Chapter 22 #2
Now, Locke Maris’s mouth was on mine, and both his hands held my face like I was something special. His lips were wet with shower water, his skin already scented with the sandalwood bodywash. Within seconds, his tongue moved past my lips, and my knees nearly gave out.
I clutched his hips to keep from slipping or falling back against the tiled wall but then realized the way he was holding my face meant I would have fallen toward him if anything.
Because he’d pulled me closer. Our chests brushed together, and then he shifted, stepping between my legs until my cock pressed against his hip.
Instead of hissing and backing away like he might have done our first few times together, he pressed back against it, getting even closer and deepening the kiss.
He wasn’t in a hurry to end it. Even seemed to be enjoying it despite already nutting hard.
My head swam with the unexpected heat of the encounter. Locke’s sheer talent at kissing and his clear interest in continuing.
Which was when a strong knock could be heard from outside the bedroom.
Locke stepped back with a curse. “Give me a minute!” he shouted through the noise of the shower. Then his eyes landed on mine.
“Get cleaned up. I want you to come to the game room in an hour and bring me some fucking food. I’m already hungry.” He turned to step out of the shower, muttering, “Fucking salad.”
I washed myself quickly while watching him dry off, throw on deodorant, and comb his hair. Then he was gone.
What the fuck was that?
My entire body still shook with the aftereffects of that orgasm and the make-out session that followed. Since when did the man want to run laps around first base after already hitting a homer?
I pressed my fingers to my lips, feeling the leftover tingle of his stubble. My lips were probably cherry red right now. And I suspected I might have even had a minor hickey under my ear.
When I finally trusted myself to turn off the water and get out of the shower, the suite was silent. The only evidence of our sexual encounter was the absolutely destroyed bed and the bottle of lube lying open on the floor where it had fallen.
I quickly cleaned up and stripped the sheets after pouring and then spilling some of the coffee we had leftover from lunch onto the pristine white sheets. Oops. Instant non-jizz reason to throw the entire bundle into the wash.
The tablet mounted on the sitting room wall made the housekeeping request simple, and within minutes, a staff member had arrived to take care of it. When forty-five minutes had passed, I made my way to the kitchen and requested a snack and a fresh pot of coffee for Locke.
Roberto looked me up and down as he shook a frying pan on the stove. “Succhiotto?”
It wasn’t a word I was familiar with, but I got the feeling it meant hickey. My hand flew to the spot I’d noticed in the mirror. Roberto’s laugh filled the kitchen, enough to make several people turn and stare. He barked them back to work but then lifted an eyebrow at me.
“Stai attento con lui.” Be careful with him.
“Troppo tardi,” I muttered with a shrug.
Because it was too late. And being careful with Locke Maris at this point was like holding a ticket to paradise and not boarding the airplane.
When the tray was ready, I carried it back to the wing of the large villa that housed the game room and nodded to the guard.
“Electronics in the bin, please, Mr. Davis,” he said, nodding at the rack on the wall with individual slots.
Sure enough, Locke’s phone was in one of the slots.
I juggled the tray until the man took it from me so I could pull my phone out of my pocket and slide it into another slot.
Then I retrieved the tray, and he opened the door.
I’d seen the game room before the guests had arrived.
Since then, the plain round table had been replaced by one that was elaborately carved and painted, the decorations mesmerizing.
Around the table were matching chairs, all carved similarly in detail that belonged in a damned museum.
The intricately carved furniture looked even older than Locke’s chessboard.
For a split second, I imagined Lancelot and Gawain sitting around something much like it.
Where the hell had this thing come from?
As soon as I picked out Locke’s position around the table, he waved me over. “Thank you. I’ll take some coffee first.”
I glanced at him before sneaking a look at the game to see all of the exquisite boards and pieces. Sure enough, they were amazing. Five boards sat in a circle, each filled with pieces from at least ten different sets. I wondered how they chose whose boards to play with each round.
The tray joined a few others along the room’s long built-in cabinet while I prepared his coffee.
While I had done domestic chores as part of my cover on ops before, this was the first time I’d done something so menial for another person outside my family or an op.
Just as the resentment began to whisper again, Locke pulled me down to whisper something in my ear. “I need you to check the email on my phone and tell me if there’s a message from Arjen Willems. If so, come tell me what it says.”
He met my eyes and lowered his voice further. “Phone password is the name of the card game you play with your family and the number of times you’ve refused me.”
I stared at him until his nostrils flared, and he said, “Go.”
Within seconds, I was outside the room, reaching for his phone and typing in EgyptianRatscrew0 as fast as I could.
Had I told the man no before? Yes. Several times.
I’d refused him when he’d suggested I didn’t need to give him the lap dance. I’d rejected his offer of a ride after we’d met again at the steak house. I’d declined his plan to fly me home from Amsterdam. And most recently, I’d balked at coming to Italy.
But we both knew that wasn’t what he’d meant.
His Maris logo lock screen disappeared and revealed rows of tidy apps, most of them familiar.
Even though I’d cloned his phone three years ago and found nothing, I still wanted desperately to spend time alone with it, snooping like a motherfucker.
When, exactly, had he changed his phone password? And had he only done it for this reason, so I could be his message gopher?
Did it matter?
I quickly found the email app and skimmed the page, sucking in as much information as I could as quickly as possible.
There was an email from Arjen Willems with only one ship name and city name in it.
MV Helvig Star. Nyborg.
I locked Locke’s phone and put it back in the slot before returning to the game room and waiting to be gestured to the table. Then I leaned down and whispered the names in Locke’s ear.
The fading scent of his bodywash was almost enough to distract me from the look of concern on his face. “Thank you. Step back and wait a minute.”
I stepped back and stood against the wall the way I noticed other people doing the same. One was a beautiful woman I recognized as al-Qadiri’s wife, and another was a middle-aged woman in a suit who seemed to be keeping a close, maternal eye on Selene Mercier.
Locke leaned forward and reached for one of his pieces, nervously tapping it on the board while he considered where to play it.
To me, the answer was obvious. A blue bishop—Selene’s piece, I guessed—was within striking distance. So when he set the piece on the board nearest Vraj Nanda, I was surprised. Why was he leaving himself open to Selene?
But the soft-spoken Indian man pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully, like Locke had executed a masterful move, and I decided maybe Locke had gone easy on me the other night. Clearly, I didn’t understand the game as well as I’d thought.
It made sense. It was just lame.
After a moment, Nanda tapped his chin and leaned forward to reach for one of his own pieces on a nearby board. After tapping his piece on the arm of his chair while he considered his options, he made one simple move and sat back, clasping his hands together over his stomach.
Ted Harlan shook his head and reached for his own piece, a beautiful knight. His move was more like Locke’s, although he moved the knight first before reaching for a second piece and moving it as well.
What kind of strategy is at play here?
I couldn’t get close enough to see everything, but it seemed like Ted’s benign move was more than it seemed because the muscles tightened in Locke’s shoulders again. From the look on the players’ faces, you’d have thought they were fighting an actual battle, not a fictional one.
After several more players took their turns, complete with lots of nervous tension and tapping, the game seemed to come to a natural pause.
Selene turned to her assistant and gestured her forward with a smile and a request for an update on a business matter.
Esteban gestured for an attendant to fetch his son.
Al-Qadiri penciled notes in a tiny notebook.
Nanda closed his eyes as if taking a mini-nap or possibly meditating.
Locke crooked his finger at me. When I moved near his shoulder, he turned to whisper again. “We are going to be here a while. Please go outside and enjoy the rest of the day. I’ll need your help again after dinner.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind staying.”
He shook his head. “Just bring me that food first,” he said with an unexpected grin.
I stepped back to the tray and pulled up the little divided serving dish of olives, dried fruit, and nuts before setting it on the table in front of him next to his coffee and a fresh crystal tumbler of ice water.
“Perfect. Thank you.”
“Can I get you anything else?”
He met my eyes, his grin now gone. “Please do as I said.”
I nodded and turned away, stung, but as I exited the room and reached for my phone, I realized what he’d “said” was for me to go outside and enjoy the day. He was asking me to take a break.
And what better way to take a break than to go for a run outside and make the one phone call that could absolutely ruin my fucking career?