Page 27
She arched a brow delicately.
“You first. ”
“I will not disappoint you. ”
“No, you will not. I know what I am getting,” she said.
He smiled, kicking off his shoes, sloughing off his jacket, then practically tearing off his shirt. He slid from his pleated pants.
He wore some sort of underwear in a ridiculous flag pattern. Tight, skimpy little underwear, designed, apparently, to increase the size of his bulge.
“Pieter . . . ” she purred, coming toward him. “You must show me what you’ve got Everything you’ve got” His grin deepened ridiculously and he made a point of thrusting his hips as he skimmed away the last garment. He spread out his arms. “Now, belle dame, you come and show me what you’ve got,” he said.
“Oh, yes, certainly. ” She walked deliberately toward him. She slid off one shoe, and then the other. She made an elaborate display of removing her beautiful new clothing, piece by piece, as she came near him.
Of course, it was not necessary, but she did love her beautiful new contemporary designs.
She stood before him, smiling, running her hands down the length of her body, pausing at strategic places. “I have got this . . . and this . . . ”
She paused, certain that he was going to pop on the spot
“And this . . . ” She rubbed her hands low over her abdomen, pressing with slow eroticism against her mound. “This . . . and . . . ”
She walked the last step toward him, just out of arm’s reach.
“And I have got these,” she told him.
She opened her mouth wide. For a moment, his winesodden mind was so befuddled that he did not grasp what he saw.
She heard the inhalation of his breath. And she knew that he was about to scream.
She did not allow him to do so. Her assault was instantaneous. Rich, warm nourishment flooded into her body. She gripped her prey as he shook spasmodically in her grasp. He never let out a sound, for she had dealt with his windpipe.
She allowed herself the luxury of sinking to the floor. Of drinking slowly and surely, savoring every drop, lapping up each tiny bit, all but writhing in ecstasy at the luxurious meal, taken at her full leisure. It didn’t hurt at all that this drink was so heavily . . . spiked.
When she had finished, she tossed the remains aside. She would deal with them later.
She stood, and walked with a smooth, sure sway out of the room, closing the door behind her. In the full beauty of her nakedness, she returned to the ladies’ salon. She opened the door.
Marie, Marie! She did not speak the words aloud, but thought them with grave disgust. The chubby prostitute was pumping away on poor Jorge with no rhythm, no finesse, no . . . joie de vivre whatsoever.
She was sweaty, and in a hurry. And poor Jorge . . . well, the alcohol had the best of him.
He looked up at Louisa, standing in the doorway.
And he practically threw Marie to the floor. Maybe he did not throw the woman, but she wound up on the floor on her fat backside.
“Hello,” she said softly.
“Hello,” Jorge breathed. Ah, there! He was rising to attention, Louisa thought with some amusement.
She did, at times, enjoy playing with her food.
She walked into the room, breasts and hips swaying.
“Where is Pieter?” Marie asked.
“Oh . . . well, he is down, I’m afraid. No life in the poor fellow. ”
“Ah,” Jorge breathed. “There is lots of life in me!” he boasted.
“So I see. ”
“Then . . . ” He paused, licking his lower lip. “Then you . . . you do enjoy a threesome?”
“Oh, yes. I love a threesome,” she told him.
She knelt on the floor between Jorge’s legs, and next to Marie. She thought that the woman might have protested, so she reached out and touched her, smiling, and locking her eyes upon the woman’s own. A breath escaped Marie. Louisa let her hair fall over her face as she bent low. A little sound escaped Marie as she teased her flesh . . .
A louder sound escaped.
Jorge let out something coarse and guttural, reaching for her.
Which was fine. Marie had already slumped on the Persian carpet. Jorge dragged Louisa on top of him.
She smiled, meeting his bright-eyed eagerness, hoping that he did not drool.
“Oh, baby . . . ” he muttered.
Then she moved in.
Twenty minutes later, she was sated, laughing, delighted, and feeling ridiculously powerful. Euphoric.
Glutted! The two lay next to her on the carpet, eyes staring to heaven.
“Oh, my pets, my pets!” she said, stroking the hair back from each cold face. “I do, I do, I do enjoy a good threesome. ”
She was thus engaged when she heard her name called. And sharply.
“Louisa!”
She looked up, startled, instinctive fear clutching at her heart.
A man’s form was silhouetted in the doorway to the ladies’ salon.
Brent awoke, startled and still, yet uncertain of where he was.
He cursed himself silently, realizing where he slept.
He stood, dusting himself off, angry with himself, and yet asking at the same time just what else he could have done.
Morning light had not yet come.
So much for standing sentinel. . .
He stared through the darkness, toward the house. All seemed well, and when he closed his eyes and concentrated, he felt nothing but the stillness of the night.
But something had to be done. Today.
Chateau DeVant held the key.
Look at what you have done! At the mess that you have made!
Safe. She was now safe. And would be powerful again. But his words were still ringing in her ears, and she felt a greater Jury toward him than she had toward any of the silly creatures who had not known her, and had not known who she was. He knew. And he had treated her as if she were an errant child.
Look at what you have done. The mess that you have made.
After the plans that I have made; everything that I have done.
At first, she had simply laughed. Risen in all her glory, slid her hands over her breasts and the length of her torso, relishing the delicious feel of the coat of red she created. Triumphant and amused.
You’ve found me, at last. I felt you so strongly, and now . . . Come darling, I’ve not left much, but you are welcome to what little remains. I would have saved more. . . I could have kept the girl.
She was not much, but. . .
Her sultry, teasing words had meant nothing. Nothing.
He had walked in impatiently, ignoring the richness of the beauty and the bounty she offered.
I’d have thought you’d have more sense!
She’d felt as if she’d been slapped. And she had drawn herself to her full regal height.
You forget to whom you are speaking!
And you don’t realize to whom you owe your life!
Then . . .
Nothing but impatience, irritation. There was a mess to be cleaned up. There were not many he could trust. There was danger in the city, extreme danger, and he had expected to get so much further before they were discovered, and already, with her carelessness, so many knew.
And what would they do? She wanted to know. What could they do?
She didn’t begin to understand, and what a foolish woman. After all that had occurred before, she should have known. They had to go, there was no time; perhaps there were a few things that he could do . . .
And then, of course, there were the servants. But not as they used to be. She must understand that.
And still, he did set about doing all that he felt must be done.
Then, they were away.
And safe.
Her temper somewhat ebbed. He had made great
plans. They had gone so much awry, and one of the reasons they must be so careful was that those who had caused her return to be less than magnificent must be dealt with quickly. Surely, she had realized that. He was aware of her movements, he had been just steps behind. But so had the others.
Ah, but, indeed, he had planned, because here she was, in safety, in comfort.
And when she had lain down to sleep, he had at last knelt by her side, and touched her with the reverence and adoration she deserved.
Rest. . . and our night will come.
Rest. . . we are together now, and together. . . we form our own alliance.
Lips upon her forehead. Tender fingers upon her cheeks. Ah, yes . . . adoration.
My dearest beauty, we form our own alliance. And there are others, others who are working with us, it’s just that I cannot lose you again, and we must take such care as we gather our strength.
You must give me time to implement all that I have planned.
By morning’s full light, Jacques DeVant was awake, and feeling strong.
He had awakened very early, having been troubled by nightmares. Life had taught him competence and speed in all natural functions, and he was showered, shaved, and dressed in a matter of minutes, and down in his library.
He pulled down book after book, and he realized, considering himself a dolt, that he had not imagined the scope of what had been going on.
With his books surrounding him, opened to different pages, he then logged on to his computer.
Ah, what a wonderful invention!
The books gave him the past.
The computer gave him the present.
He might be an old man, and many of his cronies wanted nothing to do with the confounded machines, but he had avidly learned everything he could about many programs, and about the Internet itself. He could break many codes, enter into many records where the various institutions would assure their clients that their information was totally safe, secure, and confidential.
Jacques searched very carefully through all the records that he accessed.
He read them all over slowly, twice.
Katia knocked on the door and stuck her head in, offering him coffee. He thanked her and agreed.
Back at work, he made a number of notes.
Katia brought his coffee, and he sipped it, staring at his information again. He was certain that he was right Yes, yes, he was right.
He knew what had happened, what had been happening. He could see it all now—the how, the where, the when, the why . . .
Just not the who.
He needed help. He was old. The Alliance had been weakened by time and the modern world. The new generation didn’t believe. Because they didn’t know.