Takedown

CHAPTER 29

Favreau was on her the moment he got her through the doorway.

Expecting this, Alex mentally gritted her teeth and let the moment flow as he pressed her against the foyer wall and went for broke, his mouth — and every foul smell it harbored — leading the way.

She gave him about thirty grueling seconds before slipping out of his grasp. “Slow down, Casanova. You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

He looked stunned. “I thought that’s what we came up here for.”

She headed into the living room, kicking off her heels as she went. “A girl likes a little romance. I know you’re not drinking, but I wouldn’t mind one. I hope you have vodka.”

Favreau tried to pull himself together. He obviously hadn’t been expecting this turn of events. “The minibar’s in the corner.”

“You’re going to make me pour?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” He crossed to the cabinet and found a bottle and glass.

As he fixed her drink, Alex strolled around the room, touching the furniture.

Anything was better than touching him.

“They really don’t spare any expense here, do they?”

“You want to attract the rich,” he said, “you gotta spend money to do it.” He gestured. “Or wear a dress like that.”

“And here I thought you’d rather I wasn’t wearing it.”

“Jesus, baby, you are killing me. Come over here.”

She playfully wagged an index finger. “Not so fast, mister. You have to seduce me first.”

“How’s ten million bucks for a start?”

“You think that’s all I care about?”

“I don’t think it hurts.”

He crossed to her, handed her the drink, and reached out for her, but she again slipped away.

“You’re really gonna drag this out, aren’t you?”

“The longer you wait, the more you’ll appreciate the reward,” she said.

“Baby, I already appreciate everything about you. You’re just about driving me nuts. And come on, it’s not like we haven’t done this before.”

That’s what you think, Alex wanted to say, but sipped her drink and circled behind the sofa.

She patted it. “Why don’t you sit down and let me give you a massage.”

“You’re talking shoulders, right?”

“Don’t be crude, Frederic. Women don’t like crude.”

“You’re lecturing me now?” He shook his head. “You’re just about the ballsiest girl I’ve ever come across, and I’ll be damned if I don’t love it. I’m used to women dropping to their knees at the thought of making a few hundred bucks for the night.”

“You’re not winning any points. Take a seat before I change my mind.”

He grinned. “We wouldn’t want that to happen.”

As he sat down, she set her drink on the end table, then leaned forward and put her hands on his shoulders. She rubbed them for a moment, then paused.

“Why are you stopping? That felt good.”

“I can’t get any traction,” she said. “Take off your jacket.”

He leaned forward a bit, and as he slipped off his sport coat, she spotted exactly what she’d expected to see tucked in an inner pocket — an invitation to Leonard Latham’s party. She took the jacket from him and feigned discovery.

“What’s this?”

He turned. “What’s what?”

She pulled the invitation free, read it, and frowned. “I thought you said you never heard of Pappy Leo? But it looks to me like you’ve been invited to his party tomorrow night.”

“Oh, yeah, the guy who called me left that at the front desk. He couldn’t get away tonight, so we figured we’d meet up there.”

“At Pappy Leo’s party.”

“Yeah, what’s the big deal?”

“Have you ever been to one of his parties?”

“No, I told you, I’ve never even heard of him before.”

“They’re legendary,” she said. “We were hoping to get an invite for the show, but apparently we weren’t worthy. And Latham’s some kind of privacy nut. Personally handpicks all the guests.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll only be popping in and out. Take care of my business and be gone.”

She leaned farther forward and slipped her arms around him, rubbing his chest, her lips close to his ear. “Will you be going alone?”

“That was the plan, yeah.”

“Now why would you do that when you’ve got someone warm and willing to decorate your arm, at no charge whatsoever?”

He turned again. “Are you saying you want to go?”

Christ, how thick was this guy? “Only if you want me to.”

“I don’t know, baby. I don’t think the people I’m meeting would appreciate that. They aren’t very user friendly.”

She kissed his earlobe. “I promise not to get in the way.”

“You want to go that bad, huh?”

“I’m told these parties are a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing.”

“All right,” he said, “I’ll think about it. On one condition.”

“Yes?”

“You’ve gotta seduce me, first.”

She laughed and stood up, and gently whacked the top of his head. “It’s not polite to beat a girl at her own game.”

“Impolite, crude — you’re trying to rob me of all my best traits.”

“We could throw in making love to a woman and forgetting all about it, too.”

“Ouch,” he said. “You don’t fight fair.”

“If you’re not careful, I might start getting physical.”

“It’s about damn time,” he said and got to his feet.

It took everything Alex had to wrangle Favreau into the bedroom without him ripping her dress off.

She pushed him across the bed, pulled off his shoes, and told him to get out of his clothes.

“I forgot my drink,” she said and headed back toward the living room.

“Drink?” Favreau groaned. “Forget the damn drink and come here.”

“And let that expensive vodka go to waste? You get comfortable. I’ll be back in a sec.”

The moment she stepped through the doorway, she cut straight to the foyer and opened the door. Cooper was waiting in the hallway with an attractive European Bahamian woman of about twenty-five who was only a hair shorter than Alex, with a similar build and bone structure.

His secret weapon.

He had found her through a contact he’d made at the strip bar where Favreau and Hopcroft had their rendezvous. Alex had been nearly as troubled by the suggestion to use a surrogate as Cooper had sounded, and now that the woman was standing in front of her, she was beginning to think they should try the knockout drug again.

But she knew that wouldn’t work a second time.

“Did Shane explain to you exactly what we need you to do?” she asked.

“She knows,” Cooper said.

Alex kept her gaze on the woman. “And you’re okay with it?”

A shrug. “It’s what I do every day. And you’re paying me enough to take a couple weeks off.”

“Hey, baby!” Favreau called. “You get lost out there?”

Alex rolled her eyes and looked toward the bedroom. “Just refreshing my drink!” She turned back to the woman and studied her for a moment. “Okay. Come with me.”

She ushered her inside and closed the door.

“What’s your name?” she whispered.

“Lita.”

“Did you bring the scarves?”

Lita took them from her back pocket and held them up. Three of them, red silk.

“Remember, you don’t say a word. Even if he speaks to you.”

Lita smiled. “He won’t be able to catch his breath long enough to speak.”

Favreau was down to his underwear when Alexandra came back into the bedroom, still wearing that dress that looked like a million bucks but needed to be stripped from her athletic little body as soon as humanly possible.

A man could only take so much before the beast came out to play.

He noticed her hand was empty and said, “Where’s your drink?”

She brought the other hand out from behind her back and held up some red silk scarves. “I brought these instead.”

“Where’d those come from?”

“You’d be surprised how much my little purse can hold.”

“Okay, but what are they for?”

She looked at him as if he should know the answer, and then it dawned on him. “You’re not planning to use those on me, are you?”

“You didn’t mind last night. Aren’t we trying to recreate a memory?”

“Yeah, but…”

“You just lie back and relax. You won’t regret a minute of it.”

Favreau liked the sound of that, but he wasn’t sure about getting tied up. Kinkiness had never been his thing. But then a woman this hot had never spent time with him voluntarily, so he didn’t put up a fuss when she crossed to the bed, wound one of the scarves around his left wrist, and tied it to the headboard.

She repeated the ritual with his right hand, and damn if he didn’t feel like a fool lying there in his BVDs with his arms splayed.

She noticed his discomfort and said, “Go with the flow, Frederic. Go with the flow.”

At this point, he didn’t have much choice.

But then she got up on the bed with the third scarf and brought it toward his eyes.

“Wait a minute — wait,” he said. “You’re gonna blindfold me?”

“It’s all part of the game, baby.”

This was the first time she’d called him that, and the way her tongue wrapped around the word, coupled with the shot of cleavage she was giving him, was enough to kick his motor into high gear. He could feel his body starting to react.

“Aww, fuck it,” he said. “Do whatever you want. I’m yours.”

She smiled and kissed him, then slipped the scarf over his eyes and tied it behind his head. He was relieved to see the fabric was thin enough that it didn’t completely obscure his vision. He couldn’t see much, but figured it was better than nothing.

She climbed off the bed and he heard her moving around, then the lamp on the nightstand clicked and the room went dark. The only light came from the open bedroom doorway.

A moment later he saw her standing there, little more than a shapely silhouette.

“I think I really do need that drink,” she said.

“Oh, don’t you dare.”

“You said to do whatever I want.”

She was teasing him and was damn good at it.

“Then get it already and get your ass back in here.”

When she disappeared from the doorway, Favreau felt a momentary spike of panic. What if this had all been some elaborate ruse? What if she really was working for Valac, and this was his way of making old Freddy look like a fool?

But then half a minute later she was standing in the doorway again, drink in hand. He could barely see her, but it was enough. She knocked the drink back, tossed the empty glass to the carpet, then took half a step forward and began peeling the dress off her body like it was a second skin.

What she was doing to him right now should not have been legal. Not here. Not in the US. Not even in his adopted home of France.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this turned on. He was breathing too fast, almost hyperventilating, afraid he might lose it before she got any closer.

Or have a heart attack.

She stepped out of the dress, turning slightly, showing him her profile, and he could see her breasts bouncing. She paused a moment to stroke them, then she turned again, and he lost her in the darkness. But that didn’t matter, because a second later he felt the bed move as she climbed on, grabbed hold of the elastic waistband of his underwear and pulled, exposing him in all his glory.

Then he felt her skin against his and something warm and wet and wonderful happened and he tried to hold back but he couldn’t help himself, losing it in record time.

But that didn’t matter, either, because she kept on going until he was ready again, and no matter how much he begged her to untie him and take off the blindfold, she didn’t listen, didn’t say a word, just did things with her teeth and her tongue and her fingers and her body, and before he knew it they had gone three rounds—three glorious rounds—and he was exhausted, used up, spent, worn out, and slowly drifting off to sleep.

When he was halfway to dreamland he felt her untying his wrists, felt her hot breath against his face, but he couldn’t move, his entire being drained of energy. Weightless. Drifting.

Then she whispered in his ear, “I told you you wouldn’t regret it.”

And he fell asleep smiling.