[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
slipped his cock deep inside her pussy.
She inhaled, wild to watch him in his passion. Honey?
His hands cupped her ass and he was focused on how they fit together. Yeah?
The plane began to rumble down the runway.
She bounced along, Grant inside her. Whoa, she laughed as Grant smoothly
pumped away.
Hang on! he was chuckling, too, as he braced two arms to the headboard and
held her in place with his hips and his cock, buried tightly inside her. As he rocked
them both, she clenched his shaft with her vaginal muscles. Hanging on to Grant
Warwick was her only ambition in life now. And she caressed him and hugged him, her
pussy claiming the part she craved. He shuddered and buried his fingers in the flesh of
her hips. She clamped down on him until finally he drove her up against the headboard
with three huge pounding strikes that took her over the edge of consciousness.
I thought the foreplay added new meaning to the term cabin fever, she told him
minutes later when the plane leveled. Takeoff was terrific. But you know, she
whispered as she curled her fingers in his chest hair, I ve never been a member of the
mile high club.
78
Carried Away
I take it that s an invitation, lady. He beamed at her. Let s make certain you
never want to fly commercial again.
79
Cerise DeLand
Chapter Eight
The late afternoon rain in Paris darkened her mood. Dreary and chilling, the drizzle
made Coco shiver even in the new trench coat she had bought in the boutique near their
hotel. She pulled the lapels higher as she and Grant waited in a tiny café in the Marais
sector of the old City for his contact at the embassy. The man was half an hour late. She
sipped her thick hot chocolate, then scooped up a forkful of her raspberry gateau to
offer to Grant.
His dark brows knit together in appalled delight as he swallowed and licked his
lips. I can feel my arteries clog as we sit here.
My thighs are spreading, too, she added and had to warn him with a grin at the
intimate suggestion that made his brows arch. Down, boy. Poor phrasing. Where s
your man?
Got hung up, I guess. If he s not here in ten minutes, I ll call. Been to Paris often?
he asked and sipped his coffee.
Four, five times when I was young and I came along with my parents when my
dad was a delegate to one peace conference or other. But as an adult? No. She covered
one of Grant s hands atop the table. I ve only passed through Paris on my way to some
war or other.
He gazed into her eyes. We ll come back and stay for a week when this is over.
We ll play tourist and go to the Louvre and Malmaison.
Have you ever been to Versailles? She caught his enthusiasm for the diversion.
We ll take the Metro. It s so fast. I know a scrumptious bistro, open all day, dark with
lots of French lace at the windows and china as thin as your skin. Best of all, they serve
escargot, in a huge bowl, drowning in butter and garlic.
He laughed. Woman, you love to eat!
80
Carried Away
Yes! She feigned dismay. And it s a problem too.
Why s that?
I ve had no time to learn how to cook, but worse, no one to share the bounty
with.
He stared at her lips. I can help you on both counts.
She held her breath. When this is over? If it ever is.
A promise, he whispered and turned to look through the front glass. Here he is.
From the American Embassy.
What s his name again? Nerves were making her memory dull.
Nick Chekov.
Nice Irish boy, huh?
Yeah. We were in the service together. He s the assistant to the military attaché at
our Embassy here.
That did mean something to her. So many attachés had a second job. For Langley.
One look at Chekov and she had to blink. If ever there was a body double for Grant
it was this tall, muscular man with a hearty handshake and a gravelly voice. But there
the similarities ended. Where Grant was dark, Nick was fair. Where Grant was bald,
Nick had a wild crop of curls. Where Grant seemed patient, Nick talked in clipped
patterns, bounding over issues as if he were on fire. He seemed to personify what Grant
called him Check.
Who s investigating the murder? Grant asked him soon after he sat down and
refused a drink.
French police. Interpol came in, too. They re finishing up the DNC now. Lucky I
could learn about the note.
What s a DNC? Coco asked Check.
Jargon. He grinned. Means forensics, you know, dust and clean up.
81
Cerise DeLand
Grant leaned forward, lowered his voice against the six other patrons. Anything
you can tell me about the note? The paper it was written on? The pen or pencil used?
The note? Written on a phone book page. Torn out of the directory right there in
Suleiman s apartment. The writing implement? A blunt black magic marker. Must have
taken it with him. Police haven t found it.
Grant paced. What about the nature of the room?
Nick shook his head. Looks odd.
Why s that? she asked him.
Nothing s disturbed, except the body. He was badly beaten. But the room wasn t
tossed. Odd for a murder scene where the perp wanted to extract info. And so far, no
latent fingerprints. I made a few inquiries and we can go there, if you like.
Ahmed s apartment? We can get in? Coco was astonished.
Nick nodded. It s about two blocks away off the Rue de Rosiers.
Grant examined her features. I think we should.
She grabbed her purse. Let s go.
The apartment was on the top floor of a huge home with low mansard roof of red
tiles. Nick had a key, removed the French police tape across the door frame and let
them in.
Don t touch anything, he advised. Just look.
Ahmed s entire living space was only as large as her living room back home in D.C.
Dust over the flimsy table and kitchen counters. Carpet that was stained and curling at
the corners of the walls. A mattress flung on the floor, bed linens threadbare and
rumpled. One big hole in the carpeting. All of it covered in transparent plastic sheeting
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
