Manacled in Monaco (17 page)

He dropped her hands and Rolan’s neck muscles unknotted.

“Most are vegetarian, but I did do a couple of beef dishes for the meat eaters.”

Transfixed by her bare feet and the delicate rings on her toes, Rolan curled one arm around her waist and held her stationary. She glanced up at him and he read uncertainty in those amber eyes. Drawing her closer, he bent his head and gave into his initial instinctive reaction, sipping at her mouth, nibbling, tasting.

“Jeez, Dad, do you have to do that all the time?” Tony poked him in the back and added, sotto voce, to his audience. “They’re always into nooky-nooky.”

She broke the kiss by pushing at his chest.

“Champagne?” Austen’s deep baritone broke the pulsing quiet in the room, the stereo erupted, and a sitar tinkled in the background.

Conversation broke out and everyone sampled the table’s delights. Sarita disappeared, murmuring something about the kitchen. Rolan’s gaze followed her swaying backside out the door and then Shannon descended.

“The little pagan’s showing her teeth,” she said, trailing one scarlet talon-tipped nail down his bicep. “Who knew she had any?”

Taking her hand between his thumb and forefinger, he removed it from his arm and let it drop. “She’s not the only one with teeth, Shan.”

“And I’m the one with the real estate your team needs, sweetie. I’d play nice if I were you.” She leaned closer and fingered his collar. “Suresh won’t like it if you lose the deal for him.”

“You’re a real piece of work.”

“I didn’t get where I am today solely on my back, sweetie. By the way, I kept every single picture we took, and I even have a copy of the video. You remember the video, don’t you?”

Jesus.

Rolan shuddered and almost dropped his champagne glass. The video had been one of the reasons he’d broken up with her. He had been too drunk that fateful night to realize she’d taped the whole sordid incident. When she played the tape a week later, he had freaked out, tore the box out of the VHS player, uncurled the tape, and burned it in an ashtray.

She had a copy.

Jesus.

This could ruin everything. At the beginning of his football career, he had made a deliberate decision to be an example. He didn’t swear on the field, was always polite and courteous, and never washed any dirty linen in public, Even though he’d dated and been photographed with famous actresses, he had a policy of don’t kiss and tell.

And he always used a condom. No woman could claim she was having his baby and make it stick. Two women had tried that tactic. He’d volunteered to take the DNA test each time and each time, he’d been vindicated.

If that video became public, his clean-cut image would evaporate like rain on hot asphalt. Goodbye coaching career, goodbye Sarita, Tony. He loosened his killer grip on the fine crystal flute and assumed his Texas hold ’em expression.

“Were you always this boring, Shan? Do me a favor and stick to real estate negotiations. I’m not interested in a trip down memory lane.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Rolan Paxton. All I need to do is leak that tape and Suresh will drop you like that.” She snapped her fingers two inches away from his nose.

He didn’t flinch. “Go for it, Shan. That tape doesn’t exactly paint you as a saint.”

“Don’t goad me, sweetie. I have nothing to lose. You, on the other hand…” Shannon trailed a finger down his chest and toyed with one of the white buttons on his shirt.

Wrapping his hand around her fingers, he squeezed, and released his grip only when she winced. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Shan. And don’t think I don’t have my own shots of certain events.”

“I’d say we’re even this round, sweetie. I’m looking forward to round two.”

Rolan set the champagne glass on the table, resisting the temptation to throw it at the back of her head. Shannon could have blackmailed him with the tape years ago. Why raise the issue now? True, their paths hadn’t crossed after he was drafted. She’d attempted to cash in on his fame eighteen months into his career, but he’d refused to take the bait.

Cindy-something pounced. Long fake nails trailed his forearm, caressed his bicep.

He took a deep breath, trapped her hand, and forced it off. “Cut it. Now.”

“Spoilsport,” she taunted. “Just ’cause you’re married doesn’t mean we can’t have fun like we used to. Remember that week at Geoff’s hunting lodge? We had a great time.” Cindy-something’s ruby mouth pursed in a much practiced pout.

Stifling a groan, he growled. “Read my lips. I am not interested. Stick to Geoff.”

The corners of her lips dipped and she glanced over at Brianna and Geoff carrying on a murmured conversation in a shadowed corner. “Easy for you to say.”

“Here’s a tidbit that’ll make your day. Bri swings both ways.”

Cindy-something’s face lit up and ash eyebrows met her hairline. “Really? Mmmm.”

Her voice trailed off as she sauntered over to the couple.

One bowl, two pins. Now, if he could only get Shannon off his back. Did she really have a copy of that tape? The woman had latched on to Suresh and the two of them seemed involved in an intense discussion.

At that moment, Austen appeared in the doorway holding a big brass bell. Cutting Rolan a glance, he rang it a couple of times. “Dinner is served on the top deck. Please start heading up. Oh, and pretend you’re in an airport security check, no shoes.”

Rolan let everyone else precede him, and when he finally reached the top step leading to the roofed top of the
Glory
, shock arrested his steps. A striped Arabian-style tent covered the area. A rectangular table about two feet high dominated the rooftop.

Sitting on the floor on the far side were Suresh, Shannon, and Geoff. Cindy-something and Brianna occupied the narrow side to the right of them. His wife, who faced Geoff and the others, sat on her haunches next to a cross-legged Rizzo.

A low growl rumbled up his throat when he realized she was adjusting the young cockerel’s collar, lithe fingers twisting the material this way and that.

Only Austen’s firm grip on his shoulders prevented him from attacking Rizzo. First, his spot on the team, now his wife.

“Easy boss, easy. Sarita’s all excited about tonight and she moved her stuff into your cabin about an hour ago.”

His heart stopped beating.

“She did?”

“And Yvonne purloined some interesting, as she put it, ‘objects d’art’ for your wife.”

At Rolan’s lifted eyebrows, he added. “Toys, boss, interesting adult toys.”

Jesus.

Toys.

Sex toys and Sarita.

Paradise.

“Point of interest, is the master soundproof?”

“Once the portholes are closed, it is. You know how kinky Terry can be -- he designed it that way.”

“Put on the air, close all the portholes. Get Sarita downstairs on any excuse you can find before dessert. Oh, there’s a box in the safe in the master. Get it to me before the main course and bring up champagne, then put a bottle in our room.” His tongue liked the sound of those words, our room. And his gleeful cock had come back to life, weeping moisture on his belly.

“Rolan darling,” Sarita said and patted the empty spot next to her. “Come and sit down. Austen and Tony are serving dinner tonight.”

Darling?

Darling, the word spiked his desire to the point where the need to be inside her became his sole focus. He sat next to her and crossed his legs awkwardly under the low table. She leaned over, slid a small palm from his knee to inner thigh, and rested her hand just under his bulging erection. Unable to resist, he cradled her face in his hands and ate her mouth, sliding his tongue between her luscious lips, sweeping a conqueror’s salsa, tangling his tongue with hers.

“Daaad.”

Tony tapped his shoulder and Rolan broke the kiss, his forehead leaning against Sarita’s.

“Come on you two. There are other people here, especially me. The surprise, Mom, remember?”

Heaven.

Hell.

Sheer torture, that dinner.

And he loved every minute of it.

Sarita leaned into him after that kiss, left her hand on his thigh, managed to brush his cock every couple of minutes, and let him curl his arm around her waist,

Austen delivered menus to all and sundry. A hand-penned calligraphic listing of dishes under the heading, “Rolan Anthony Paxton & Sarita Kathleen Khan invite you to a celebration of their union.” After reading that title, he became buoyant, ecstatic.

Tony delivered miniature pancakes and a bowl of chopped tomatoes to each seated individual.

Sarita held court.

“This is a type of Indian bread. It tastes like a spicy tortilla. The bowl contains tomato choka, which is tomatoes charred over an open flame and then mixed with onions, garlic, and hot peppers that also have been charred. You break off a piece of the bread, scoop the choka up with it, and then eat.”

She shifted to face him, and all he wanted to do was crow and beat his chest and shout his possession of her to the world.

“Open wide, darling.”

Darling.

When she edged the morsel into his mouth, he suckled her finger and the food. Their gazes meshed and seized, and the world faded away.

And he knew in that instant.

He’d always been in love with Sarita.

Ten years may have vanished, but their connection remained constant.

She didn’t resist when he shifted and pulled her against him. Instead, she rested her elbows on his thighs, leaned her back against his chest, and allowed him to play with her hair, feed her little bites, bring the wine glass to her lips.

“What’re you up to, Sarita honey?” he whispered into her ear.

“And why do you think I’m up to something?” She arched one eyebrow and shifted so her palms cradled his erection.

Sucking in oxygen, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head and swept a cursory glance over their audience. His lungs stuttered to a halt when he caught sight of the videotape clutched between Shannon’s palms.

Chapter Twelve

Rolan’s thigh muscles bunched beneath her palm. Sarita glanced up at him, and over to where his eyes focused, Shannon’s elegant fingers flipping a bulky old-fashioned video tape from one hand to another. Something about that tape had her husband hot and bothered, as evidenced by the thin sheen of sweat on his biceps. So far, the evening had progressed according to plan and she had Rolan’s complete attention. Smug, wallowing in the small victory over both Cindy-something and Shannon, she embarked on the second half of her plan.

“I need to be in the kitchen for a few minutes,” she said, draping an arm around Rolan’s neck and urging his mouth down to hers. She sipped at his lip, tasting the remnants of brandy and cigar that coated his tongue. Light tentative touches, until he growled and took control of the kiss, and plundered her mouth, quick, fierce thrusts that told her where he wanted to be.

“Jesus, honey,” he said, breaking away, his feathered breath fanning her cheek. “Will I ever get enough of you?”

Trailing a finger down her cheek, fingering her ear, he didn’t seem to notice Shannon glaring at them or Geoff’s lips pursing in silent approval.

“Rolan, sweetie,” Shannon purred. “I thought you’d like to take a trip down memory lane. This is a tape of our last Homecoming. You do remember that night, don’t you?”

His arms tightened around her.

“I’m surprised you’d want to relive that night. You threw the entire bowl of punch at me and missed. You never could throw a fart’s worth.”

“Well, well, I’m surprised, too. I was sure you’d want to relive that glorious last-minute touchdown. I even have us being crowned King and Queen, and of course the after party.”

“Not the time nor place. I’d suggest you table it.”

“Hey Dad, I’d like to see it,” Tony said, and his nimble fingers whipped the tape from Shannon’s loose grip. “Wait a minute -- this won’t fit in the DVD player.” Holding the object between one thumb and forefinger, the boy frowned.

“Hard to forget what a dinosaur you are Paxton,” Rizzo commented. “A VHS tape? Is that technology even available today? Here, Tony, toss me that thing. I’ll get someone at the hotel to transfer it to DVD when we get back. Then we can all watch it.”

Rolan’s hold on her waist pinched her skin and Sarita winced. She tapped his knuckles.

“What?” he barked.

“You’re hurting me,” she replied.

He released her immediately and she didn’t know whether to be relieved or concerned at his obvious tension about the tape. Deciding escape proved the best option, Sarita rose to her feet.

“The entrée is being served family style. Tony, Austen, I need your help to bring everything up.”

A slight breeze touched her skin and she shivered, hugging her arms. The smell of coconut and oil mingled with the lingering aromas of charred tomatoes, garlic, and onions. Night had fallen, stars winked in the sable sky, and more appeared as an ash cloud cover slid away.

“I’ll come too,” Rizzo said, hopped up, and strode straight for the stairs, the videotape slapping his thigh.

Sarita watched Rolan watching Rizzo’s hand and the tape. A quick glance showed Shannon’s contorted features. The woman looked like a sinister witch, teeth bared in a ferocious snarl, eyes narrowed to a slit, and brows slashed into a V. Those baby blue eyes were glued to the tape and she seemed about to leap to her feet to follow Rizzo.

Or the tape.

“Austen, maybe you can refresh everyone’s drinks before you head to the galley. Shannon’s champagne definitely needs replenishing.”

“Done, lovey,” Austen replied. He crouched besides the other woman and unscrewed the wire holding the cork in the green bottle. “This is Laurent-Perrier, Churchill’s preferred brand.”

Sarita bumped into Rizzo going down the stairs to the galley.

“Whoa, steady there little sweetheart.” He cupped her shoulders. “Heck, you’re always on fast forward.”

“I’m sorry if I rushed you too much today. Thanks again for translating for me and for making that long drive. I couldn’t have managed everything without your help.”

“Get your hands off my wife, Rizzo.”

Rolan’s bellowed words raised the hair on her neck. She whirled around, took a step backward, and came up against Rizzo’s chest.

The flat line of Rolan’s mouth spoke volumes, as did his flashing eyes darkened to army green.

When she tried to wriggle out of Rizzo’s embrace, he draped an arm around one shoulder and pulled her closer.

“Jimmy, stop that,” she ordered.

“You didn’t mind me doing this at lunchtime.” He twirled a lock of hair around one forefinger. “She has such soft hair, don’t you think?”

Sarita ducked out of the way of Rolan’s incoming fist and heard a muffled curse as his knuckles connected with Rizzo’s square jaw.

“Touch Sarita again and you’re a dead man.”

“Screw you, Paxton.” Rizzo spat. He fingered the reddened flesh on his chin. “I don’t get why she dotes on you.”

“What’s up?” Geoff materialized behind Rolan. “What’s all the yelling about?”

“You had lunch with him?”

“Rolan, stop shouting,” she said and shrugged out of Jimmy’s hold.

“Mom?”

She froze as Tony edged down the stairs gazing from her to Rolan and back again.

“Everything’s all right, son. Come with me to the kitchen. I need help with the dishes.”

Tony wriggled around Geoff and jumped the last two steps past Rolan. As they wound their way down the corridor, he twined his fingers with hers and squeezed.

“It was just a misunderstanding, Tony. Your Dad and I will work it out.” But would they? Could they find a way to live together? Trust each other?

She studied hers son’s pinched features.

“You’ve been very quiet all day. Did Jimmy get you your afternoon snack?”

“Cut it, Mom, Stop fussing,” Tony snapped.

Sarita’s jaw dropped open…her son had actually
snapped
at her. She halted for brief moments and stared at Tony’s hunched shoulders. The tension between the adults must have affected her always-polite son.

They arrived at the galley to find Austen already there loading a covered white porcelain dish onto a wooden tray.

“Hey, lovey. There’s only that one to finish up.” He angled his chin to the opposite counter. “Tony, you come with me and open doors. Sarita, we’ll see you above deck?”

“Have everyone start eating, Austen. Don’t wait for me. Where’s Madame Yvonne? Wasn’t she supposed to be here, too?”

“Don’t go there,” Austen warned, his tone terse.

Her son trailed behind the Navy SEAL and flung over his shoulder in a loud whisper. “She threw a few dishes at him. Then she left. All of you grownups are in bad moods.”

Tempted to throw a few plates herself, Sarita concentrated on garnishing the last platter with tomato florets. She encountered Rolan in the hallway and he relieved her of the heavy round bowl.

“You had lunch with Rizzo?”

“He speaks French and he offered to translate for me at the market.” The lines on Rolan’s forehead deepened. “He’s actually very nice and kind of shy beneath that bristling persona.”

“That idiot is after my position, Mrs. Paxton. You’re supposed to be on my side. I don’t want you spending a minute in his company. Do you hear me? Not a minute.”

“I am really, really trying hard not to lose my temper. I find Cindy in your bedroom with your autographed copy of her centerfold. Shannon Cartwright knows how you like to drink champagne. And you’re mad at me?” Hands fisted on her waist, teeth clamping together, she took a deep breath and all her pent up emotions poured out, her voice rising.

The ship’s engines stopped and the sound of clanking metal sounded overloud in the momentary silence. Terry had given the signal to drop anchor.

“Did I shout at you after learning that little tidbit? No, I planned this celebratory meal. You punch one of our guests and yell at me in front of everyone like I’m some moronic adolescent. Forget it, Paxton -- you don’t get to treat me like that. Ten years ago you could intimidate me, but not today, not anymore.” She stamped one foot, spun around, and took the back way up to the roof deck.

Arriving before he did, Sarita sat cross-legged on the deck. The absolute silence made her take a swift survey of the assembled individuals. Everyone stared at her, but when Rolan appeared on the top step, all eyes cut to him instead.

Taken aback by his lack of expression, Sarita eyed him beneath hooded lids and waited.

“Where do you want this?” He hefted the dish in his hands.

“Middle of the table, right there.” She pointed a finger to a bare spot delineated by a ring of fuchsia Bougainvillea flowers.

“Sarita, why don’t you tell us about these exotic dishes?” Geoff shot her a wide smile and waved his hand at the table. Sarita noted an ashen tint to his complexion and his courtier’s smile seemed strained.

“There are three different kinds of Indian bread in that corner. The plate over there with what looks like tortillas is a type of bread called a roti, which we had earlier. It’s cooked on a cast iron griddle. Those rounds over there are papadums and they’re crisp. This is chapatti, very similar to a roti, but it’s held over an open flame at the end of cooking and it puffs up.”

Rolan sat beside her, long legs stretched under the table. Without saying a word, he plucked her hand and set it on his knee. She scrutinized him. His mouth curled at the corners and two fingers rubbed a slow circle above her wrist.

“This one’s curry, right?”

Distracted by both Rolan’s soft caress and Brianna’s pleasant tone, Sarita shot a glance in the direction of the woman’s finger.

“That’s shrimp vindaloo. Careful, it’s a very hot curry made with tomatoes and the usual curry spices, onions, garlic, cumin, and coriander. Next to it is roghan jost, a mild lamb curry made with yogurt. To the right is chicken tandoori. I didn’t make that dish as you need a special oven to bake it. Thank Jimmy for the tandoori. While we were at the market, he heard about a source in Monaco and travelled quite a distance to get it for tonight.”

“I went for it too, Mom.”

“Thank both Jimmy and Tony, then.”

“And that’s jasmine rice and that’s stewed chickpeas,” Tony piped up indicating two adjacent platters. “Aw, Mom, you made it with spinach. Did ya have to? I don’t want any.”

Alerted by his sullen plaintive tone, Sarita’s concern mushroomed.

“Think of Popeye, and grin and bear it, son.”

“Move a little, Dad,” Tony said and wedged into the space between Rolan and Rizzo.

“I’ve had that before, that’s raitia, isn’t it? One of the girls who rooms with me when we’re in Paris doing the runways loves that dish. It’s good, too. Somehow the combination of mint, cumin, onions, cucumber, and yogurt really is yummy.” Flashing Sarita a perfect set of snow-white teeth, Brianna rubbed both palms together and added, “This is a real treat. Geoff’s done nothing but rave about your food since we bumped into each other at Annabel’s in London.”

“I hope I live up to his billing. Please start while it’s hot.” Sarita urged.

Rolan cleared his throat, and when everyone’s attention turned to him, he raised his champagne flute. “Before we start the sumptuous feast my wife prepared, I’d like to propose a toast. To my very talented and wonderful wife, thank you for this amazing meal. To Sarita,” Rolan said. He clinked her glass.

“Here, here. And belated congratulations, Sarita, Rolan. Best wishes for a grand long life together.” Geoff tipped his sparkling flute in salute.

Serving the meal family style encouraged cooperation and conversation as each person passed a plate left or right. Sarita noticed Shannon ate little, but engaged Suresh in a low conversation. The woman brushed her thighs repeatedly against the Internet billionaire’s and trailed a finger down his nut brown muscled forearm.

A cool gust of wind sent a shiver down Sarita’s spine.

Tony, Rolan, and Geoff traded football trivia, each male trying to better the other’s obscure fact. Brianna and Cindy whispered behind cupped hands and each woman cast furtive looks at Geoff.

Austen said little, but drank champagne as if it were the water of life. He topped up everyone’s glass on a regular basis. Halfway through the meal, Sarita noted he had consumed twice as much of the sparkling beverage as anyone else. She knew the SEAL handled his liquor with ease, however his plate was virtually empty and he hadn’t eaten more than a few bites.

Each individual at the table had hidden agendas, save Tony. Sarita spent most of the dinner eavesdropping on other conversations and trying to pinpoint the source of Rolan’s obvious tension. Her husband kept a wary eye on both Shannon and Rizzo, and seemed distracted by Suresh’s response to the blonde.

Figuring she didn’t have to worry about Shannon making a move on her husband for tonight at least, Sarita ate with a mechanical precision, not tasting a morsel. Designed to assert the pride she had in her multicultural background, the celebration proved successful food wise. But the event had notched up suppressed animosities and jealousies, hers included.

“Is Tony okay?” Rolan nudged her with one knee. “He’s not eating and he’s really sweating.”

Startled out of her brooding, Sarita checked her son’s face. A thick line of perspiration bordered Tony’s forehead and similar droplets bracketed his compressed lips.

“Anthony, come sit next to me,” she ordered and shifted her hips to make room for him.

Rolan edged backward and lifted Tony into the vacant spot. “He’s burning up, Sarita.”

She placed a hand on her son’s forehead. “He has a fever. Can you take him down to his cabin? I’ll get a fever band from the emergency kit. Tony, how are you feeling? Does your stomach hurt?”

“Yeah, stop fussing, Mom.” He dashed her hand away and added. “It’s so hot.”

“Sarita, look at this.” Rolan swept Tony’s hair off his neck exposing a patch of tiny red bumps. “There’s more on his ear and a few along his jawline.”

“He’s had all his shots. Maybe it’s some sort of allergic reaction,” Sarita said and chewed her lower lip. Tony’s uncharacteristic listless demeanor worried her as much as his high temperature. “He’s never been sick a day in his life.”