Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
He strode out into the shabby-elegant salon, his entire body relaxed and satisfied.
His mind was not so sanguine. He’d taken care of his little hostage—why should he feel guilty?
American women were too emotional. She probably felt like she was cheating on her husband.
In fact, she was. He wondered how the mythical Bastien would react to what he’d just done to her.
With her grudging participation. Getting her to ride him had been a triumph. Next time he’d give her five orgasms. She was responsive enough, even when she didn’t want to be.
He sniffed the air. “You’re heating the dinner?”
Luc looked up. “You think Maddelena would be seen dead in a kitchen?”
He laughed at the idea. His wife was many things, but she had no practical skills whatsoever. “Where is she?”
“She went and stood outside your door for a while, listening. Then she left.”
“For good?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. She doesn’t like to be ignored. How’s Chloe?”
Bastien raised an eyebrow. “How do you think she is? Well-fucked and sleepy. I doubt we’ll see her again tonight.”
“Won’t you be sleeping with her?”
“I told you, I’m sleeping on my own. I don’t need to be distracted at this late date.”
“And she’s not a distraction when she’s sleeping down the hall from you?” Luc asked with uncomfortable acuity.
“She’s always a distraction,” Bastien said gloomily. “At least I’ve scratched that itch for now.”
Luc nodded. “Everything’s set for tomorrow. You show up for work at six a.m.”
“Merde.” He moved to stand by the open French doors, staring out over the lake.
The water was still and calm, at odds with the turbulence in his mind.
Lake Como was bewitching in the setting sun, and for some reason, he thought of the woman he’d just left.
He didn’t like thinking of her as Chloe—the name made him uncomfortable though he had no goddamned idea why.
Maybe he’d known a Chloe in another lifetime, and he didn’t want to be reminded.
Not that he was reminded of much. So much of his past was vague, hazy, just out of reach. It would be funny as hell if he really were her errant husband.
But he wasn’t. For one thing, he already had a wife. For another, he expected that Chloe would be hard to forget. She’d looked so very shattered by her orgasm. A Frenchwoman would have taken it in stride and demanded more. Chloe was probably weeping into her pillow.
For some reason, he didn’t like that idea. He took no pleasure in hurting women. Maddalena, on the other hand, liked pain and humiliation. While exciting at first, he’d lost interest long ago in such games. Particularly when she felt like returning the favor.
The water was soothing to his soul. Tomorrow, he would find a way to get out on it—the boat that had come with this villa was dangerous-looking and hardly seaworthy.
He would find someone else to take him, maybe a woman who would take his mind off his hostage.
But first he had a job to do, and he wasn’t going to be seducing any wealthy woman dressed like a gardener with dirt on his face.
He glanced back at Luc, who was watching him with a trace of concern behind his wire-rimmed glasses. Bastien managed a cool smile. “Don’t look so worried, Luc. I know what I’m doing.”
“Of course you do,” Luc said instantly. “I was just thinking about what you were going to do with Chloe after you finish the job.”
“I haven’t decided. If possible, I could always leave her behind when I’m done.”
“She knows too much,” Luc said. “You’ve managed to stay under the radar for all these years—she could give the cops a good description of both of us. And God knows you’ve been leaving your DNA all over her.”
“Is that what it’s called?” Bastien said.
Luc glared at him. “I don’t see how you can just let her go.”
“No? You want me to kill her too?”
“It would be the smart thing to do.”
“What if I don’t feel like it?”
Luc frowned. “I can take care of it, if you like.”
“You won’t be there.”
“If you bring her back, I can kill her here. Don’t worry, I’ll make it fast and painless.”
“I’m not worried. You seem to think I’m a sentimental man. If the woman has to die, then I’m agreeable. I just don’t like killing women I fuck.”
“As I said, I’ll take care of her. She’ll never know a thing. If you can get her back here, that is.” There was a question in his voice.
Bastien looked back out at the calm waters. “I can get her back here. Otherwise, I’ll finish her at the gala. But as you said, there’s a problem with my DNA.”
“Just don’t touch her again. I’ve never known you to be at the mercy of your dick.”
“I’m not. We’ll do it your way. We don’t want anything left at the Villa Foscarelli to lead them to me. Then you can do it, quickly, painlessly.”
“Is that doubt I’m hearing in your voice?” Luc asked.
“No doubt at all,” Bastien said firmly. “I wouldn’t have thought we’d hold onto her this long. But she’s had her uses.”
“She’d be nothing but a liability once you kill LaDonna.”
“I know. We’re agreed, then. I’ll bring her back to you and you’ll take care of things,” Bastien said. “She’s too pretty for me to kill.”
Luc snorted in disbelief. “There’s no such thing.”
Bastien smiled ruefully. “Perhaps I’m more sentimental than you think.”
Chloe lay on the bed, a fine linen sheet over her naked body, closing her eyes as the voices travelled to her.
The doors to the lake were open in her room, just as they were open in the salon, and the sound of their voices came drifting over to her as she lay in the rumpled bed.
She ought to get up, move closer, listen to what they were saying, but her bones still felt like liquid, and she simply lay there, thinking about what had just happened.
He’d called her by her name. What did that mean? Did his body remember her as he fucked her? She couldn’t call it making love—it was too dark, too visceral. He’d told her he didn’t call women he might have to kill by their name. Did that mean he’d decided to let her live?
Or had he simply forgotten in the heat of the moment? The sound of her name in his voice had been powerful, shattering the last of her restraints. Would he continue to call her by her name? That would be the test. One more “bébé” and she would scream.
She sat up on the bed, her body aching despite its pleasure.
He’d ridden her hard, but then, Bastien had never been an easy lover.
He demanded, and he knew how to get what he wanted.
Wrapping the loose sheet around her body, she climbed off the bed and wandered over to the French doors, looking out at the pristine water.
“After you kill LaDonna.” The voice came to her, clear in the early evening stillness, and she froze in horror, almost dropping the sheet.
She was not so innocent that she hadn’t known he had murder in mind.
But the woman who’d been a political prisoner for over ten years, the closest thing to a saint since Mother Teresa, and he was going to wipe out her life?
For God’s sake, why? She’d never harmed a soul.
“She’s too pretty for me to kill.” Bastien’s voice travelled across the water, and she wanted to throw up.
The plan to kill her was still a go. Two women in one night.
Oh, no, Luc was going to do the honor in her case.
He’d almost been her friend, looking after her when Bastien was difficult, smiling at her.
Would he be smiling when he put a bullet in her brain?
She listened a while longer, but they’d stopped talking, and she moved away from the window, suddenly cold. She’d been lured into believing she had some control over the situation, when in truth she had none. He could fuck her, kill her without a second thought. And she had to get away.
He was never going to remember her. If he didn’t have the telltale map of scars on his strong, beautiful body, she might doubt her own mind. But there was no mistaking it—this was her husband, about to kill a Nobel Peace Prize winner. And her.
She knew one thing—she couldn’t face him right now and pretend she hadn’t heard. She couldn’t face him after what they had just done. He’d probably slap her across the butt and call her “mon ange” again. Avenging angel was more like it. She was not going to let him get away with it.
She should get out of here—neither of them was watching her that closely, and she knew how to hotwire a car. The Renault used an old-fashioned key—surely that would mean it would start beneath her deft fingers.
She had to count on the fact that Bastien wouldn’t sleep with her as he had the last few nights.
He’d said he wouldn’t, but that was before his wife had shown up, when he’d suddenly declared they were lovers.
Was Maddelena still here, sitting with a smug smile on her beautiful face, listening to their plans to kill her?
And why would Bastien sleep with her when he had such a glorious-looking wife available? It certainly wasn’t because he found her irresistible. He hadn’t touched her the last few nights, even with an erection the size of Chicago. She couldn’t imagine he’d come anywhere near her tonight.
She couldn’t afford to hesitate—she would leave in the middle of the night and they would sleep right through her clandestine departure.
The other bedrooms were at the back of the house, away from the car and any noise it might make, and Bastien seemed to be a heavy sleeper, different from the man she’d slept with for more than fifteen years.
She would escape, and this time she wouldn’t look back.