the worlds.
That's what the Indians say."
She glanced over Jacey's
shoulder, and suddenly her face changed.
She smiled brightly and
patted Jacey's hand.
"So just remember what I've told you," she said and walked away.
Jacey turned to see Nicolas walking towards her.
"What did that old fool want this time?"
he asked.
"She was telling me about aloha Jacey said.
"Whatever that is."
"It's an idiotic native superstition," he said.
"Some kind of spirit."
"Well, apparently it's waiting for you," Jacey said brightly.
Nicolas sighed irritably.
"Ana and Juanita made a good pair.
They were both fascinated by all
that rubbish the Indians teach."
"Apparently the loha is going to destroy you said Jacey.
"It's powerful and cruel.
Don't you think you should be just a little
bit worried?"
"It'll take more than a few natives dancing about in the forest
muttering incantations to destroy me Nicolas replied.
He grabbed hold
of her hand and pulled her towards the stairs.
"Come with me.
I've arranged something for you.
I think you'll enjoy
it."
He hustled her up the wide staircase and along a carpeted corridor.
When he opened a door for her, she fully expected to find herself in a
bedroom, or a room designed for some kind of amorous dalliance, maybe
furnished with comfortable chairs or a chaise longue.
Instead she was
in a rather conventional study.
A large, old-fashioned desk stood by the window, with a padded swivel
chair behind it.
There were glass-fronted bookcases, and framed
photographs of polo players on the walls.
Nicolas went behind the
desk, sat down and picked up the telephone.
"Come in now," he ordered abruptly.
Almost immediately the door opened and Marco came in.
His cold,
snake's eyes glanced at Jacey without obvious recognition, and then at
Nicolas.
Even larger than Jacey remembered, he made Nicolas look
lightweight.
"Marco," Nicolas said.
"You've offended my friend Dr.
Muldaire."
Marco's eyes switched to Jacey, then back to Nico las again.
"I wasn't aware of it, sir."
Nicolas smiled.
"Are you calling me a liar, Marco?"
"No, sir," Marco said quickly.
"Certainly not, sir."
"That's good."
Nicolas pushed the revolving chair far back enough to
allow him to stretch his legs and put his feet on the desk.
"Apologise to Dr.
Muldaire, Marco."
Marco looked at Jacey, his eye dark and glacial.
"I am sorry if I have offended you, Dr.
Muldaire/ he said blankly.
"That's not good enough."
Nicolas lounged back.
"I want Dr.
Muldaire to be absolutely certain that you're sorry for
your boorish behaviour."
His feet swung to the floor suddenly, and he leant forward.
"Kneel on the floor, Marco, and ask Dr.
Muldaire to forgive you."
Jacey was about to protest that this kind of apology was unnecessary,
but Marco obeyed instantly.
He knelt down, and as he looked up, again
she found herself gazing into his impassive eyes.
Jacey was flustered
and surprised.
"I am very sorry that I offended you, Dr.
Muldaire," he said, his
voice as blank as his expression.
"I apologise."
"I humbly apologise," Nicolas prompted.
"I humbly apologise," Marco repeated.
"Now kiss her feet," Nicolas instructed.
"No, really' Jacey began.
Marco hesitated.
"Do it!"
Nicolas ordered.
Marco bent forward, and she felt the brief tap of his mouth against her
shoe.
"Stand up," Nicolas said.
Marco stood up.
Nicolas smiled.
"You'll be polite to Dr.
Muldaire in future, won't you, Marco?"
He
paused for a brief moment.
"As long as she's a friend of mine, you'll be very polite."
"Yes, sir," Marco said.
When the door closed behind him, Jacey couldn't help saying: "You
really are a bastard, aren't you?"
Nicolas lazed back in his chair again.
"Is that all the thanks I get?
You enjoyed it, didn't you?"
"No."
But she knew it was a lie.
While it had not given her any kind
of sexual kick to see Marco humiliated, she did derive a certain
satisfaction from receiving his unwilling apology.
"And you've made me an enemy," she added.
Nicolas stood up, and came round to the front of the desk.
Reaching
out for her, he put his hands on either side of her neck.
She felt his
fingers grip gently, then one hand moved to the back of her head.
The
other stroked the line of her jaw, and ended under her chin.
His grip
tightened and he forced her head back slowly.
"As long as you're my woman, you're quite safe," he said.
She felt herself being drawn towards him.
She wanted him to kiss her,
and yet, perversely, she wanted to resist, to make him force her.
Almost imperceptibly, she pulled away from him and immediately felt his
grip turn to iron.
Although she knew it was a fantasy, she was filled
with the sensation that if she resisted him too much, he would snap her
head back and break her neck.
Why did she find this situation so
arousing?
His lips touched hers.
Firmly closed, they rested on her
mouth lightly.
She felt the warmth of his skin and the hard strength
of his body moving against her.
Then, slowly, his tongue began to
force her lips apart.
And then the phone rang.
Nicolas pulled away from her abruptly, and
said, in German, something brief and vicious.
His phone conversation
was short and to the point.
"Yes.
You did the right thing.
I'll be with you in ten minutes."
Turning back to Jacey he smiled, and shrugged.
"The police have just caught two boys they think I'd like to question.
I'm sorry, but I have to go."
"An interrogation?"
she asked.
"An interview," he said.
"All very civilised.
I hope you don't think I use knuckle-dusters and
a cosh."
She wondered exactly how much power she needed to entice him to stay.
"Can't it wait?"
she murmured seductively.
"A couple of boys can't be that important."
"That depends on who they're working for," he said.
"They're Indian kids.
They could be stealing for themselves, or if
they're really stupid, they'll be doing it for Lohaquin."
She snuggled closer to him.
"Surely you don't have to go right now?"
He put his hands round her waist and held her tightly.
"Prisoners tend to tell the truth when they're confused and frightened.
Don't you have a saying in English about striking while the iron's
hot?"
She was close enough to feel his erection pushing against her
stomach.
She slipped her hand down and captured it with gently probing
fingers.
"What a pity that maxim only applies to your prisoners," she
murmured.
"It doesn't."
He lifted her suddenly, dumping her roughly on the desk.
Moving
quickly, he lodged himself between her outstretched legs, preventing
her from closing them.
She wriggled, pretending to protest, only to ruche her skirt even
higher round her thighs.
He pushed at the hem until it reached her
waist, revealing her wispy, black, suspender belt and her matching
silky thong.
As she lay there spreadeagled, he surveyed her body.
"Very nice," he approved.
"Very sexy."
His fingers touched the taut, shiny triangle that barely
covered her pubic hair.
"You must wear something like this for me again.
I like to see women's
bodies decorated with silk, or lace, or jewelry."
She felt his nails
scrape tantalisingly over the cloth.
Her clitoris was already swollen
and sensitive and his light touch excited it even more.
"But for my immediate needs, you're overdressed."
He reached into a pocket and she was briefly aware of something small,
dark and shiny in his hand.
Then a thin blade appeared, released by a
spring from its ebony handle.
A quick hooking move cut the ties that
held the thong in place.
He pulled the tiny piece of cloth away, and
tossed it on to the floor.
"That's better."
The knife disappeared back into its handle.
He pulled her towards him,
forcing her legs even wider apart.
Before she realised fully what was
happening, he had unzipped and thrust into her with brutal urgency.