Free Hostage Page 24

  “She doubts me,” he mutters under his breath. “I’m offended.”

  I don’t acknowledge that. He’s incorrigible.

  We exit the lift, and our own footfalls make me wince. The floors are marble.

  “Take off your shoes,” he instructs quietly as he toes off his own.

  Mine are a little more complicated, with all the straps going this way and that, so it takes me a bit longer.

  Once they’re off, he sets them aside and silently zips open the suitcase. He takes out a set of gloves and tosses them at me. Next, he gets out the faux vase.

  “Why aren’t you wearing gloves?” I whisper as I tug mine on.

  “I don’t have fingerprints.”

  Wha—uh. Seriously?

  “Pumice stone.”

  Oh. Interesting.

  With a gesture for me to follow, he moves with cautious steps through the foyer.

  We go left, only to stop short at the sound of a deep moan. He grabs my hand and tugs me along a tall potted plant.

  A gust of cool wind ruffles the sheer curtains and glides over our skin, whispering through the suite.

  He steps around the plant and suddenly stops short again, causing me to crash into his back. He’s looking straight ahead.

  I peek around him, and I heat so deep I know I’m crimson.

  The sliding glass doors off the living room are open, leading out to a long balcony with wrought iron railings. Out on the balcony are Collin and Yineris.

  With his back to the railing, Collin stands with his shirt unbuttoned, his trousers and boxers bunched at his ankles, and a nude Yineris is kneeling in front of him, her long hair dangling past her butt as her head bobs up and down.

  Collin’s head is thrown back, his eyes are closed, and his lips are parted as deep, pleasure-filled moans escape him.

  Suddenly, his eyes snap open, and I jump, heating with embarrassment, as if I’m the one caught in the act. Which, I guess, I kind of am.

  Yet, when he spots us, he shows no sign of embarrassment. Nope. He just winks at me and grins. Goddamn Collin.

  Shifting his gaze to Jaxon, he shakes his head, and jerks it to the right.

  We’re going the wrong way.

  Yineris’s head stops bobbing, and she makes as if to stand, but Collin slides his fingers in her hair and grips it hard, forcing her back to the act.

  She doesn’t appear to have a problem with his roughness. She goes right back to it, emitting a delighted moan.

  “Yes, baby…just like that. Shit, you Spaniards give the best head.”

  I don’t realize how engrossed I am in the scene until Jaxon grips me at the back of my neck and physically drags me to the right.

  “Sorry,” I mouth at him.

  We make it into the luxurious bedroom undetected, and I beeline for the closet, where I know most hotel safes are located. “This is too small to fit a vase,” I whisper before I realize I’m talking to myself.

  Jaxon went straight into the bathroom.

  I follow. He’s at the vanity, attempting to remove a huge mirror framed with dark wood from the wall, but it won’t budge.

  I quietly suggest, “Check for a hidden push button or lever.”

  He runs two fingers under the bottom of the frame, along the left side, over the top, then down the right side, where he suddenly pauses, and presses something.

  With a click, the right side of the mirror loosens from the wall and swings out like a door. When he opens it more, it reveals a safe—keypad entry.

  From his pocket, he withdraws a small pouch, zips it open, and takes out a little baggy of blue powder, a tiny brush, and a micro flashlight. Using the brush, he dusts some of the blue powder over the keypad, then whispers, “Turn out the lights.”

  I do so.

  He shines the teeny flashlight at the keypad, and the numbers 8, 0, 2, and 7 show fingerprints in neon green. When he punches in these numbers, the safe door swings open, offering up the prize.

  I turn the lights back on. He switches the two vases, relocks the safe, cleans off the keypad, rights the mirror, and we’re on the move again.

  The sex noises are louder as we slip through the bedroom. Yineris is screaming in pleasure, praising Collin’s prowess in her native tongue. As we move through the suite toward the lift, I can hear the slap of skin against skin, and Collin’s grunts and groans as he tells her how good she feels.

  I try to fight it, but I can’t help being turned on. What they’re doing, it sounds…exciting. It sounds… It sounds—

  I want that.

  At the elevator, I hit the call button while Jaxon crouches down and unzips the suitcase.

  With gentle care, he puts the vase in on its side amidst a nest of bubble wrap. I tug my gloves off and throw them in, and he zips it up again. He hands me my shoes, puts on his own, and grasps the handle of the suitcase. A little tighter than necessary.

  Soundlessly, the doors to the lift open, and we walk in. Jaxon hits the floor button, and as the doors close, he takes my shoes from my hands, drops to his knees before me, and taps my left foot.

  As I lift my foot and work it into the complication of straps, he mutters, “Control yourself, Timber.”

  Eyes squeezing shut, I draw in a breath. “I’m trying. But it just sounded so…hot.”

  Done with my left foot, he moves on to my right. “Did it? Or are you turned on because it’s Col?”

  “What?” I ask the top of his head. But he doesn’t respond. What the hell is that question? Is he serious? Is he still jealous of Collin?

  Once he’s done, he straightens and moves to stand beside me, shoulder to shoulder, gripping the handle of the suitcase, his grip as tight as his jaw. He stares straight ahead at the glossy, stainless-steel door.

  A realization dawns on me, and I can’t stop staring at the side of his face.

  “What?” he snaps, without looking at me.

  “Why did you take me up here with you?” I demand. “Snagging that key card from the bodyguard made the job even easier than it already was. You didn’t need me. At all. I could’ve waited in the lobby. Why did you bring me up?”

  It takes him damn near forever and a day to answer. “You wouldn’t have sta—”

  “I would have,” I cut him off. “I’d never want to do anything to foil a job. I would’ve obeyed. I would’ve stayed, and you know that. So tell me the truth.”

  As I expected, he doesn’t tell me the truth.

  So I tell it for him. “You wanted me to see. You wanted me to see Col and that woman. You were hoping seeing him like that, with her, would repel me and turn me off him. And to make sure of it, you deliberately went the wrong way. There’s no way you, Jaxon King, didn’t research the layout of the hotel before coming here. You already knew where the bedroom was, but you wanted me to see them. And you made sure to get me off first, so it wouldn’t affect me in the way you didn’t want it to affect me.” I shake my head, too annoyed to be angry. “Because you’re still jealous—”

  “You almost let him fuck you!” he explodes. He snaps around to face me, and I jump back. I’ve never witnessed him react so vehemently to anything before.

  As if realizing he’s just lost control in an un-Jaxon-like manner, he closes his eyes, inhales deeply, and shakes his head.

  When he reopens them, he takes a step back from me. “I hated seeing you with him even when I thought you were hooking up. Then I find out the truth, I think you’re all mine, and I rush home from a long job…and there you are on my couch, offering him what I thought was mine to take. I’m not jealous, Timber, I’m angry.”

  Guilt fills me up like a lemonade jug, overflowing with both sweet and sour. But I put a lid on it, because I shouldn’t be feeling guilty about a damn thing. “Oh, don’t act like the victim here. When you found out the truth, you weren’t happy that I’m all yours. You were pissed. You hated me. You ran from me. You went and slept with your precious Nadine. And disappeared for days with no word.”

  “Hey, I di
dn’t sleep with Nadine. I slept in Ed’s old room,” he protests. “And I wasn’t pissed, nor could I ever hate you. I just…you conned me. That doesn’t happen to me very often, and I guess I was just— I dunno, it’s an ego thing. But pissed wasn’t it. I didn’t disappear, either. We had things to take care of. And when we’re working, we’re prohibited from contacting anyone. That’s why you never hear from me.”

  “What do—”

  “It’s classified, Timber. I cannot discuss what we do. Except that it’s serious and often dangerous. Please don’t ask again, so I’m not forced to be an asshole.”

  Although I hate it that he’s prohibited from telling me, I nod my understanding, because I do understand. I’ve worked on projects that I’m bound by contract not to talk about, too. So, it’s something I’m just going to have to deal with.

  He moves in close, crowds me, brushes the back of his knuckles down the side of my neck, his eyes boring into mine. “I don’t care if you want him more than you want me. Because I want you. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. And by the time I’m done with you, you won’t be able to tolerate anyone’s touch but mine. ’Cause I intend to con my way into your heart, Timberly Day.”

  Right at that moment, when my heart is punching out of its home, fighting to jump straight into his chest and dwell with his heart, the doors to the lift slide apart.

  Yineris’s bodyguard and the leftover bottle blonde stand on the other side.

  I hold my breath, wondering if he can suspect anything from just looking at us.

  With his beefy arm looped around the blonde’s waist, he looks at Jaxon and smirks, as if giving him a silent high five.

  Playing the game, Jaxon kisses me quick but deep, with tongues and everything, before pulling back to smirk at the guard.

  With a wave of his hand, he motions for me to go ahead of him.

  I throw the bodyguard a genuinely sheepish smile and relax, once I realize he doesn’t suspect a thing. Then there’s a sharp smack, and a stinging sensation shoots through my left butt cheek. I yelp in pain and shock.

  And I hear the deep, rumbling laugh of the bodyguard. I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to turn around glare at Jaxon.

  The bloody bastard just spanked me!

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “You know he didn’t need to take you up to the suite, right?”

  I glance up at Collin, who’s just unlocked the door to the New York flat, and I throw a backward glance to the glossy black Bentley driving away from the curb into the busy afternoon traffic.

  Back in Spain, after the switch, Jaxon and I had to wait in the car outside until Yineris was done having her fill of Collin—which went on until about fifteen minutes before she was to meet her buyer.

  It meant hours of car confinement for us, something Jaxon seemed accustomed to. I was not.

  After talking him near to death about the world and everything in it, he found a way to shut me up: we played strip poker, with him losing on purpose so he could be naked, and I could conduct more experiments on him.

  By the time Collin returned, we were all very, well, satisfied.

  We waited for Yineris to leave, tailed her, witnessed the sale—neither party was aware the vase is a fake—then boarded a waiting jet and made our way back to New York.

  An Escalade picked us up from the airport. And a black Bentley waited on the curb when we arrived at the flat.

  For Jaxon, apparently.

  He helped me out of the Escalade, reeled me into him and whispered, “Pack an overnight bag. I’ll be back to pick you up at seven. Sharp.” Then he kissed me something fierce and deep, ducked into the waiting Bentley, and was gone.

  Turning my attention back to Collin, I mumble in answer to his question, “Yeah. I know.”

  We enter the house, and the door clicks shut behind us. “That job, he could’ve done it himself. He just wanted you to see me like that. He’s a cold, calculating prick.”

  “I know.”

  Collin stops as we’re about to mount the stairs up to the main floor. “You know?”

  “Yes,” I answer through a yawn. Even after having slept through the seven-hour flight, I feel a bit unrested. “And I called him out on it.”

  “He admitted it?”

  “He didn’t deny it.”

  Collin’s eyebrows high five his hairline. “Huh. Dude must really have it bad for you.”

  “He doesn’t.” I stump past him up the stairs, peeved and frustrated and confused. “He’s just…a muddler.”

  “A what?” Collin chokes out a laugh. “What on God’s green earth is a muddler?”

  “Jaxon,” I half-shout, throwing out an arm in frustration. “Jaxon King is a God’s green earth muddler. He gets inside my head and tangles all the wires and trips all my nerves, and muddles me!”

  “You’re certifiably insane, Nerd Girl.” He eyes me as if I ought to be in the loony bin. Then he pops out a smug grin. “Although, I will say it’s a sweet boost to the confidence knowing the boss is jealous of me. Who would’ve thought iron man has real, actual feelings like a normal human being? All this time, I thought he was a chip-controlled super robot.”

  I all but kick the door open. “Yeah, but it kind of sucks that jealousy and restrained anger are the only emotions we’re getting from him.”

  Collin shrugs, closing the door behind us. “I’ll take whatever I get. Can’t imagine what he’s going to be like when you’re gone.” Collin heads for the stairs, taking them two at a time to his room.

  I focus on those last three words. When you’re gone. It’s a reminder of what I’d almost forgotten. I’m not here to lock down a boyfriend, I’m here to find the music box.

  When you’re gone.

  Because I will be gone, and I cannot afford to let myself forget that. I cannot afford to let myself fall for the man, or become attached. I need to focus on finding the box and refrain from allowing Jaxon to derail my mission.

  With renewed resolution, I march off to his room. I must stay focused on what’s important. And having sex with Jaxon is not what’s important.

  In the bedroom, I dump my travel bag and collapse across the bed. Contemplate the ceiling. Get out my cell, check some emails, organize my inbox in the order of importance. Skim a few Flipboard suggested articles, then toss my phone aside and contemplate the ceiling some more.

  Should I go ahead and pack an overnight bag for seven o’clock like Jaxon ordered? Or should I feign menstrual cramps and take some time to un-muddle myself? Should I—

  Wait, overnight bag?

  The whole mental pep talk about staying focused on what is important that I just had with myself less than five minutes ago? Christ, it didn’t even last an hour.

  Disappointed in myself, I roll onto my side, facing Raphael, the unfriendly ninja turtle. His eyes can be so frigging judgmental at times.

  Like now. He’s judging me for being weak and pathetic when it comes to Jaxon. I mean, I hate his muddling, but I do love his orgasms. I’m hooked and addicted. Yes, Timberly Day has succumbed to being enslaved by sexual pleasure.

  I’m disgusted with myself.

  “Don’t you look at me like that,” I snap at Raphael. “You have no idea what it’s like to be human.”

  His mouth set in a perpetual grim line, he glares back through that stupid red mask of his.

  I stick my tongue out at him, then sit up cross-legged, facing the mutant full-on. “So, tell me, how many women’s minds have you witnessed him blow? Twenty? Two?”

  Raphael continues to stare, and I question my sanity for having a one-sided conversation with an inanimate object.

  “Oh, come on, Raph. He said it himself—you hold all his secrets. So tell me, how many?”

  Right on the tail of my own words, like a sledgehammer to the head, it hits me—

  Raphael.

  Raph holds all my secrets. So I gotta keep him close…

  Raphael holds all his secrets.

  Raphael is the key to getting
behind that wall! He must be!

  Hastily, I scoot off the bed and cross the room to him. I reach a hand out to touch him and pause to whisper, “I’m so sorry, but I’m going to molest you for a few minutes.”

  He doesn’t object, so I take that as a “Yeah, baby!” and begin patting down the mutant.

  I poke his eyes. Remove and replace his mask. I feel and prod and fondle. I examine the swordlike weapons on his hips. I undo all that can be undone and then redo them.

  Nothing gives.

  I check his shell—beautifully carved wood, high-polished. A thick brown belt straps around from the front and cuts across it. Undoing the strap again, I toggle the shell this way and that, that way and this. And then—

  Click.

  The shell unlatches from the right and swings open like a door, revealing a slim, rectangular touch screen.

  The virtual keys that appear on this screen, however, are not numbers but letters. Which means the password is a phrase or a significant word.

  Ugh! Of course, the bastard wouldn’t make it easy.

  Impulsively, I punch in R-A-P-H-A-E-L. The screen beeps red with a warning that I have only three tries left.

  Damn. It’s got every right to warn me, because I’ve clearly become stupid overnight. How can the password to Raphael be Raphael?

  Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and count to ten, beckoning the smart, sensible Timberly. Not this lust-filled Timberly who’s allowing her brilliance and intelligence to be eroded by addictive orgasms.

  Once I feel the original Timberly overthrow the dumb, impetuous one, I reopen my eyes, reactivate my brain, and jump into action.

  First things first, I shut the bedroom door and jam a chair under the knob. Second, I get a laptop and research the crap out of the ninja turtles. Specifically, Raphael.

  Half an hour later, I’ve not found much. No popular phrases or special words. It seems my only option is to read the comics. Except that would arouse suspicion. Jaxon knows I’m a nonfiction reader. My sudden interest in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle comics would definitely tip him off.

  Tapping my fingertips absently against my lips, I frown at Raphael and think harder. He’s described as the bad boy of the group. Girls love bad boys, don’t they? Bad boys are usually the ones who get all the girls…or they fall tragically in love with one ill-fated girl. Right?