Fireborn

CHAPTER 6

We were deep in the trees by the time the helicopter clattered overhead. It swept over the meadow several times, then moved on, doing similar checks of nearby areas.

“You’re not going to be able to hide a red pickup in the trees for very long. Sooner or later, they will spot it.”

“I know.” He was outside, leaning against the roof of his branch-covered truck, his gaze on the skies. “And I don’t think we should evade them for long. I just wanted time to plan.”

“There’s no need to plan,” I said bluntly. “Our next step is obvious. We have to find and talk to this Marcus Radcliffe the third.”

He looked at me. The smile that teased his lips was decidedly sexy. “At the risk of repeating myself, where the hell have you been all my life?”

“Enjoying a peaceful life,” I said. “And given they’re probably trying to pinpoint us through our cell phones right now, shouldn’t we get moving?”

“Yep.” He jumped into the truck, started it up, then drove through the trees and out onto the road. Once there, he floored it. Within no time, we were back on the Calder Freeway cruising toward Melbourne.

“Okay, as I said earlier, Radcliffe is a hard man to get close to. He does, however, have two vices—gambling and women. He’s a regular at Crown’s VIP gaming lounges and always finishes the night with a lovely lady on his arm.”

“I am not going to be one of those lovely ladies. I don’t mind investigating bad guys, but I’m not going to bed them.”

“And I wouldn’t ask you to,” he said, his annoyed tone softened by the amusement teasing his lips. “Especially not before I’ve had a chance to do so.”

I smiled. “And here I was thinking that particular goal had gone out the window.”

His gaze came to mine, and the rawness of desire so evident in those green depths had me struggling to breathe. Pinpricks of sweat broke out across my skin and the flames within surged, eager to taste the heat of him, to draw it deep inside and savor its sweetness.

“Trust me,” he said softly. “That particular goal is stronger than ever.”

I resisted the urge to fan myself and pulled my gaze away from his as I tried to get my breathing under control.

“So how are we going to separate Radcliffe from his people?” I hesitated, and grinned as I added, “Or should that be, how am I going to separate him?”

“I suspect all you’ll need to do is wear something sexy and offer him a room number. It’s happened before, from what the croupiers have said.” He grimaced. “Of course, the problem with that is that we first have to get you away from your police tail.”

“Let me worry about that,” I said, knowing our biggest problem wouldn’t be me escaping a tail, but rather surviving the explosion of anger from the man who would undoubtedly be waiting when I returned home. “Let’s just concentrate on the finer details of ensnaring Radcliffe.”

Jackson pulled to a stop outside the Ascot Vale railway station and gave me a somewhat dubious look. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

I shook my head. “I know Sam. He’ll drag you away, lock you up, and interrogate the shit out of you. And that won’t be at all conducive to our plans.”

“But he can’t legally retain me for too long, not without charging me.”

“The law doesn’t actually define what is a reasonable amount of time here in Victoria,” I said, “and, as I said, Sam’s not regular police. He’s part of some sort of special unit. I suspect the restraints on what they can and can’t do are somewhat lax.”

Especially given they were apparently killing the red plague people willy-nilly and had threatened to do the same to anyone who knew too much about them.

Jackson still didn’t look happy. I leaned across the seat and kissed him. It was meant to be just a short, friendly peck, but it turned into something a whole lot more fiery.

“Damn, woman,” he said, his breathing harsh on my lips. “We really need to find some time for ourselves.”

“Tonight.” I quickly opened the door and got out of the truck before the urge to do more than just kiss him became too hard to ignore.

He drove off fast—as if he, too, needed to get away before he gave in to what burned unsatisfied between us—and I made my way home.

Sam was waiting near the front doors. No surprise there.

“Just what the fuck did you think you were doing?” he all but exploded the minute I got close. “Losing our tail was bad enough, but then to take out the red cloak like that—”

“Are we going to do this in the middle of the street,” I interrupted calmly, “or would you at least like some privacy and a cup of coffee?”

“Privacy and coffee,” he growled, and headed for the front entrance.

I stepped in front of him and pressed one hand against his chest, stopping him. Once, his body heat would have flowed through my fingertips as sweetly as a kiss. Now, though, there was nothing. It was as if all his heat had been sucked away by whatever had happened to him in the last year.

“I told you before, I don’t want you near my apartment. Not any more than necessary.” I nodded toward the semi-vacant Portside. “We go over there, or we go back to your station.”

“Portside,” he snapped, then motioned sharply for me to lead the way.

He followed me across, and it was all I could do not to rub my arms against the fear creeping across my flesh. It wasn’t just the force of his anger; it was the intensity of the darkness within it. It felt like he was barely containing it.

And yet, once again, there was also a tiny sliver of emotion that wasn’t dark or cold, but rather one that spoke of concern. Or was I simply feeling that because I so desperately wanted it to be true?

I selected a table away from the other patrons and we ordered our drinks when the waitress came.

“Okay,” he said, once she’d gone. “Explain what the hell you thought you were doing.”

“No,” I said. “Not until you start answering some questions yourself.”

“Emberly—” he growled, that darkness within him crowding even closer.

“No.” I crossed my arms and met his gaze calmly, although I was far from calm on the inside. “I want to know what’s going on, Sam. I want to know why those things are still after me. I want to know how the hell they can even come after me, given they’re supposedly infected by a vampirelike virus and should have been crisped by daylight. But most of all, I want to know who the fuck you’re working for.”

He stared at me silently. Though there was little change in his expression, I had a notion that a battle was being waged deep within him. I waited, hoping the right side won. Hoping that darkness didn’t.

Eventually, he leaned back in his chair and blew out a breath. It was a sound of frustration and annoyance combined. “I work for the Paranormal Investigations Team—or PIT, as it is more commonly known. We sit between the police and the military, and we’re sent in to deal with problems that involve the paranormal.”

“Define problems.”

He shrugged. “Any activity involving paranormal beings that sits either within or without the law and provides a potential threat to humanity.”

Any activity? That suggested they had scarily wide-ranging powers. Even more than I’d suspected. “How long have you been with them?”

He hesitated. “Just over a year.”

I smiled up at the waitress as she delivered his coffee and my tea, then, once she’d left, said, “But you’re human. I would have thought a team designed to handle paranormal creatures and crime would consist mainly of paranormal personnel.”

A human, even one as fast and as strong as Sam, wouldn’t have much hope against a vampire—or most other nonhumans, for that matter—even if he was armed to the teeth. And while white-ash stakes and silver bullets did work, vampires moved so fast they could be on you before you were able to use a weapon—something I knew from experience.

“A good percentage of the team is nonhuman,” he said eventually. “But there are humans on the team—although they are generally blessed with extraordinary abilities.”

“So telepaths, pyrokinetics, stuff like that?”

He nodded. “They’re mostly used in off-field areas, but they are sometimes placed in the less . . . tenuous . . . field operations.”

“None of which explains why you’re out in the field. You’re human, but you certainly haven’t any sort of psychic abilities.”

“I’m there because I can be.” His voice was flat. Obviously, it was a subject he wasn’t about to get into. Not yet, anyway. And I very much suspected that if I pushed, he’d clam up totally, and I still had plenty of other questions. “So why are the red cloaks still after me?”

“That I don’t know.” He frowned as he dumped several sugars into his coffee—which was surprising given he never used to take sugar. “They obviously still want something, but what, I have no idea.”

“But even that night I saved your ass, they came after me. And that was before Mark was killed.”

He nodded. His gaze, when it met mine, held little of the recent darkness. All I could see was concern—not just about what was happening, but for my safety. It was gone almost as soon as I registered it, but it nevertheless had hope fluttering.

Which was stupid. Even if the man I knew did still exist somewhere beneath the cloak of darkness and anger, he’d certainly shown no desire toward me. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“But,” he said, “we’re not entirely sure Baltimore’s killing is connected to his work on the red plague virus—the way he was killed is not the norm for them.”

“Meaning if they’d been involved, he would have died the same way Professor Wilson died?”

His gaze suddenly sharpened, and again a tremor ran down my spine. Yet I wasn’t entirely sure that tremor was all fear. Then he all but spat, “Jackson Miller.”

“Yes.” My voice was noncommittal. “It seems you were right. My meeting him wasn’t a coincidence.”

“I should break his fucking neck—”

“Touch him,” I warned, “and I’ll break yours.”

He studied me for several long minutes. “So, it’s like that, is it?”

“Yes,” I said, though it wasn’t. Not yet. “He’s at least been honest with me, Sam. Unlike you.”

“I’m being more honest right now than I fucking should be,” he growled. “Don’t push me, Emberly.”

I didn’t. “Why didn’t those things burn up in daylight?”

“Because the earth’s ozone layer blocks ninety-seven to ninety-nine percent of UV radiation from entering the atmosphere.”

“But vampires still burn when touched by sunlight.”

“Yes, but that’s because there’s three bands of ultraviolet radiation in sunlight—UVA, UVB, and UVC. It’s the combination of all three that kills vampires, whereas the red plague victims seem only affected by UVA—or black light, as it’s known.”

I frowned. “But from what I understand, UVA is the main source of radiation hitting earth, meaning the red cloaks should burn in sunlight.”

“It’s the main source, yes, but for some reason, when it’s combined with the other two types, the red plague victims are immune. That was the second part of your boss’s brief—pinpoint what gave the red plague victims their immunity.”

“I bet there are quite a few vamps in town who’d love to get their hands on that sort of research.” Especially the sindicati—which was a point in favor of Jackson’s suspicions they were involved somewhere along the line.

“Given he was killed at night, it’s certainly an option we’re exploring. The only flaw is that vampires can’t cross thresholds uninvited, and that invitation has to be freely given.”

I nodded. “Which doesn’t preclude the possibility of vampires hiring human thugs to do their dirty work. Did you find any prints in Mark’s apartment?”

“That,” he said, somewhat dryly, “is not information I’m about to hand over to someone who is not a police officer. Why did you and Miller drive away from the accident?”

The darkness in him seemed to have receded, but my reaction to his closeness hadn’t. It was a constant push-pull of fear and desire that was as confusing as hell.

“It wasn’t an accident,” I said bluntly. “And we both know it. We were intending to question them, but one came at us—”

“There were two?” he interrupted sharply. “We only found one.”

I nodded. “The second one was shot and cindered.”

He frowned. “Your flames shouldn’t stop them.”

“They didn’t. The bullets in the head did. My flames just rendered his body to ash, which blew away on the wind.”

“But why would your flames work in daylight but not at night?”

“Well, technically they did work; it’s just that the UV lights burned them quicker.”

“But Rochelle’s flames can’t render them to ash.”

“That would be because a Fae doesn’t create flames; they can only use and control them. And a regular fire, however hot, is totally different from the flames of a phoenix.” I couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm from my voice. “We’re spirits and we burn far hotter, trust me.”

Just for a moment, the past seemed to echo in the blue of his eyes. Him and me and the heat that had once burned unquenched between us. A heat that could still burn between us if the dying embers were given the slightest chance of rebirth. Then the echoes were gone, and all that was left was the anger of our final words. Words I doubted we could ever get past.

I pulled my gaze from his and drank some tea. “Did you find anything of interest in Baltimore’s notes?”

“Not as yet.”

“What about Wilson?”

“What about him?”

I frowned at him. “Well, why was he taken out by the red cloaks?”

“We don’t know.”

“And wouldn’t tell me even if you did?”

He half smiled. Or maybe that should be quarter smiled, because it was little more than a ghost, barely there and yet breathtaking nonetheless.

“Jackson Miller is a private investigator who’s been hired to investigate Wilson’s murder. I’m not about to give him—via you—that sort of information.” He paused, and that ghost disappeared. “You should keep away from him, Emberly. This case is far more dangerous than you know, and Miller is renowned for not knowing when to retreat.”

“Which sounds a whole lot like someone I once knew.” And it was what had made him such a good cop. But was it also responsible for the darkness I sensed in him today? Had he finally run into a situation that went way beyond his control? A situation far worse than having to shoot his own brother?

“Which is why I’m giving you a warning, Red. I know just how badly things can go.” He half reached out, as if to caress my cheek; then his fingers clenched and he abruptly stood up. “Please be sensible. Don’t stick your nose into the investigation, and don’t skip out on your tail again.”

I leaned back in my chair and met his gaze for several heartbeats. “Fine,” I said eventually. “I’ll be sensible.”

Relief sparked in his blue eyes, but there was also a touch of disbelief—understandable, I guess, given he saw me as nothing more than a lying adulteress. “One of us will be in contact if we need anything else from you.”

“What if I need to contact you for some reason?”

He hesitated, then reluctantly reached into his pocket and drew out a card. On it was a cell number. Nothing else, not even his name.

“Use that. It’s a central number, unconnected to me or the team, but any message you leave will be shunted to me as a matter of priority.”

Which was better than nothing, I supposed. I accepted the card and shoved it into my purse. “Thanks.”

He nodded and left. No good-bye, no nothing. He just turned around and walked away. Like it was easy.

I rubbed my eyes wearily and wondered when the hell this stupid, irrational pining would stop. He might be the love of this life span, but that just meant he was the one destined to burn my heart to ashes. The sooner I accepted it and got over him, the better.

Which is always easier to say than do, my inner voice whispered.

I sighed, flicked out some cash for our drinks, then made my way home. Rory was getting ready for his evening shift at the fire station.

“Hey,” he said, a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eyes. His night with Rosie had obviously gone well. “What’s happening?”

“It seems the gods are still pissed off with me.” I dropped down onto the sofa and gave him a brief update on everything that had happened over the course of the day.

“Christ,” he said, handing me a cup of tea. “You’ve well and truly jumped out of your staid and boring existence, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” I muttered, and lightly blew on the tea to cool it.

He sat down on the coffee table, his arms crossed on his knees. “I’m gathering you’re intending to ignore Sam’s warning and meet with Jackson tonight?”

And therein lay the difference between Sam and Rory—Rory knew immediately what I’d do. Sam, even after all that had happened between us, wanted to believe I’d keep my word. But then, what chance had Sam ever had to really understand me? I’d been too fearful of his reaction, too desperate to enjoy my time with him before fate stepped in to once again destroy everything, to tell him what I was. And by the time I’d tried, it was altogether too late.

“Sam’s got people watching me, so I’m planning to sneak off at sunset. Is the roof code still the same?”

Rory nodded. He was more attached to his firebird form than I was and tended to risk evening flights at least a couple of times a week—some of them from the rooftop and some out in the country. “Just be careful. And if you and Jackson need some extra muscle, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks.”

He smiled, leaned forward, and kissed my forehead. “Have fun. And don’t be surprised if Sam discovers your absence sooner rather than later. Whatever I might think of him otherwise, he’s a very good cop.”

“I know.” I shrugged. “But I just can’t sit around and do nothing.”

“Well, you could. But you’ve always liked a challenge, and that’s what this has turned into.” He paused, then added, a wry edge in his voice, “And with this case, there’s both a mystery and a man.”

“I’m not interested in Sam—”

“Did I specify which man I was talking about?” he interrupted mildly.

“No.” I tore my gaze away from the amusement in his. Damn him to hell for knowing me too well.

“As I said, just be careful. I’d hate to see him hurt you again.”

“He won’t.” It was said with determination. After all, a phoenix’s heart was supposed to break only once each lifetime, and I’d already had my turn.

“Good.” He squeezed my knee, then rose and continued getting ready for work.

By the time I’d finished my drink, he’d left. I stripped off my clothes and had a shower, but as I was heading into my bedroom, my phone beeped. I walked into the living room and dug it out of my purse, noting in the process the glint in the window opposite. The old guy was watching again.

I shook my head at his persistence and looked at the text. It was from Jackson, and all it said was Rubbish.

Make of that what you will, Sam, I thought with a smile. I tucked the phone back into its pocket inside the purse, then went back into my bedroom, selecting a simple A-line dress for now and a more figure-hugging silk for later in the evening.

Once my shoes had gone into the backpack, I slung it over my shoulder and headed out. But I went up the fire escape to the roof, not down in the elevator to the lobby.

The evening air had grown cool, and the setting sun was beginning to render the sky with vivid splashes of color. I walked across to the cooling towers and waited for the splashes to grow, the breeze in my hair and excitement in my veins. I might not take firebird form very often, but it always made my blood sing when I did.

As the sunset began to reach its zenith, I unzipped the back of my dress so that the pack touched skin. It wouldn’t be enveloped in the magic that allowed me to shift from one form to another if it wasn’t. Then I closed my eyes and called forth the firebird.

She came in a rush that was fierce and frightening, a storm of energy that swept me from flesh to fire and then bird in quick succession, leaving me breathless and more than a little dizzy.

Damn, I obviously need to do this more often.

It was a thought that quickly disappeared as I raised glowing red-gold wings and leapt for the sunset-painted skies. It was a glorious sensation, and the urge to simply fly and enjoy not only the freedom but the power of the evening was a hard one to resist.

But Sam was down there somewhere and, as Rory had noted, he wasn’t stupid. He knew I was a phoenix, and it wouldn’t take him long to connect the appearance of a firebird to me.

So I swung around and headed into the city. Jackson and I were supposed to meet at the Crown Towers, but given I didn’t have easy access to their rooftop, I flew around until I found a building within walking distance that had an external fire escape. I shifted form as I flew down, landing half-crouched but on two feet. After doing up my dress, I made my way down the metal stairs and walked to the Crown.

The woman at the rather opulent reception desk gave me a warm smile. “How may I help you?”

“I have a booking under the name of Tip.”

“Just a moment.” She tapped some keys, then gave me a key card. “Mr. Tip has already checked in. Room number is 15-8. Elevators are just along the corridor to your right.”

“Thanks,” I said, and headed up to our floor. I walked along the bright corridor until I found room 15-8, then swiped the card through the slot. The door swished open, revealing a large living area bathed in the remnants of the fading sunset. Jackson was standing near the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. His auburn hair was damp, curling lightly around his ears and at the nape of his neck, and he wasn’t wearing anything more than a towel wrapped around his waist.

He turned around as I entered, revealing a body every bit as lean and hard as it had felt under his shirt. But it wasn’t so much his magnificent physique that had my heart slamming against the walls of my chest, but rather the raw hunger in his eyes. It radiated out from him in an all-consuming wave, and it momentarily snatched my breath and threatened to buckle my knees.

The fire Fae had finished waiting.

The door swished shut behind me. I slung my backpack onto the nearest sofa and walked across to the windows.

“Amazing view.” My gaze was on the city vista laid out before us, but every other sense was attuned to the man standing so close.

“Isn’t it?” His voice was little more than a deep rumble of sound. But I knew his gaze was on me rather than the view, and the heat of it had pinpricks of sweat skittering across my skin.

I swallowed heavily. God, I was a bundle of raw nerves and heady excitement—anyone would think I was a virgin on her first date.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.

I nodded. “A glass of red wine would be lovely.”

I watched his reflection walk across to the minibar and tried to think of something—anything—other than the desire to rip the towel away from his waist and caress the body underneath.

“What time does Radcliffe usually get here?” I asked eventually.

“I’m told most nights it’s somewhere between ten and midnight,” he said, walking back.

He stopped and handed me a glass. The wine inside was dark red, its aroma rich and berry filled, with hints of chocolate and wood spices. I took a sip, but barely even tasted it. My senses were too attuned to the man now standing behind me.

“What about his guards? If he’s so security conscious, I doubt he’d walk into the room of a stranger—however much he might want to fuck her—without first letting his guards do a sweep.”

“I have prepared a hiding spot,” he murmured. “But let’s not talk about that right now.”

The sound of my dress’s zipper sliding down seemed abnormally loud in the brief silence. Expectation tumbled through me and my breathing quickened. I took a sip of wine and ignored the urge to just turn around and take what we both so obviously wanted. Sometimes, a slow seduction was infinitely better than the act itself—although I very much suspected that would not be the case here.

His breath brushed the back of my neck, and my nipples went tight. I gulped down some more wine, but it didn’t do a lot for the sudden dryness in my throat or the tension thrumming through my body. For several minutes, nothing else happened. There was just his breath on my neck, the heat of him rolling across my spine, and the growing tremble of expectation.

“What happened to your back?” he asked eventually.

“I had a slight disagreement with a car fire,” I said, half shrugging. “It won.”

“Slight disagreement is something of an understatement.” His fingers moved lightly over the ruined flesh. I could barely feel it, but even so, delight shivered through me. “But I would have thought a fire spirit would be able to control fire.”

“I can, but there were too many witnesses to even attempt it.”

“Damn shame.” He slid his arms around my waist, his lips branding my neck as one hand slid downward and skimmed the front of my panties. A moan escaped. He chuckled softly but explored no further, his caress sliding back up, not down. He hooked his thumbs under my bra and pushed it up over my breasts; then he cupped them, pressing them together as his clever fingers began to tease and pinch my nipples.

I leaned back against him and slid my free hand behind me, tugging the towel from his waist. I tossed it to one side, then caressed his shaft. He was big, gloriously so.

“I don’t think I should be the only one naked here,” he murmured, then plucked my wineglass from my hand and placed it on the nearby table. He slid my dress from my shoulders, and my bra and panties quickly followed. I was naked and standing in front of a window for all the world to see, and I couldn’t have given a damn.

He pressed close again, his cock sliding between my legs, thrusting gently, teasing but not fully entering. My nostrils flared, and I drew in the heat of him. It slid through me as sweetly as his caresses, fueling the hunger, feeding the fires. His hands slid down my body, his touch so hot it felt like he was branding me. This time, though, he didn’t retreat. His fingertips found my clit, his touch firm as he kissed my shoulders, my neck, my ear. My breathing sharpened, became moans of pleasure I couldn’t control as the pressure built and built from within. But just as I was reaching boiling point, he pulled away, gliding his hands back up to my breasts, pinching and teasing and caressing until the tremors eased.

Then he started all over again. And then again, until I was so tightly wound it hurt.

Time, I thought raggedly, for a little revenge.

I spun around, dropped to my knees in front of him, and took him into my mouth. He shuddered, his fingers tangling in my hair as his body tensed and a groan escaped. Slowly, I moved my lips down his shaft, gradually taking in more of him, teasing him with my tongue, playing with him as he’d played with me, bringing him to the brink and then pulling away, time and again, until the heat of his desire was so fierce my inner fires were becoming drunk on the taste of it.

And suddenly tasting him wasn’t enough. I wanted to claim all of him.

I rose and pressed a hand against his chest, pushing him back onto the sofa. His hands came to my waist as he sat down, guiding me down onto him but not allowing me to fully capture him.

“Kiss me,” he growled.

So I did. With all the desire, all the need and hunger that burned within me.

After several long minutes, he finally released his grip on my waist. His thick cock speared me, going so deep it felt like he was reaching for my very core. Sheer, intense pleasure tore a gasp from my throat, a sound that was quickly swallowed as his lips crushed mine a second time.

I rode him slowly, trying to prolong the glorious moment. My clit rubbed against him with every movement, heightening sensation, intensifying pleasure, until I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could only enjoy.

“Look at me, Emberly.”

It was a demand, not a request, but my gaze fell into his green eyes nevertheless, and I drowned in the rising urgency there. His heat swirled around me, through me, fueling the inner fires to breaking point, making them rage and want. I gave in to need and sipped from the furnace of his soul, and god, it was glorious.

Our movements became more urgent, more frantic, until it felt like I would shatter into a thousand different pieces. Then I did, the intensity of my orgasm making me moan in pleasure as my body shook and shuddered. He came a heartbeat later, his body stiffening underneath me, his release a hot stream so very deep inside.

I slumped forward, the side of my face pressed against his chest as I battled for breath and listened to the frantic pounding of his heart—a rhythm that matched my own.

“Good lord,” he murmured, after several long minutes. “I knew that as fire beings we would be good together, but that—”

“Was totally, fucking amazing,” I finished for him.

His laugh was a rumble that vibrated through the very core of me. His fingers lifted my chin; then he claimed my lips, his kiss tender and yet filled with a fire that was banked but not yet quenched.

“We should go to bed,” he said softly. “And mess up the sheets a little.”

“A little?” I teased. “If we only mess them a little, I shall be sorely disappointed.”

He laughed again, then swung his feet off the sofa and lifted me as he rose. “Then I shall make it my aim to ensure that over the next couple of hours you are not left disappointed.”

Needless to say, I wasn’t.

I smoothed down the sides of my silk dress with nervous fingers, then took a deep breath and leisurely entered the exclusive mahogany room. Normally, I wouldn’t have been allowed anywhere near the place, but the same contact that had given Jackson all his information had also provided me with a VIP card.

I plucked a glass of bubbly from the tray of a passing waiter and kept walking, trying not to gawk at the plush surroundings and the heavy chandeliers that dominated the roofline. The tables were only half-full, and the bar and lounge area almost empty. Marcus Radcliffe III was easy enough to find—he was one of three men sitting at the second of the blackjack tables and the only one who had two rather stern-looking men standing at his back.

He was bigger than I’d thought he’d be, a thickset, muscular man who oozed confidence and power. There was a whole lot more arrogance in his thin, pockmarked features than had been evident in the photo, but his eyes were no less beady and he still reminded me somewhat of a rat.

I sashayed across to the lounge and selected a chair that was just within his line of sight. I sat, crossing my legs, allowing the side slit of my dress to fall open and reveal a long length of thigh.

It didn’t take long for Radcliffe to notice.

He leaned back and whispered something to beefy guard number one. The guard nodded, walked across to the bar, talked to the bartender, then went back to his post.

Two minutes later, a waiter approached me.

“Compliments of the gentleman at table number two,” he said, offering me another glass of bubbly.

“Thanks,” I said, accepting it. I glanced past the waiter, found Radcliffe watching me, and raised the glass in salute.

He smiled. It was a hunter’s smile.

A shudder went through me. I’d met men like him in the past, and they were always mean in bed. Mean and dominant. Thankfully, it was never going to get that far.

I remained where I was, sometimes watching him, sometimes not. His expression became more enamored, his eyes heavy-lidded with lust.

Eventually, I took a pen and piece of paper out of my bag, wrote my room number on it, then called the waiter over.

“Could you give this to the gentleman at table two, please?”

He looked across. “Mr. Radcliffe?”

Mr. Radcliffe was staring at the two of us, his body practically trembling in expectation.

“Yes.” I placed the note and a tip on the waiter’s tray.

As he left, I rose and sauntered toward the door. My gaze clashed with Radcliffe’s a final time and, as the waiter approached him with the note, I blew Radcliffe a kiss and then left.

Once out of the mahogany room, I moved as fast as was possible in ultrahigh heels, needing to get to the elevator before he did.

I closed my eyes and released a breath as the doors closed and the elevator zoomed me upward. One part down. All we had to do now was hope that Radcliffe took the bait.

I walked down the hall to our room and opened the door.

“Okay,” I said as I walked in. “All systems are go—”

The rest of the sentence froze in the back of my throat. It wasn’t Jackson standing there waiting for me.

It was Sam.