The Bonk Squad (19 page)

“
Good in bed, too?” Romy
enquired.

“
Um...yes, seeing you
ask.”

“
Oh, we always
ask.”

“
I don’t always answer,”
Meg said, amused. “But I saw him and fancied him before I ever met
him, so that was a bit of a bonus.”

“
The leg-shaver with the
great bum?”

“
The bike
racer?”

“
We have a little
arrangement,” Meg said. “I don’t know who’s enjoying it most. He
seems to want company, and I’m enjoying being spoiled, so there we
are.”

She turned to Liz. “How’s Marcy
going?”

“
Bitchier than ever. She’s
got The Bastard’s secretary tied up in a deserted building. Will
here do?” She indicated a table under a big cream market umbrella.
“I’ve decided she’s my steam-valve. I can let the pressure off by
having Marcy do something terrible to someone who’s upset
me.”

“
So what did The Bastard’s
secretary do?”

The three of them sat, scraping the
chairs on the rough paving, stowing their bags out of the way
underneath.

“
Became his latest
girlfriend,” Liz said once she was settled.

Meg and Romy stayed silent for a
moment.

“
You’re sure?” Romy finally
asked.

“
Positeevo... she was
sitting out in the car when he picked the kids up last weekend. I
could see there was someone there so I ‘forgot’ to give Brett his
bag and then dashed out with it. It was her, all right. Bloody
Ingrid.”

“
Well, at least you had the
mysterious man in the shower to even the stakes with,” Meg said.
“How did Paul react?”

“
Not pleased. The car and
the shirt were great. But I’d love to have an actual hunk saunter
out next time.”

“
I could loan you
Al.”

“
In his bike
shorts?”

“
In a bath
towel.”

“
I might take you up on
that.”

“
He’d probably do it if I
asked him to.”

The waiter arrived and made a great
show of handing around menus. “Drinks while you decide,
ladies?”

“
Three house reds,” Liz
snapped. “My shout.”

Meg and Romy thought it unwise to
disagree; Liz seemed somewhat on edge. They turned their eyes down
to the menus.

“
Hey, looky-looky,” Romy
breathed seconds later. The others glanced up. It was worth
it.

“
Shame on you, with your
lovely Neill,” Meg said.

“
Oh, he is
something
,” Liz
agreed.

“
Mmm—not bad at all.” This
from Meg.

He was thirty-ish. Taller than any of
the other men in the street. Lounging against the trunk of one of
the trees that cast dappled shade onto the shop-fronts. Khaki
chinos...white cotton shirt...glossy black hair that shone almost
blue as the sun danced across it.

“
Yum,” said Liz.

“
Is the suntan real?” Meg
wondered.

“
Who cares? The mouth
is.”

“
Imagine kissing lips like
that.”

“
A
lovely
mouth,” Romy
agreed.

“
Curly,” said
Meg.

“
And look at the shoulders!
God, he’s gorgeous. That’s quite a body. I’ll bet he works
out.”

“
A nice treat for my
birthday.”

“
A little game for us all,”
Romy suggested. “Turn him into a hero by the time you’ve finished
your wine.”

They continued to enjoy the dark
stranger as they sipped.

“
O...kay...” Liz said,
leaning over so she could speak quietly.

“
Francisco waited, every
sense on edge. He paced around the small clearing in the jungle,
ears alert for her approach. His khaki shirt lay plastered to his
skin with sweat. He wrenched the buttons undone and pulled it off.
His muscular brown back shimmered in the boiling air. He turned to
toss the shirt over some...er...palm-fronds so it would
dry.”

“
Nice way to get his gear
off,” Romy interrupted.

Liz raised an eyebrow, and
continued.

“
Marcy eyed him from the
undergrowth. His taut abs and flat belly glistened in the heat. It
would be a waste of a beautiful body if she carried out her
mission. But she had to believe he was dangerous—all her
information had led her in that direction.

She wriggled nearer,
careful to make no sound to alert him. Somewhere a twig
snapped.

Francisco swung towards
the small noise and dropped low to the ground. Marcy flinched. So
there were three of them out here for the showdown?

“
It’s only me,” she
called, rising until she was visible.

He relaxed and stood tall
again, lithe as a great golden tiger.

Marcy stepped toward him,
shining auburn hair pulled back into a high ponytail to keep the
heat of it off her neck. Her T-shirt stretched across the damp
valley between her breasts.

He watched her in silence,
dark eyes intent on the curves of her body. She knew she excited
him. Would it be enough to distract him so that she (or Hawkins—for
surely he was the twig-breaker?) could get close enough for the
kill?”

Liz dropped her voice to a whisper.
Meg and Romy leaned even closer, wine-glasses ignored.

“
Marcy stepped nearer to
touch him. She ran a hand across his belly, trailing her long
fingernails over his glossy skin.

“
My little pussycat,” he
said, attention diverted just long enough for her to grasp the
knife from the back of her belt.

The blade flashed in the
equatorial sun. With a lightning-fast lunge he twisted her aside,
holding her with impressive steely strength.

“
Pretend!” he
hissed.

But no pretence was
needed. A sharp gasp of pain ripped from her throat.

Hawkins made his move,
about as subtly as a charging elephant. He burst from his cover,
rifle raised.

In an instant Francisco
tore the knife from Marcy’s grasp and arrowed it across the
clearing.

Hawkins crumpled. His
blood spurted onto the steaming ground.

Marcy stared, open
mouthed, at the killer who had wrested her weapon away with such
ease.

He laughed. “So, my pretty
puss, you have claws and more. Let’s see what else you’re hiding.”
He ran expert hands around her ribs and waist, over her hips, down
her long legs. “No more knives under your clothes? Or little
pistols?” He continued his slow and intoxicating search of her
body. All its crevices and hiding places. Marcy allowed the
intrusion until his attention was sufficiently diverted.

Then she filched his knife
from its sheath and raised it. Again he was too fast for
her.

He forced her to the
ground and tossed the knife away. Took her lips with his and
growled, “For that, you pay.”

Liz sat back and drained her glass in
triumph. “Generally Marcy’s a much better fighter than that,” she
said. “But he’s fairly gorgeous, isn’t he? I thought she might
enjoy him for a while before she tries again.”

“
That was great for
something so fast,” Romy said.

“
Amazing,” Meg added. “Your
turn—I’m still thinking about what to do with him.”

As they looked, tall-dark-and-handsome
checked his watch. Someone was keeping him waiting. An expression
of annoyance flared on his fabulous face.

Romy grinned. “I was wondering about
something like this...

“
Jed Anderson reined his
foaming black quarter-horse to a spectacular sliding halt. The dust
in the old main street hung in the hazy air. Jed swung down from
the saddle and moseyed across to the saloon, tying his horse close
to the water trough before punching the doors aside.

He stood silhouetted for
an instant against the bright Montana light—long, lean and
lethal.

“
Donovan?” he
demanded.

But the saloon was empty,
apart from Carolina Madison polishing the wide mirror behind the
bar.

Jed stepped closer.
Carolina knelt on the sturdy timber counter below the mirror. Her
breasts, always framed by a froth of lace, became temptingly
displayed as she leaned forward. Jed drank in the view. Not just of
her breasts, but of her neatly booted ankles and slender calves,
for she’d hitched her long skirt out of the way for
safety.

Carolina admired his
reflection. Damn but he was beautiful. Tall and darkly handsome,
and with a temper as fast as his trigger finger. She knew quite
well he enjoyed the unaccustomed view of her body. Let him look! He
was the eldest of the Anderson boys, heir to the Lazy F, and so
unobtainable it was laughable even to think about him. But Carolina
often inspected him from under her lashes, and
dreamed...

Of all the men she poured
drinks for, he was the one who intrigued her the most. He wore
nothing but black, drank nothing but bourbon, swore like the devil,
and had eyes that smoked with desire.

“
Donovan hasn’t been here
since yesterday,” she said in her husky drawl, holding his gaze in
the mirror.

“
Thanks for that, Miz
Madison,” he replied, stepping closer—too close for comfort,
Carolina decided.

There was a sudden
commotion outside and the saloon doors burst open again.

“
Anderson!” came the
frenzied roar, followed by the shocking sound of Donovan’s
revolver, deafening in the quiet room.

The mirror shattered, and
Carolina disappeared under a shower of glittering
shards.

Jed whirled and returned
the fire. Donovan fell. Carolina collapsed onto the counter, and
would have fallen to the floor except that Jed gathered her up and
lifted her in his steely arms. He laid her on the bar’s polished
surface and grimaced as he plucked several splinters from her face
and shoulders.

She was so shocked by the
noise and blood she felt no pain. But she saw his face unnervingly
close as his black eyes searched her body for damage. And felt his
strong but gentle hands moving over her skin. She thrilled as he
pushed her bodice aside, caressing her breasts, searching for the
spear of glass that had spattered blood onto the froth of lace
there.

He withdrew the shining
splinter with an oath, and pressed a strong finger over the tiny
puncture. Their eyes locked. Their lips met. Carolina trembled
...”

“
Hey—great way to get his
hands on her body,” Liz said. Romy leaned back in her chair with a
giggle. She raised her wine and sipped.

“
Well, that’s two rather
vicious versions,” Meg said. “I might pretend he’s my Italian
billionaire.”

She cast another admiring look towards
the lean lounging figure. “He’s pretty much the same, really. Tall,
dark and gorgeous. Wavy hair, tanned skin, great body. I suppose
Carlo must have a private gym built into the palazzo
somewhere...maybe next to the luxurious swimming pool out on the
terrace. It’s one of those where the water comes right up and
spills over the front edge so it kind of joins onto the
view.”

Romy raised an eyebrow at Liz, who
winked back.

Meg took a deep breath. “You all know
Carlo lost his wife six months back, and the two children just
won’t behave for their grandmother, so he’s got an English nanny to
look after them. She’s a sort of governess, too, I suppose. The
children are quite young. Paolo is six and Elizavetta is not quite
five.”

She took a sip of her wine. “I got the
nanny into her undies by having her squirt the children with a
garden hose, and they turned it on her and made her sopping
wet.”

“
Would they be playing with
a garden hose if they had a swimming pool?” Liz asked.

“
I thought it would be fun
for them,” Meg replied, frowning a little. “Doesn’t it ring
true?”

“
I think it’s fine,” Romy
assured her. “They might find the garden hose quite exotic by
comparison. A bit different.”

“
Okay,” Meg said, leaning
forward to start her story. “Carlo is a snobby aristocrat of
course. And he thinks the nanny is rather common and has to work
for a living. But what he doesn’t know is that she’s from a good
family and has chosen to work to demonstrate her independence to
her somewhat awful father. So she’s suitable for Carlo after
all.”

“
But he won’t discover that
for ages?”

“
Not until about chapter
fifteen. And I’m only at the start of chapter three.” She closed
her eyes.

“
Carlo pushed the ancient
door shut with a solid thud. He trembled. He—Giancarlo Giorgio
Calligiani—shook with lust for a servant, a hired helper. He ran
his long fingers through his hair in a frenzy of confusion. Again
and again he pushed his hands through the silky dark strands,
wishing it could be her small capable hands caressing him,
massaging him, pleasuring him. He pictured her pale fingers with
their pearly nails running over his own darker skin. He wanted the
sweet torture of her timid untutored touch. For surely she was a
virgin?