Laced Impulse (7 page)

"Amya... Apparently, you've made an impression on Sven and Hendrik. If there were to be a vote, the tally would be two to one. I know when I'm beat so I see no need to continue this conversation."

Greta extended her arm, and her hand was as chilly as her voice.

"You must attend my party. I insist."

The two women locked eyes and Bianca didn't sense any traces of sincerity. But she did identify something. Full blown malicious intent. This woman was dangerous and she'd have to watch her back.

In the midst of their icy exchange, Henrik chiseled them free.

"Did you think to pack an evening gown?" Henrik's gaze turned lurid, causing Bianca's concern to transfer from Greta to him. She shook her head, then said....

"No, I'm afraid I didn't." Cheerfully she adjusted her response saying... "But this is Paris. Finding a decent gown shouldn’t present a problem."

No one spoke, claiming that she was wrong but she also noticed that no one agreed with her either.

Henrik clapped his hands; breaking everyone from their trances. He stepped closer, coming within kissing distance. Imitating the French; he pressed his lips on either side of her face. Whiffs of his expensive cologne circled like a cloud; emphasizing his maleness. He drew back, ignoring Greta's angry dagger like eyes.

"I look forward to our next meeting,
Amya
."

Henrik purposely drew out her name, while reaching down to take hold of her hand. Again, he started with the kisses. His mouth brushed across the back of her hand. And dammit if the man didn't arouse a physical response in her V spot. She sucked back a moan; curtailing the ripple before it spread too far. A faint echo of a shout pricked her awareness. Thoughts of Mot and her mission. Heightened feelings; she blamed him for kindling. If Henrik’s advances were stirring her desire; Bianca had tagged the root cause. Mot. He was to blame. For all that, he was somewhere else and she was here on her own dealing with a mission that wasn’t at all as straightforward as he’d proclaimed. Regardless of what she’d been told; now that she’d met the players, she had a better sense of her mission. Watching wouldn’t be her only role. Greta and Henrik each had reason’s to undermine her. Bianca would have to be on guard for more reasons than one.

***************

Chapter 6

While walking to the elevator, Henrik remained at Bianca's side, leaving Greta to be escorted by Sven. Bianca was in the rear and she couldn't hear Greta and Sven's conversation mainly because Henrik was talking; telling her about the little house that they'd rented. The man was a relentless flirt. When the pair parted. She went to her room and called the concierge; hoping to gain some help. Her knowledge about gowns wasn't impressive and she knew even less when it came to buying shoes and purses. After three phone calls, and wasting precious little time; she finally settled on a gown in the hotels dress salon. She hurried back to her room, knowing that she'd need every second to get ready. Thus far, she was questioning her decisions. She'd knowingly allowed Greta and Henrik to leave; thereby, putting them out of her sight. Mot had instructed her to keep them under surveillance. But what better way to observe the pair, than being a guest at their party. Saying no would have appeared out of character for a person dying to experience Paris. She'd observed the way people fawned and cooed whenever talking to either of them. They weren't scientist and they weren't pretending to be. Greta and Henrik introduced themselves as headhunters; looking to score big by hiring a scientist or outright purchasing their formulas. Money flowed, yet no one questioned who controlled the tap. It didn't appear to matter, so she had to follow suit. She had to be as impressed as everyone else whenever Greta winked or Henrik tried to pat her ass. Allowing them to leave without her following them was a risk but she felt the chance was worth taking. Besides, when in the field, making the final call was hers to make.

Bianca was stepping out of the shower when she heard a rapping sound on her door. She wasn't expecting any guest and the only other person that knew she was here was Mot. She crossed the room hurriedly anticipating seeing him. But when she checked the peephole, instead of seeing Mot; Bianca saw the desk clerk, holding a large rectangular box. She stepped away, clearing a space to open the door. His English was fair, and he knew enough to explain that the package had just arrived. She asked him to stay, giving her time to get his tip. He waved his hand, and in his broken English he said...

"The gratuity came with box."

"Oh..." she said in surprise, while the man made his exit. Bianca lay the box on her bed because it was too large to open on the sofa. She didn't see a card on the outside, and she hoped the sender wasn’t trying to maintain their anonymity. Lifting the lid, she lay it to the side, then went to work, parting the tissue paper. Her hands drew back, clinched at her throat.

"My word..." was all she could think to say. At the shoulders of the gown, she lifted the dress. As her eyes marveled over the design, papers sprung up in motion. Her focus had been on the gown and not the neatly stacked papers beneath a small flower adorned note card. She scrambled, attempting to gather the falling items. She reached for the card. The note was hand printed. The words as touching as his music.

"
Please, accept these humble offerings as my gift to you. Wear the dress and later, when you return home, enjoy my music."

The box held a beautiful gown and the fabric was unlike anything she'd ever seen. The sheet music was the piece he'd been playing when they’d first met. Sven had sent the gifts to her. But why? She didn't know but she ached to ask him. Without question, his dress out shined the simple gown she'd purchased in the hotel’s salon. The dress was a coral color. A hue she’d never considered in the past, but against her hand, the color complimented her complexion perfectly. Why, why, why? Questions sprung to life but no answers followed. She dropped her hands to her side, wondering why Sven had singled her out. Why had he bought a dress, she was sure had cost him plenty? And the music? What was up with that? The composition was a work of genius. She could play music and if she searched her brain, she could even read the notes. But as for playing the piano... It had been a long while since she’d played at her last recital but her performance had been nothing like Sven’s.

Bianca dressed hurriedly, not wanting to be late for the party. As promised, Henrik sent his driver and she saw no need to decline his offer. Before leaving her room, Bianca checked in with her handler. She didn't know if her room was bugged or if she was being overheard but at this juncture, it didn't really matter. The phrase she'd spoken was inconspicuous, lacking substance. “
The city is wonderful, so I thought I'd attend a party tonight.”
She told the person on the other end the names of the party's host. To the receiver, the message was loaded. She confirmed that her location was still Paris and her mission was going as planned. By telling TC the names of Greta and Henrik; she wanted him to know who she was with and where she was going.

Bianca rode in the rear of the town car, making note of street signs. In her head, a mental map was forming. The little house that Greta and Henrik had rented, was more like a palace. When the car came to a stop, she peered out, taking in the four story dwelling. From the street, the place looked magnificent and when she walked inside, she had to suppress her awe. She'd never seen anything so grand in person. Even the White House paled in comparison. The foyer was adorned with antiques and furnishings that bespoke of the owners wealth. The chandelier alone was worth at least half a million. And Henrik had spoke of a little house. He’d told her that this place was perfect for their small quaint gathering. Small indeed, she’d thought while admiring a French Impressionist rendering.

Broken from her musings, Bianca looked to the butler. A very attractive middle aged man dressed in tux and tails; he led the way, taking her up an ornate wide spiral staircase. The formal ballroom was located on the second level of the house. She could hear sounds as they approached. Light laughter. Music. Rustling of clothing. Clinking glasses.

The butler opened a large heavy door. He stepped aside, allowing her entrance. Due to his formal approach, she half expected him to bellow out her name in the same manner the joint houses announce the entrance of the president.

When Greta talked about her party, Bianca had expected to see people who'd attended the conference. Except for herself and Sven, the room was half filled with complete strangers. In fact, after she quickly counted; in all, there were twenty-seven people in the room. Before she could get her bearings; Henrik crossed the floor wearing a tux, fitted specifically for his build. The man was a vision. A blond Adonis and ridiculously drop dead gorgeous. He smiled as he approached, knowing full well the affect he had on women.

"Amya..." He sang her name. “You’re absolutely beautiful in that dress.” Hendrik grasps her hand, in his. He drew in close, greeting her with the customary kisses. Again she was bathed in his arousing scents. He said something in German, and she searched her mind, rooting out the meaning.
Beautiful
flower
, she thought in her head.

"Come... Sven has been talking about you to everyone. You impressed him Amya and that's no small feat. But on that subject, he is not alone. You've impressed me as well."

Being Amya came easy to Bianca. Crossing the floor with Henrik by her side, her dress ruffled, floating like a feather riding the wind. Every man and woman in the room made notice of her. Hendrik held her hand, escorting her to meet two of his friends, Lexy and Drek. The pair spoke very little English and their French was worse. The greetings were slow and laborious because Hendrik had to translate practically every word. Bianca smiled while feigning interest. She also managed to keep a casual eye on Greta. The seductive temptress had Sven cornered on a love seat monopolizing him completely. After a few more exchanges, Henrik led her over to the bar. He waved off the bartender, not needing his assistance; then he busied himself mixing their drinks. He slid a glass in front of her, then sampled his own concoction.

"That is good, if I may say so myself." He watched, waiting for her appraisal. Bianca raised the glass, and immediately she recognized a sweet aroma. The scent of orange juice and grenadine. When she tasted it, the sugary tang masked the flavor of the liquor. Bianca rarely drank but she sensed the burn when she swallowed. Henrik wasn't a chemist but his talent behind the bar couldn't be ignored. He'd prepared the perfect blend of ingredients. The sweet mixture of juice and grenadine fooled her tongue. But when she swirled then swallowed, the liquor warmed her throat. Henrik leaned across the bar, unabashedly flirting.

"Good, uh..." He said. He skirted from behind the bar, placing her drink in one hand, while he twined their fingers with his free hand.

"I don't want to be accused of being a bad host. Come. I'll take you to Sven."

Bianca joined him at his side, noticing how he ignored the other people in the room. As her eyes briefly landed on faces; she wondered who theses people were? Jewels dripped from earlobes and diamonds roped around necks like starlights. The men were all stunningly handsome and by the way they were all dressed. It was clear to her, these weren't ordinary people and when she'd been invited here, this wasn't at all what she'd expected to find.

Before she could form any thoughts that would upright her mind, Bianca was standing near a somewhat, peeved looking Greta.

"Sven... I've brought her too you, as promised." Henrik said.

Sven's eyes appeared to look fixed and glassy.

"How was that drink?" Henrik asked and before Sven could respond, Henrik was waving down the bartender to bring him another.

"I'll see to our other guest." Greta said. She took two steps then stopped to study Bianca's dress.

"That is a beautiful gown. Where on earth did
you
get it?"

Before leaving the hotel, Bianca had rehearsed a prepared statement. But somewhere in her head, the thought got lost. The crisscrossed wires in her brain spoke without considering the ramifications.

"I didn't buy it. It was a gift."

"A gift?" Greta said, aghast. Her brain drumming up pictures of Mot. Or that damn name he insisted calling himself. Gideon Vincent.

"Beautiful Amya has an admirer." Henrik said, while pretending to pout. "You're making me jealous. Is your admirer anyone I know?"

Fresh thoughts shone in her head. There was no bridle and her voice didn't quaver when she answered him. Bianca said...

"There is no need for jealousy Henrik. You know my admirer but he isn't even a friend. He’s someone I just recently became acquainted with."

She felt his name sitting on her tongues tip, preparing to springboard, had it not been for Greta. Being upstaged by another woman was unfathomable to the feisty red head.

"They have their drinks Henrik. Leave them. We have other guest and
I
won’t be blamed for not entertaining them."

There was something odd behind that statement but Henrik bowed, then scurried off, following Greta. Bianca shifted on the sofa. She wanted to thank Sven for his thoughtful gifts but when she looked at him, his eyes appeared to be in a far off place. The bartender appeared out of nowhere. In French he asked if he could freshen up Bianca's drink. He removed the half empty glass from Sven's hand then replaced it with another, filled to the rim. Without waiting for Bianca's response, he topped hers off from a container, until now, she hadn't seen.