Free Hostage Page 23

  Blimey, but the guy is ace at this. Within minutes of sauntering in here, he’s got Yineris in the palm of his hand.

  Sure enough, she picks up her half-filled flute, empties it, and snatches up her purse as she gets to her feet. Without so much as a break in her confident strides, she weaves around the tables and makes a beeline for the bar.

  However, instead of going straight for Collin, she goes to the opposite end of the bar. Seems she intends on making him work a little harder for it.

  With a sexy, sizzling smile, he lifts a hand to the blonde’s neck and begins caressing her. She presses closer into him, touching him with purpose—his chest, his biceps, his…crotch?

  At this, Yineris’s eyes narrow to slits, and she flat-out scowls.

  Worried, I ask through my teeth, “What the hell is he doing?”

  Not worried, Jaxon replies, “His job.”

  “Mr. Cussler,” the hostess interrupts again, “your table is ready.”

  Jaxon is posing as William Cussler tonight. Yep. He has an actual driver’s license, a foreign passport, and credit card to support this name. A legit alias. Uh-huh. I’m in lust with a man who has legit aliases.

  Yes. There are more than one. He told me so.

  As we make to follow the hostess, I stumble on my unfamiliar high heels and almost twist my ankle. Le sigh.

  Remember when I said we were standing at the entrance to the restaurant? Well, that was a half truth. Jaxon was the one standing while I propped up against him, using him as a fulcrum.

  On our way to the city, we stopped at a boutique owned by one of Jaxon’s friends—aka a beautiful, petite Spaniard he’d obviously had a fling with at some point.

  “She needs to fit in” was all he said. And the next thing I know, I’m being given a makeover.

  So, tonight I’m wearing an off-white, off-the shoulder, skin-tight dress that ends just below the knees. Complementing this dress is a diamond-studded choker, a stunning diamond-studded cuff bracelet, diamond earrings, and a white-gold ring that spirals up the length of my middle finger—which, by the way, is extremely uncomfortable, seeing as it restricts my finger from moving. Why do people wear these things?

  While I’ve acclimatized to the tight dress and extravagant jewelry, the shoes are taking the piss with me. Strappy four-inch stilettos rob me of my balance. As a result, I’ve been using Jaxon as a human crutch.

  I cling to him as he walks, doing my damnedest not to face-plant and embarrass us both. While both Collin and Jaxon’s Spanish senorita had gushed about how hot I look, I just don’t feel it. All this getup does is make me self-conscious.

  Once we’re seated, the hostess hands us our menus and leaves.

  “Are we going full course?” I ask him. “This dress is so tight I don’t think I’ll be able to eat more than a single green pea.”

  His head is lowered as he scans the menu, but I still see the small curve to his lips. “We’re supposed to be big spenders, darling,” he murmurs to the menu. “You’ll blend in less if you order a salad than if you order a whole roasted pig, so just order the most expensive thing on the menu. You don’t have to eat it, just pick at it and act unimpressed. They’ll be more worried about whether you’re displeased with the meal rather than if you can afford it.”

  “Pick another endearment,” I tell him. “Darling makes me think of ducks.”

  His eyes sweep up from the menu, alight with humor. Briefly, he seems so…human. “Why ducks, sweet niblets?”

  “I don’t know. Ducks just look like darlings.” I frown. “Sweet niblets won’t work, either. That makes me think of corn. Or baby chicks.”

  He sets his menu down. “Why baby chicks, sugar dumpling?”

  “Same reason as darling. Also, no to sugar dumpling. That makes me think of Chihuahuas.”

  He clasps his hands on top his menu. “Why Chihuahuas, pookie poo?”

  “Because sugar—” I break off, noticing the laughter in his eyes. He’s enjoying this way too much. “Sod off.”

  He just grins wider.

  A waitress appears with a jug of ice water and takes our orders. I follow Jaxon’s suggestion of ordering the priciest dish on the menu, along with a bottle of champagne I don’t intend to drink.

  As the waitress leaves, I glance over to the bar. What do you know? Yineris is at Collin’s end, their barstools swiveled to face each other. Yineris’s long legs are provocatively crossed so the split of her dress falls and exposes her whole left leg. She’s reeling Collin in. Or so she thinks.

  I scan for the bottle blonde and spot her standing two stools down, shooting daggers at the back of Yineris’s head.

  “Dammit,” I grumble under my breath. “I can’t believe I missed Yineris’s hostile takeover.”

  Jaxon gives me an amused blink. “This is a job, sugar puffs. Not a Broadway play.”

  I glower at him. “Your endearments suck.”

  “That’s okay, cream pie.”

  Sending my gaze heavenward, I return my attention to the bar.

  From my peripheral vision, however, I see Jaxon pour water into both our glasses. He picks his up, leans back in his chair, and sips. “Perfect, pumpkin pudding. You’re doing a wonderful job of blending in.”

  I swing back to him. These endearments are truly ghastly. Is he mocking me? “How?” I ask.

  “You’re wholly mesmerized by the white-haired boy. Just like every other woman in here.”

  “I’m not mesmerized,” I hiss. “I’m taking notes.”

  “No need. I can teach you everything you need to know.”

  “Yeah?” I murmur through sarcasm. “Then why is Collin here?”

  “Timber, this really is a one-man job. This contract is meant for me, and me alone.” He sets his glass down and idly taps a finger to the stem while his eyes pierce mine. “Let me ask you this. How enthralled would you be if it was me sitting over there instead of Col?”

  Once again, I turn to the bar. Collin’s hand is on Yineris’s bare thigh, and neither of them are being shy about it. Raw desire and open sexual tension oozes between them. Collin is playing to the hilt, and Yineris is all but drooling.

  “I wouldn’t—” I start but clamp my mouth shut at a vivid mental picture of Jaxon in Collin’s position. The imagined scene causes me visceral pain.

  No. Bloody hell no. I most definitely would not be enthralled. I would burn. Not with lust but with jealousy and possessiveness, and possibly anger.

  “That’s what I thought.” A tiny smile tugs one corner of Jaxon’s mouth. “You can thank me later with one of your experiments.”

  My face heats. But then I become irritated. And annoyed and turned on and disgusted. So much so, I full-on scowl at him. “I’m thinking I liked you better when you were a brick.”

  At this, he throws his head back and laughs.

  And I think, beautiful. So bloody beautiful.

  Just like that, I’m not scowling or irritated anymore. I’m smiling like a fool. Mesmerized. By him. Only him.

  Like a bloody fool.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Jaxon was right.

  The restaurant manager is so crestfallen by my picking at the food that he offers us a complimentary two nights’ stay at the hotel.

  Once we’re through, the bill paid, Jaxon runs his right hand through his hair and then repeats the action with his left. A signal we’d all agreed upon. A message to Collin that it’s time to get Yineris to take him upstairs.

  I lift my champagne flute to my lips and slide my gaze over to Collin. He gives an infinitesimal nod.

  Jaxon gets to his feet and rounds the table, offering me the crook of his arm.

  Resisting the compulsion to make a quip about his feigned gallantry—this is a job—I stand and lock my arm through his. Together we move through the restaurant toward the bar.

  As we approach, Collin and Yineris are making to leave.

  Out of nowhere, a big black bloke appears, blocking our path. His back is to us, his att
ention on Yineris and Collin. I recognize him from the files we studied this morning. One of Yineris’s bodyguards.

  He proceeds to trail Yineris and Collin to the elevators, but Yineris stops and turns to him.

  Although the big, bulky bodyguard has blocked our path, Jaxon doesn’t change direction or even try to go around him. He walks straight into the man.

  “Whoa,” he mumbles with an uncharacteristic politeness. “I’m so sorry. This way, babe.” He steps around the big bloke with me in tow.

  As we pass the trio, Yineris tells her bodyguard, “Quédate aquí. Si usted no recibe una actualización de mí en una hora, llegar a la suite.”

  I mentally translate. Stay here. If you don’t get an update from me in one hour, come up to the suite.

  “Señorita da Costa,” he says, jerking his head to indicate Collin, “no estoy seguro de que es una buena idea.”

  No kidding that’s not a good idea.

  She waves him off. “Estaré bien. Él es inofensivo. Él es sólo una aventura americana barato.”

  I laugh inwardly when she assures her bodyguard Collin is harmless. Just a cheap American fling. If only she knew.

  Jaxon leads me around the hook of the bar, down to the very last stool in the darkest of corners, where the stool is half tucked inside a curved niche in the wall. In an ordinary bar, this is most likely where the creepers would hide. But I don’t question it. Jaxon never does anything without a reason.

  He unhooks our arms and sits on the stool already against the wall, then drags another stool up close. Too close. “Sit.”

  I do, but the stools are so close there’s no room for my legs unless I face away from him. Before I can point this out, he pats his thighs, a wordless suggestion to throw my legs over his.

  I gawk. “This is a public place. Full to capacity, I might add.”

  “No one can see anything in this corner. And the counter is too high for the bartender to notice my hand up your skirt.”

  Oh Jesus.

  My neck burns at the thought of his hand up my skirt. Is that his intention? To fondle me in the dark corner of a bar?

  Why does the idea turn me on so much?

  I glance over my shoulder. Collin and Yineris are gone, and the bodyguard is looking none too pleased about his boss’s decision to leave him behind.

  Bringing my attention back to Jaxon, I give in and swing my legs over his thighs. My dress rides up, giving him a full view and access to all that is now his.

  “What did you take from the bodyguard?” I ask.

  His hands on my bare thighs, he murmurs, “I need to be careful with you, Sunny Day.”

  Oh jeez. He’s clearly never going to give up this endearment thing. Not when he knows it bugs the crap out of me.

  “Your wisest words yet,” I agree. Still, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he stole something from the man when he bumped into him on purpose.

  He smooths his hands up my thighs, his thumbs settling at the apex, meeting each other tip to tip. I’m both sexually awakened and petrified. We’re in public, for crying out loud!

  “He’s the only guard here with her,” he tells my spread thighs. “Therefore, she would’ve seen to it that he had a key to her suite.”

  “Did you get it?” My breath hitches when his thumbs circle over my lace-covered mound.

  “If I tell you I did, will you let me go further?” he asks my panties. “With these sinful, corrupted hands?” His voice drops to a husky whisper, “You want to be corrupted, Timber?”

  He got it. Of course he got it. He wouldn’t be sitting here so unconcerned if he hadn’t.

  One thumb rubs over my clit and the word, “Yes,” is out before I can stop it.

  “Si, she says,” he mutters in a sardonic tone. “Si, to defiling her.”

  In one smooth motion, he shifts my knickers to the side and inserts a finger inside me.

  “Oh, God,” I moan aloud, then immediately slap my hand over my mouth.

  I glance over to check to see whether the bartender—or anyone—heard me. But the bartender is all the way down at the other end pouring shots, and everyone else is oblivious to us in this corner. I guess in an establishment filled with self-important moneybags, people aim to be seen rather than hide in dark corners.

  As Jaxon’s finger slides out and in again, I rock forward and press my face into his chest, muffling the sounds that refuse to be held back.

  Why is he doing this to me right now, right here? In the middle of a job?

  Because he knows he owns me. And because he owns me, he knows he can.

  “Si, she says,” he continues, “to all she knows is wrong. Si, she says, to giving me claim to all that’s hers.”

  His other hand joins in and…magic.

  “Si, she says, to her first beso. Si, she says, to her first touch.”

  My legs are trembling now.

  “Si, she says. Si. Si. Si, I’m yours. Solo tuyo.”

  It’s not until I’m mounting the back of my orgasm that I understand what he’s done. He just programmed me. So, by the time I’m seized by my climax, gripping his jacket, my legs stiffening, all that’s flowing from my tongue is, “Si, si, si. I’m yours. Only yours.”

  I’m so overcome with pleasure, I cannot even be angry. I’m nothing but a burning ball of shivers and moans, racing heartbeats and shallow breaths. Going on and on and on.

  It feels like forever before I’m finally released, euphoria’s spirit slowly evaporating like smoke.

  Once I regain control of my senses, I jerk away from him and punch his chest, one, two, three, four times. “Don’t ever do that again!”

  “You sure that’s what you want?” He flashes me a half grin and leans back on the barstool, his back into the wall. “No more orgasms? Ever?”

  “You know what I mean.” I punch him again for good measure. I want to cause him serious bodily harm, and that half smirk on his face serves only to piss me off. “Do not ever go into my head like that again. How dare you try to program me like a damn monkey?”

  “Try?” He’s smug now. So damn smug.

  I shoot my fist out to punch him again, but he catches it. “You’re hot when you’re mad.”

  I’m far from flattered.

  “You’re all mine, huh?” he says, cocky. “So…obsessive.”

  I swear to God, I growl at the wanker. “Those words are not mine. You put them in my head, you bloody con.”

  He stifles a laugh.

  “I mean it, Jaxon.” I point a threatening finger at him—at least I hope it’s threatening. “No more mind games. Stay. Out.”

  One eyebrow kicks up. “But you’re allowed to experiment?”

  “There’s a big difference.”

  He cocks his head as if to ask, “How?”

  Feeling bold—after having gotten my rocks off in public—I lean forward, grip the lapels of his vest, and brazenly lick my tongue up his throat. “You love my experiments.”

  I hear him swallow. But his next words are not what I expect. “The bodyguard just received the text. Time to go.”

  I let out a disappointed sigh. I was actually enjoying our little dark corner fondling, mind manipulation, and ire stoking.

  Alas, the plan was for Collin to swipe Yineris’s phone and send a message to the bodyguard telling him that she was safe and would be turning in for the night. Which is the signal to us that all is clear for us to sneak up to the suite.

  Jaxon leans forward to loop one long arm around my lower back and, without warning, he stands.

  Instinctively, my legs and arms lock around him to prevent an embarrassing fall. “Whoa. You could have warned me, mate.”

  He steps from between the barstools and lowers me to my feet. Then grasps the hem of my dress and tugs it down. While he smooths out the creases, he looks me in the eye with complete sincerity and says, “I never give warnings. When you’re with me, always expect…everything.”

  I believe him. I have felt and experienced the
truth in those words.

  He spins me, drapes an arm loosely around my waist, and leads me out of the bar and restaurant. I sneak a glance over to the bodyguard, but his back is turned to us. He’s chatting up the blonde who’d been all over Collin earlier.

  As if he’s been here a million times before, Jaxon strolls through the lobby and straight to the lift. There’s lots of chatter, wheeling suitcases, and busy bellboys, so no one bats an eye at us.

  Just before we reach the lift, a bellboy with a small two-wheel suitcase crosses our path, and the next thing I know, Jaxon is the one with the wheeling suitcase.

  Smooth. Real smooth.

  We enter the lift, Jaxon inserts the key, and “PH2” illuminates.

  The moment the doors slide shut, he unzips the front pocket of the suitcase, removes a little black roll-up pouch, and from it he selects a skinny screwdriver. He drops to one knee in front of the button panel and begins to undo the screws.

  “What are you doing?”

  The plot to infiltrate Yineris’s home, I know. But this hotel plan was last minute, so I’m not up to date on what’s going on.

  “The elevator opens directly into the penthouse suite, accompanied by an alerting ding,” he tells me. “I have to disable that alert.”

  “You can get that done before we get to the suite?” I ask doubtfully.

  All I receive is a humorless laugh.

  In seconds, he has the panel off, selects a clipper, and, with utter certainty and precision, clips the yellow wire that runs across the middle. And in the next couple of seconds, he has the whole thing screwed back together.

  After tucking the pouch back into the suitcase, he straightens and looks pointedly up at the floor number. We have three more floors to go.

  He glances smugly over at me.

  “Humility is one size fits all, and it looks good on anyone,” I say with an eye roll. “You should try it sometime.”

  “Jealousy is a hideous green that blinds the ugly and mars the beautiful.” He winks. “You should take it off.” He leans down and whispers, “You’re being marred, beautiful.”

  “Oh, sod off.”

  Mercifully, the doors slide open, and I hold my breath, waiting for the ding, but none comes. I relax.