His Every Fantasy Page 6

  So instead, she contemplated the two helicopter rides she’d taken in as many days. Something she’d never done before and would never have put on her bucket list. Relief rushed through her when the helicopter door opened. She was grateful for the hand extended by Linc as she stepped down the metal stairs onto solid ground.

  “Welcome to Maison Plaisir,” he said, smiling, white teeth flashing.

  “I hadn’t realized you’d gone ahead of us,” she said, giving him a polite smile.

  “What? You didn’t miss me at breakfast?” He tsked, his dark eyes glinting with humor. “I’m wounded.”

  She grinned, and shook her head. He was a charmer, although at first glance all she’d noted was his large build and bald head. He’d been just another intimidating soldier.

  They were all beginning to burrow under her skin. Always polite, soft-spoken in her company, as though they were approaching a frightened animal. Did she really appear that skittish? Still, even knowing they might be showing a false front to lull her into trusting them, their gentle approach was working. Before long, she’d be spilling her life story, boring as it was up until the moment she’d been kidnapped.

  A touch on her arm guided her toward a garden gate. She didn’t need to look to her side to know it was Sergei. Her heart was already attuned to his touch, skipping a beat when his fingers firmly cupped her elbow. She swung her head to look at him.

  His gaze swept the large open pasture, the road beside the gate, the parking lot farther down, which sat beyond a massive stone and wrought iron gate. The sharpness of his expression and eyes was something ingrained in him. She knew that already. He was never fully relaxed. Never unaware of his surroundings or the people near him.

  “Are you worried about something?” she asked.

  “Should I be?”

  His laser-sharp gaze shot her way, and she felt its slice. Although he’d said she could take her time to tell him her story, that didn’t mean he was a truly patient man. She shrugged. “I’ve never been to the bayou.”

  “We’ll have to see about getting you a jet-boat ride.”

  Kara wrinkled her nose. “Where there are alligators and snakes? No thanks.”

  “Then I take it you’re not from Louisiana.”

  “Yes, you can scratch this state off the list of fifty possible places Kara is from,” she said, her smile tightening.

  His fingers pressed on her arm and pulled her closer to his side. “I’m sorry if I sounded impatient. I meant what I said.”

  And since he hadn’t drugged her, hadn’t stripped her of her clothing and imprisoned her in a rough shanty—so far—she decided she’d better treat him as though she were beginning to trust him. “I appreciate that you haven’t grilled me.”

  As they passed through the pasture gate, the whomp-whomp sound of the helicopter’s wings surged again. Hot, humid wind beat her clothing and hair, and she glanced back to watch the aircraft lift from the ground. No one else took note of the thrilling sight. She surmised the occurrence must be an everyday one here.

  They strode down a gravel drive. The pea-sized nuggets, small and crunchy beneath her flip-flops, were the colors of seashells—pink, white, gray—adding to the pretty picture of the tall oaks that lined either side of the drive, branches meeting and interweaving above, forming a shaded tunnel. Something she appreciated since the air was already oppressively muggy and hot.

  The whitewashed house with its dark shutters at the end of the tunnel was a mansion—wide verandas encased in lovely, scrolled wrought iron on both the first and second stories, white-and-gray marble steps leading up to double doors. Beds of roses sat in pristine, mulched beds, new blooms in a profusion of colors providing a picture-postcard view of the front of the house.

  In the distance, along the path leading away from the house, came the sound of saws and hammering. A gazebo was under repair, shirtless workers barely sparing her party a glance as they put up rafters to support a new roof.

  So the place was a work in progress. She was eager to see the inside, even though she knew she ought to be studying it for routes of escape, although it suddenly occurred to her that thought might be a little melodramatic. She’d never asked him to take her home. And she wouldn’t. Not yet. Instead, she stood, appreciating the pretty picture the house and gardens made.

  A picture made all the more surreal when a beautiful blonde came out of the double doors.

  Her body was shaped like an hourglass—narrow at the waist, lush above and below the belt of her blue sundress. She floated down the steps in silver sandals, a broad smile on her mouth as she swept the group approaching her. “I’m so glad you all made it back safely,” she said, coming closer and hugging Bear and then Sergei. “I’ve been on pins and needles worryin’ about y’all.”

  Sergei’s arm swept around her and lifted her off her feet, making her laugh.

  And that was when Kara noted the large diamond on the woman’s left hand. The glinting jewel struck her and her stomach clamped. Why had she assumed Sergei was a single man? Why did it matter that he might not be?

  She stiffened, and the fingers still clutching her elbow pinched her skin.

  Sergei set down the woman, but kept her at his side with an arm draped familiarly around her waist. “This is Kara,” he said to the blonde.

  The blonde’s stunning blue gaze was instantly curious, taking in her clothes, and likely recognizing them. After all, they would have fit her so much better than Kara.

  “Kara, welcome to Maison Plaisir. I’m Clotille Floret, but everyone here calls me Tilly.”

  Her softly spoken introduction in a musical Southern drawl invited Kara to reciprocate, but she took a deep breath, resisting the invitation to confide everything. “Nice to meet you, Tilly.”

  Tilly patted Sergei’s hand on her waist and drew away, her gaze never leaving Kara. “I’ll show you to your room. I’ve been busy today, shoppin’ for clothing and stockin’ your bathroom. Now that I see you, we might have to make another run into town. If you give me your sizes, I’ll make sure we have everything you need.”

  Kara blinked. When she’d said we, Kara had half expected to be invited on the shopping trip, but now realized they were keeping her here. Was the blonde just another jailor? The thought irked, but Kara wasn’t sure why. Was she only jealous of her familiarity with Sergei? “I don’t expect to be here long,” she murmured, not wanting to admit she didn’t have any other option. “You shouldn’t go to any more bother.”

  Tilly’s glance rose to Sergei, who gave her a small shake of his head. Her mouth formed a tighter, less open smile. “There’s no hurry. We have plenty of room. You’ll be comfortable here.”

  And then she reached out for Kara’s hand, something that mildly shocked Kara, because she hadn’t expected to be touched by the woman. However, with Sergei’s hand falling away from her arm, she accepted the other woman’s firm grasp and let herself be pulled up the stairs and into the house.

  Forcing herself not to look back and give away her insecurity, Kara stepped inside the black-and-white tiled foyer, viewing the curved staircase and the large chandelier above. Tilly led her up the stairs, glancing back once at Kara, and then below to the foyer where Sergei stood, his expression neutral, but those dark eyes following their progress every step of the way.

  That look made Kara shiver. Not that it was ominous, but already she recognized the gleam in his eye. There was something possessive about it. But was the sentiment for the woman guiding her up the stairs, or for her?

  Once on the landing, Tilly led her down a hallway lined with dark teak doors. At one door, she turned the knob then dropped Kara’s hand and stood to the side for Kara to enter before her.

  Kara stepped inside, glancing around. The room was every bit as sumptuous and inviting as hers had been in Mexico, with gleaming wood floors, a thick Persian carpet in aqua and rose, the walls a paler pink. The room was dominated by a rice bed with tall spindly posters, a high mattress covered with a deeper ros
y pink duvet, and vintage pillow shams with crocheted edges. The French doors had aqua-and-white drapes latched at the sides. A crystal vase with large pink roses sat in the center of a side table.

  Tilly pointed to the closet. “We dress for dinner. Not formally, but you might be more comfortable showerin’ off the travel dust and changin’ into something new. I wasn’t sure about the bra size, so I bought Genie bras. But with the evening summer dresses, you might want to go without.”

  Kara took a deep breath. “I’m sure I’ll find everything I need. Thank you.”

  Reaching out a hand then letting it drop, Tilly stepped closer. “You don’t know us. You have no reason to trust us, but I promise you, Sergei’s one of the good guys.”

  “You’re right, I don’t know you.” Kara blushed, knowing she’d come off sounding rude, but she was ready for the woman to leave, for her beautiful smile to vanish, but most of all, for her to quit flashing her ring hand around as though Kara hadn’t already seen it.

  Tilly’s mouth firmed. “We’ll eat at seven. See you then.”

  When the blonde was gone, Kara took a leisurely stroll around the room, spotted two small snakelike cameras, and made sure she frowned into both.

  Inside the bathroom, she didn’t find any devices, but then she didn’t have a stool to climb up and look at the ceiling fan. These people were thorough. Paranoid. Was this how the entire house was wired? Or was she in the special room for prisoners—politely held prisoners?

  She reached into the shower and turned on the faucets, then stripped, not caring whether anyone watched. Once again, anger fueled her pride.

  At exactly seven, she let herself out of her room, her composure restored. She wore a fuchsia silk dress that skimmed her slight curves and ended in flowing flame-shaped petals in orange, red, and magenta well above the knee. She was braless, but wore a thong beneath the skirt. Her legs she left bare, and the slide-on sandals were patent leather with short heels and matched to perfection the color of the upper portion of her dress.

  She’d applied the cosmetics she’d found in the vanity, but only lightly—neutral colors on her lids, a light coat of mascara, nude gloss on her lips. She didn’t want overstate her appearance, but needed to feel “armored” for her next encounter.

  Sergei waited at the bottom of the staircase. “You look lovely,” he said, his deep voice dropping to an intimate rumble. He offered his arm.

  Sliding her hand into the bend of his elbow, she steeled herself against her attraction for this man. He’d dressed in dark trousers and a white dress shirt. No tie. The collar left open. His thick, dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Even dressed in conventional clothing, there was no masking his powerful frame, no making it appear genteel. His broad shoulders and thick thighs strained at the fine fabric as he moved.

  Sergei led her into a dining room with a large table covered in fine white linen and set with china and wineglasses, and an array of gleaming silverware. The men she’d met in Mexico were already there, standing beside the table along with another man, tall with short black hair and arresting ice-blue eyes.

  His expression was guarded as he studied her, his lips forming into a polite smile. “I’m Boone Benoit, and this is my home.” His gaze swept her dress. “I see Tilly chose well.”

  Kara’s cheeks heated, but she nodded. “The dress is nice. Something I might have chosen for myself.” She didn’t think for a minute that Tilly had blindly selected her clothing. No doubt she’d seen pictures or tape of Kara and known exactly what would flatter her figure and coloring.

  “You have yet to meet Jonesy,” he said, indicating toward another dark-haired man with hazel eyes. “He’s overseeing construction on the estate. And there’s Max,” he said, indicating toward a dog bed in the corner where a cute pug lay curled, his head on his front paws, large brown eyes staring back. “He belongs to Eric,” he said, pointing toward the large blond man, “whom you’ve already met.”

  Since she knew the rest, she gave Boone a nod, mentally filing away the new names.

  “Please, everyone,” he said, waving a hand at the laden table. “Let’s eat.”

  The men shuffled around the table, taking seats as though preassigned.

  Sergei guided her to a seat toward the end of the table, far from Tilly, sitting next to Boone, who was at the head of the table. Sergei sat at the end opposite from Boone, and right beside her. Kara took in the intimate smile Tilly turned on Boone, and she expelled a deep sigh. Their obvious affection shouldn’t have mattered, but inside, she was relieved to know that Tilly belonged to Boone.

  A servant entered the room and picked up a bottle of red wine from the sideboard, already opened to breathe. He circled the table, filling each person’s glass.

  Again, Kara waited until others sipped from their glasses before sampling her own. The wine was a rich Beaujolais, crisp, nutty, not too heavy. She took another sip, glad for the warmth spreading throughout her belly.

  Salads were served next, spinach leaves topped with a chopped concoction of orange, red, and green bell peppers and what looked like cilantro mixed with onions. The salsa mix made her think of home. A pang squeezed her chest.

  “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it,” Sergei said softly, leaning toward her.

  “It’s not that,” she said, picking up the salad fork to poke at the salsa.

  “Cook left out the jalapeños.”

  “He shouldn’t have,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “What’s salsa without a little bite?”

  His eyes narrowed just a fraction, and she realized he was likely and accurately assuming she was from somewhere in the southwest. And then she realized the table was quiet, with the others listening in on their conversation. “I should thank you all for my rescue,” she said, deciding she should be the one to start the conversation going or this might be a very uncomfortable meal. She wasn’t a mouse, and she didn’t want them thinking she was uncomfortable with the attention.

  “My men couldn’t leave you there,” Boone said.

  Nothing in his voice said whether he was pleased or not about that fact. And she filed away that fact.

  “I wasn’t there in the camp long. I arrived just the day before,” she said, dropping her gaze to her plate to sift a forkful of salsa onto the tines. “I saw those two men you came for when they were taken out to exercise, but I never spoke with them.” She took a bite and nearly groaned at the flavors—salt, lime, and a touch of cilantro enhancing the fresh flavors of the vegetables.

  Boone nodded. “They were both employees of Tex-Oil, a petroleum company with offices in Mexico City. We were hired to handle ransom negotiations.”

  “I like the way you negotiate,” she quipped before thinking. She took another bite to keep her mouth occupied.

  The men around the table chuckled.

  Boone’s lips twisted. “The kidnappers were paid. But they didn’t deliver the men as arranged. We had no choice but to liberate them ourselves.”

  “So you guys work K&R, rescues, and negotiation with captors. Only in Mexico?” she asked, taking another bite of her food.

  Boone grunted, a small smile stretching. “No, we have interests around the world.”

  “What’s your company’s name?”

  “Black Spear.”

  She shook her head. “Sorry, I haven’t heard of it.”

  “There’s no reason you should know about us. But you will find us on the Internet.”

  He said it in such a way, she knew he was inviting her look for the company. For reassurance they were who they said they were.

  “We can help you, Kara,” Boone said, his blue gaze steady. “Whatever the problem is.”

  She nodded, watching Sergei out the corner of her eye. The two men exchanged nods, and then another course was brought in. Digging into a succulent steak, a twice-baked potato, and a medley of black beans, green beans, and onions, she didn’t worry that she was eating fast. She had thinking to do. If what Boone said was true, sh
e might be ready to ask for help. Going it alone, she didn’t have a clue where to start untangling the mess she’d found herself in.

  For the first time in days, she felt herself starting to relax, to let down her guard. And, oh, how she wanted to—with Sergei. Now that she was all but certain Tilly wasn’t involved with him, other than as a friend. But the excitement shivering through her wasn’t appropriate for her situation. Hard as concentrating on her worries was, because when she focused on them she felt queasy, they really should be foremost in her mind, not this unquenchable fascination with her rescuer.

  “Want to take a walk outside, after dinner?” Sergei asked, his voice pitched low.

  Kara met his dark gaze. There was heat in his eyes and a watchful patience. She wondered if he was that way with everything he did. Whether that attentiveness would translate to his lovemaking. Lust curled in her belly. Again, she fought to reel in her thoughts.

  She cleared her throat. “I’ll need a computer first.”

  His mouth curved at both corners. “A laptop will be in your room by the time you finish your meal.”

  The meal continued, conversation flowing now that Boone had somewhat set her mind at ease and given her a direction she could follow to fully allay her concerns. From the far end of the table, she tried not to watch the growing intimacy of the actions of the handsome couple.

  In between bites, Boone’s fingers played with Tilly’s. Her cheeks grew rosy, redder still, when he leaned close to whisper in her ear and his hand disappeared beneath the table. She seemed to squirm in her seat, her eyes sparkling with delight.

  The men noted the byplay, but minded their manners, giving each other eyebrow waggles and wry smiles, but otherwise keeping the conversation on other less interesting topics, like an upcoming fishing trip they had planned with local fishermen and funny incidents they’d encountered while abroad.