French Kiss

  He immediately kicked off, intent on putting distance between himself and temptation. It was a long, long time until ten o’clock.

  But a half mile out, he slowed down to catch his breath and was surprised to find her only a few strokes behind. He was a strong swimmer. “Apparently, you’ve done this before,” he said, treading water as she approached.

  “Minnesota, Land of Ten Thousand Lakes,” she replied as she reached him. “I’ve been swimming since I was four.”

  He smiled. “You’re good at lots of things.”

  “Back at you,” she replied, treading water effortlessly. “And might I add,” she said with a grin, “tonight I’m looking forward to one particular thing you do exceptionally well.”

  “Speaking of which—have you ever been fucked in the Mediterranean?” His voice of reason apparently had drowned on the way out.

  “No. Although, I expect it would be wise not to ask the same of you.”

  “Ask. I haven’t.” He’d never been that desperate before.

  “You surprise me.”

  “Come closer, and I’ll surprise you with something else. No one can see us out here.”

  “Except for that sailboat over there.”

  “I doubt it’s anyone we know.”

  “For sure, it’s no one I know.”

  “So, whaddya think?”

  “I’d love to.”

  Christ, he loved her honesty. No games, no pretense. She said what she meant and meant what she said. An unprecedented phenomenon in his world where no one ever meant anything they said. “Let’s see what we can do then about giving you an orgasm or two. Come here, I’ll take your suit off.”

  He pulled off her suit, then his, slipped them up one arm for safekeeping, and holding her under her ribs, said, “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

  For a man who’d supposedly never done this before, he’d figured out the procedure without missing a beat. But with the head of his erection nudging her Mediterranean-Sea-bathed pubes, she wasn’t about to take issue. And as he slid his ever-ready hard-on into her, it felt so good, so right, and really—so enormously gratifying—that she lost any sense of even mild resentment.

  It was amazing how well they fit together, as though after only one night, their bodies had dovetailed, synchronized, and now fit to a T. It was equally amazing how strong he was—able to keep them both above water with just a leisurely kick of his feet. That the slow rhythm of his kick somehow matched the flux and flow of his hips resulted in a highly effective and fiercely arousing hard, steady penetration and withdrawal.

  “Is that far enough in?”

  As punctuation to his query, he drove in deeper.

  She gasped, her legs tightened around him, and a kind of pleasure she didn’t know existed suffused her entire body.

  “More?” he whispered, as if he didn’t know, as if she wasn’t melting around him like hot fusion. “Answer me,” he growled, needing the words, needing to hear she was as bad off as he, as insatiable.

  “Yes, yes, yes… give me more…”

  It was barely audible, the light breeze picking up the words and carrying them away.

  He shouldn’t have been so gratified. It shouldn’t have mattered—one woman or another. Then again, why dwell on philosophical considerations when they were both grooving in some prodigal sexual wonderland.

  He gave her more, and she greedily took it, rushing toward the finish line that first time so precipitously, he barely kept up.

  But he did.

  After years of fucking, he’d acquired a certain skill level.

  And flipping on his back afterward, he pulled her atop him and floated in the aftermath of orgasm, the sun warming the sea and air, his body warmed by a heat of another kind.

  How delicious it was, Nicky blissfully mused, resting on her own personal raft, to feel transcended, even dominated by such a superb example of male virility. Sexist it might be and insensitive to the issue of equality, but it was a world-class turn on, she had to admit.

  Less introspective, Johnny was figuring he could do this a couple times before he drowned. But it felt so good right now, drowning wasn’t a major concern—unlike that sailboat that had just put down its anchor.

  But they were both so incredibly horny that issues other than immediate climax were cavalierly relegated to minor status. And fortunately, they’d both come so quickly the first time, the people on the sailboat had barely had time to get out their binoculars.

  Their bodies still connected, Johnny gently ran his palms down Nicky’s back. “You were quiet that time,” he teased, getting used to her vocal orgasms. “Vernie can’t hear way out here.”

  Nicky nodded toward the sailboat to their west. “They’re kinda close.”

  “Don’t worry about them,” Johnny murmured, lazily kicking to keep them afloat.

  Nicky’s brows rose faintly. “You’re way more casual than I.”

  “Believe me, I’m not in the habit of fucking in the water like some randy high school kid.”

  She grinned. “So I’m special.”

  “Damn right. Speaking of which—hold on, babe. We’re gonna both feel special pretty damned soon again.” And he said a little prayer that it was binoculars, not a camera that guy on the sailboat had up to his eyes. If it was a camera, this little escapade would be front-page news tomorrow. Not that it mattered with the state of his libido pretty much run amok.

  But he kept Nicky turned away from the sailboat during their next frenzied coupling, and after they’d climaxed again, he figured they’d probably pushed their luck far enough. That they were both insanely fast in their prurient state of rut, at least kept the photos to a minimum—if that was a photographer on that boat. “Are you gonna be okay for a while now?” He’d have Cole check out the sailboat first thing when they got back.

  She grinned. “How long is a while?”

  “Sex fiend,” he whispered, kissing her smile.

  “Don’t blame me. It’s all your fault.”

  “I beg to differ, but let’s have that argument on shore. I’m getting tired.”

  “Oh, dear, how selfish of me,” Nicky quickly said, pushing away so he wouldn’t have to hold her afloat. “Give me my suit. I can put it on myself.”

  If he wasn’t damned near exhausted, he might have argued. But he was at that stage when he couldn’t remember when he’d slept last. And even though the sea was calm and the current minimal in the lee of the cove, keeping them both above water had taken a certain amount of effort.

  When they were both suited again, he said, “You set the pace.”

  Nicky swam slowly, mostly doing the backstroke because it was easy.

  Johnny did a lazy breaststroke alongside, asking from time to time it she wanted to stop and rest.

  He was so damnably polite, so obliging and indulgent, she found it becoming increasing difficult not to move from infatuation to something more serious, and let’s face it—ridiculous. Although, she understood now why women in such numbers dogged his heels. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be going through major, major withdrawal when this was over.

  “Wanna take a break?”

  “Maybe just a minute.” She took his outstretched hand.

  He just quietly held her, letting her rest, treading water with a minimum kick. “That was really nice,” he said with a smile. “You and me—back there.”

  There was something in his tone of voice that touched her heart. Or maybe everything about him touched her heart. She was thoroughly confused, charmed, and fascinated, giddy, too, with she didn’t know what—but something. “You betcha,” she said, smiling back. “It was nicer than nice.”

  And then she shut up before she said something really stupid. Something a man like Johnny Patrick wouldn’t appreciate. Something he’d probably heard too many times before.

  “You two look exhausted,” Vernie said, as they walked toward the cabana a short time later.

  “There’s a bit of a current out there,” John
ny said, curbing his impulse to smile. “It takes the wind out of you.”

  “Have a glass of wine and rest,” Vernie offered, waving at the small table inside the cabana holding wine, glasses, and appetizers. “I’ve had my one-glass quota, and it was excellent. Tell me what your plans are while you’re here. For one, Nicky should see the Russian chapel. It’s spectacular.”

  Johnny looked at Nicky, his gaze studiously blank. His plans were pretty much limited to fucking 24/7. Not that it was possible, but tell his libido that. “Care for a glass of wine?” he asked.

  “That would be nice,” Nicky said, when the thought of returning to the house and sleeping for an hour was equally appealing. Particularly if she could share that bed with her host.

  “If you’re tired, go on up to the house,” Johnny offered, politely. “I’ll stay and visit with Vernie and the girls.”

  “I can rest here, and that wine sounds intriguing.”

  “Perfect. Sit down. I’ll get you a towel and a glass of wine.” He seemed genuinely glad that she’d agreed to stay. She was surprised how moved she was by so small a thing. But post-orgasmic, she was feeling earnestly smitten and beguiled, wanting nothing more than to be near him, within sight and sound of him.

  Close enough to touch him. If she could. If it wasn’t forbidden in public.

  He was fast becoming a profound and heartfelt addiction. And she a lovelorn fool.

  Which wasn’t sensible in the least.

  Unless she wanted her heart smashed to smithereens.

  Aaaagh.

  She reached for the wineglass he was handing her.

  Leave the bottle, she felt like saying.

  I’m going to need it.

  Twenty-seven

  Yuri rapped on the door of the bedroom, then without waiting, pushed it open and walked inside a room that could have graced Architectural Digest spread on French mansions. “Time to go,” he said, curtly. “I had a call.”

  Raf glanced up briefly, panted, “No way,” and resumed his rhythm.

  “Make it quick. They want that ring delivered.” Yuri didn’t move, and indifferent to his friend’s presence, Raf continued pumping away. The woman beneath him—familiar with an audience—performed her duties with the vigor required of a three-thousand euro fee, and in short order everyone was satisfied. Raf was collapsed on his back, breathing hard, the beautiful woman was gathering her lingerie from the carpet, and Yuri was counting down the minutes until they could leave.

  He waved the woman out. “We have to meet them at five,” Yuri said brusquely.

  With a groan and a string of curses, Raf rolled from the bed. “Couldn’t you have rescheduled?” he muttered. “She was paid for all night.”

  “I didn’t have a choice. The buyer has to fly back tonight. Something unexpected came up in Baku.”

  With a sigh, Raf reached for his shorts. “After this job, we’re done—right? Because I’ve got better things to do.”

  “This is our last assignment here.” Yuri smiled. “Consider it part of our internship.”

  “Consider it part of your internship. For me, it’s a pain in the ass.”

  “Look, we’re just paying our dues.” Yuri had a modicum more responsibility than Raf, or maybe he was just more fearful of his father’s wrath. Either way, he took the role of leader.

  “I don’t have to pay my dues. The business will be handed over to me regardless.” Raf had a supremely indulgent father, an even more indulgent, equally connected mother, and as an only son, both a perceived and real sense of entitlement.

  “Then you’d better make sure you have some damn good lieutenants.”

  Raf smiled. “I have twenty-two cousins. All loyal. Throw me my shoes, and we’re out of here.”

  Minutes later, they were being driven to the Ritz.

  “I don’t suppose the girls will still be at the hotel.” Raf offered Yuri a drink from his wine bottle.

  Yuri waved off the bottle, his gaze scornful. “Since they bolted and then drove off with Johnny Patrick, I doubt it.”

  “Okay, okay, it was just a thought. I like Chantel.”

  “So go see her. You have her number.”

  “I might. What about you and Lisa?”

  “There never was a me and Lisa, and even if there’d been, she’s on my shitlist now. She tried to walk away with fifty of my black pearls. The bitch thinks the world is one big comp for her. I doubt she’s paid for anything in years.”

  “Whatever,” Raf said. “She is a damned fine actress.”

  “So? How does that affect me?”

  “Don’t blow smoke up my ass. You like to be seen with her. We both know that.”

  Yuri shrugged. “There are other actresses.”

  Raf let it drop, because he and Yuri had been friends a long time and despite Yuri’s nonchalance, he knew Lisa Jordan rang all his bells. And it wasn’t just her A-list celebrity and dazzling looks. She and Yuri were both strikingly similar—in their self-love and swaggering egos, in their fondness for the spotlight. Soul mates as it were in the glossy world of swank and strut. “Those other actresses are probably better in bed, too,” Raf noted. Yuri had always complained that Lisa liked drugs more than sex.

  “Anyone’s better in bed than her,” Yuri muttered.

  “Once we’re done with this delivery, let’s go to England for a change of scene. My sister and her friends are partying at some country house. We could do some shooting there.”

  “It’s a thought.” Yuri liked the English custom of shooting on private estates. He enjoyed the wholesale slaughter of game birds.

  Raf lifted his brows. “So where are we supposed to meet this buyer?”

  “Outside the Madeline.”

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Yuri was swearing so loudly, Raf shut the door to the bedroom so the Ritz security wouldn’t come running.

  “The fucking ring is gone!!! That BITCH had to have taken it!! I’m going to STRANGLE her with my bare hands!”

  The bellowing invective continued unabated, as Yuri tore the bedroom apart looking for Catherine the Great’s emerald coronation ring, which they were supposed to deliver in an hour.

  Pawing through the disarray of clothing on the floor, he glared at Raf. “I could use a little help here, dammit!”

  Raf looked up from the bed where he’d been lounging, his wine bottle still in hand. “You’ve emptied the safe, upended every drawer, and ripped apart the closets. Where would you like me to look?”

  “Fucking up your ass might be an idea!”

  “If only,” Raf calmly replied. “Look, the ring is obviously gone, along with the ladies and their luggage. You can tear this place apart, but Lisa must have watched you open your closet safe. The jewelry wasn’t in your luggage with the pearls. You and I both know it. But she didn’t take it all—just the ring; it could be worse.” Ignoring Yuri’s incredulous look, Raf said, “It’s true. What if she’d taken the entire set of emerald jewelry? Look, just give the buyer a call, postpone for a day or so, and we’ll go and get the damned ring. If you think Lisa really has it.”

  “If fucking if? Who the hell else would have taken it! Mercenary BITCH!”

  “Okay, then. Call your guy. Tell him you have to postpone.”

  “Jesus,” Yuri muttered, suddenly faced with cold reality. “My father’s going to shit. It wasn’t just the ring.” A look of fear crossed his face. “The key to our Zurich safe deposit box was under the lining of the ring case. I thought it would be extra safe there.”

  “Jesus.” Even Raf who never worried about anything sat up and set the bottle down. “That key could be worth a lot to the wrong person.”

  “You think?” Yuri snapped.

  “Especially if they know it’s yours.”

  “Especially if Lisa hands it over to some of her druggie friends who always need money and aren’t above ransom demands.”

  “Okay, okay, we have to stay calm. We’re just going to have to postpone until we figure out what to
do. There’s no other choice. Look, I’ll call my dad, and he can call yours. That way you don’t have to talk to your old man, and we’ll buy ourselves some time.”

  Dropping into a chair, Yuri ran his fingers through his four-hundred-dollar haircut and nibbled on his lower lip. He had a diminishing array of options. His father was not a reasonable man, although reason wouldn’t get you very far in the Russian mafia. Violence and fear, dog-eat-dog vengeance was the orthodox model. “What the hell are you going to say to your old man if you call him?” he muttered.

  “I’ll say the bitch stole the ring and we’re going to get it back. I won’t mention the key. It should be simple enough to get them both back. It’s not as though Lisa can refuse to give them to us.” Raf’s smiled tightly. “Especially with an automatic pointed at her head.”

  Yuri’s frown eased. In dread of his father’s fury, he’d panicked. But if Raf’s plan succeeded, they’d have a few days to turn this fiasco around. “Okay. Call your father. Tell him we’re on our way to get the ring. Tell him all the other jewelry is accounted for. In the meantime, I’ll check with Lisa’s friend Martine who lives in Malibu; she and Lisa talk to each other a dozen times a day. She’ll know where the bitch went.” With his spirits reviving, Yuri gave a thumbs up. “Thanks for the cool head.”

  “You’ve saved my ass often enough. I’ll tell my father it might take us a couple days and have him reschedule with the buyer.” Raf grinned. “It’ll be more official if the call comes from my father. And what the hell, I’ve never been to Baku. I hear it’s hot this time of year.”

  A short time later, the buy had been rescheduled for Zurich, since the buyer would be there next week. Raf’s father had been amenable as usual, and Martine had helpfully informed Yuri that Lisa and Chantel were flying back to L.A. on Johnny Patrick’s jet. To Yuri’s heated query about whether Johnny was aboard, she’d been able to assure him that her friends were flying back alone.

  Yuri checked his high-end watch, which colorfully displayed three time zones with or without alarm options. “They’re four hours ahead of us, probably more like six by the time we get our plane off the ground. That’s not bad though. We’ll be in L.A. by midnight. An hour to her place and then”—his smile was malicious—“we’ll see how good an actress Lisa really is…”