as well as divided sections of the room. In the middle, the floor tiles gleamed with an intricate sunburst pattern, accented by a huge crystal chandelier hanging from the thirty-foot ceiling that reflected the colors of the aquarium, imported tile, and glittering fashions. The effect was spectacular, like an underwater congregation of colors and movement. His gaze finally rested on one particular woman. A perfect place, he admitted, for a mermaid.

  “This is nothing. You should see my place,” he told Marlena. Her husky laughter drew attention to them, and especially to what she was wearing. He drew her a little closer, then stopped, surprised at his possessive reaction. He’d never done that with any woman before, even with the few girlfriends he’d dated on and off. He glanced quickly at Marlena, but if she’d noticed, she didn’t show it, as she made her way slowly around the room.

  Steve stayed by Marlena’s side as she mingled, and on the surface it appeared like a very superficial gathering. The conversation was general, but once in a while he noticed animated gestures accompanying a discussion of some current hot political topic. He watched the body language. He studied Marlena’s every move. She laughed as if she were on top of the world. That part, he knew from experience, was one big façade.

  After the superb dinner, he did get to put his foot down on one thing. So okay, he would play around with ten different forks and spoons. He wouldn’t touch the food with his hands. But absolutely no dancing. The host, who seemed to be absent, had a live band playing in the backyard by the Olympic-sized pool, and the music had an international flavor, mostly Latin rhythms. Marlena wanted to dance. Steve gave her one dark look, and she sighed.