This Stream of Dreams (Mirella, Rashid and Adam Book 2) (9 page)

Through the grass and shrubs he led her, leaving the beach and the bonfires and the people behind, and as the grasses grew higher and more abundant, the path of sand they were following grew more narrow, forcing them to walk along it in Indian-file, Brindley in back pushing her along, slapping her bottom whenever she hesitated. He stripped himself of his clothes as they walked, dropping items along the path. And now whether the half-naked man in the mask was capable of taking Deena on the erotic road she was determined to travel seemed less doubtful.

In a small clearing, deep in the tall grasses, they found the old gray weatherbeaten boathouse. Yellow candlelight shone through the small uncovered window. They could see the shadow of two people moving about inside. The excitement of what was to come was almost unbearable, unnervingly so.

Brindley put a hand on Deena’s shoulder and she stopped. Still silent they stood in front of each other and their eyes met. Slowly he unzipped his fly and dropped his trousers. Deena fumbled with her dress, unable to take her eyes from the wholly naked Brindley standing massively rampant in front of her. This tall, wiry, slim-hipped, masked man appeared to be all cock and balls, and, frighteningly, an instrument of boundless sex. It was difficult to equate the mysterious stranger before her with the reserved English attorney she liked and had imagined to be, if anything, somewhat naïve and merely adequate sexually.

He unknotted the skirt tied around her waist, and before it fell, covering her nudity, with one quick movement he tore the silver gossamer silk strapless gown open from the bodice to the hem. It made a frightening, alien noise against the night sounds of crickets and toads, the faint rustle of tall grass in the intermittent soft summer breeze, then it drifted, silently, onto the sand around their bare feet.

Deena had been caught off guard by his action. The surprise and shock made her catch her breath.

Brindley devoured her with his eyes. She was far more rounded and voluptuous than he had imagined. Visions of what he would do, shortly, to that willing body, the marks he would leave on it, aroused him.

He took her in his arms, and a fistful of her long, honey-colored
curly hair in his hand, and he pulled hard on it while he kissed her deeply. He moved his mouth to her nipple, which he sucked and ravished. Still holding her hair bunched in his hand, he pulled hard, tilted her head back, and kissed her again, bruising her lips with passion, and in a voice charged with emotion he spoke to her for the first time since they left Humayun’s rooms.

“This is no midsummer night’s dream, this is our life we are playing with, our emotions, our most basic needs and desires. Trust me, I’m going to take you where you want to go. There’s no turning back, all you have to do is submit. Obey me and your body, and remember, I too have the appetite for lust that Humayun has. Tonight you will experience the libertine in me as well as in yourself.”

Deena’s heart pounded from the sexual excitement his words promised, his actions began to deliver, and the fear of what total submission might bring. Her mouth went dry, she couldn’t speak. She felt her body change, a huge rush of orgasm. Her face and chest flushed and she trembled before her masked sybarite. He took both her hands, closed them around his raging penis, and lifting her up by the waist, wrapped her legs tight around his body. Swiftly, adeptly, he stretched open the lips of her silky-moist, lusciously fleshy cunt and in one sharp effort pushed, as she guided him in.

The silvery moon shone white upon them standing naked, the masked man in a frenzy, embedded as fully as the woman wrapped around him appeared able to receive him. With hands now on her shoulders he kept pushing down, determined to bury all of himself deep inside her. He felt his phallus sink to its fullest length, and her cry of ecstasy pierced the night.

“And now it begins for us,” he whispered, a tremor of unbridled passion in his words, his cheek against hers, his lips touching her ear. He kicked open the boathouse door, and carried her in impaled upon his cock. The warmth of her vaginal clasp combined with her rush of orgasm, and it was as one that they joined the couple waiting to assist them in their quest.

6

“H
e’s not a fool, you know, not the born rich dilettante he pretends to be. Nor is he the absentminded professor-type archaeologist, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Ralph Werfel said to Edward Osborne, one of the youngest of Wall Street’s elite of dealmakers. “It suits Adam to have people believe he’s a blue-chip dividend man, playing it safe right down the line with his backup of stocks and bonds, just sitting in his palace on the Bosporus, cutting coupons to finance his interests. That’s the image he prefers to give the world. The last thing he would want the general public to know is that he is the heart and guts behind the Corey Trust, a colossus he pretends is just a family business. The guy throws out a lot of red herrings, to make you think he’s only a figurehead, dependent on his executive staff, who run the whole show for him. He has always been shrewd, using the most competent men to front for him. But make no mistake, they all know who’s boss, who runs the show.”

“You’re beginning to sweat, Ralph.”

“Listen, Ed! You wouldn’t be the first to be taken in by that image he likes to project: tough, handsome good looks, casual, cool manner, solid and wealthy. All that healthy indifference to big bucks and power; and shy as a Quaker about dirty dealings in the boardroom. The best tip I can give you is to watch out. The sonovabitch may tread softly, but he touts a big stick all the time, even if you can’t see it, and the bastard knows how to use it.”

“I get the message, Ralph. You’ve given it enough times, for God’s sake.”

“I don’t think I can face him, Ed. Revenge is sweet, and I’ve got him by the balls. He’ll have to cave in to this takeover bid for the Corey Trust. I’ve seen to that. But I just wish I didn’t have to eyeball him.”

“Oh, you’ll face him, Ralph. You won’t like it and I imagine you’ll squirm a bit, but you’ll face him. You’ve been setting him up for more than two decades. What surprises me is that you waited twenty-two years to get the knife between
his shoulder blades and steal away his company. Correction. You can hardly call this a heist with the kind of money we’re putting up to take over a multinational conglomerate, operating on three continents with annual sales of $5.4 billion.”

The signal sounded inside the sleek stainless-steel self-service elevator warning them that it was about to stop. The floor number, 22, lit up on the band of numbers in front of them over the door. Automatically, like the door that soundlessly glided open, the two well-dressed, well-pressed businessmen fell silent. Two young, very pretty women, each carrying a stack of files in their arms, stepped in, pressed the button of the floor they wanted, and rode up two floors with the men. They left the elevator, its doors again gliding closed as if on a cushion of air. For the fourth time in less than two minutes, they whizzed smoothly upward toward their destination, the boardroom of the Corey Trust.

“Great ass on the blond one, just the kind I like to get into,” Ed said.

“I’m a leg-and-tit man myself,” said Ralph Werfel, the Corey Trust’s number-one man after its managing director and owner, Adam Corey. He put down his Mark Cross pigskin attaché case, took out a fine linen handkerchief from the breast pocket of his Armani jacket, and wiped his sweaty hands before nervously replacing it.

“Jesus, Ralph, this isn’t like you. Pull yourself together. You’re not acting much like the man I’ve heard quite rightly called the Corey Trust’s English predator. You’ve made as brilliant and gutsy a set of moves with aggressive takeovers and mergers in the last six months as I’ve ever seen you or the trust make. There’s no turning back now. Corey’s set up, and in just about three minutes we’re going to blast him out of the water.

Ralph shook his head; perspiration beaded his upper lip.

“All that’s new about this deal, Ralph, is that you’re targeting your own company. Nobody in the world of finance is going to say boo to a goose over your role in this. Quite the contrary, and you know it. That is, after all, why you did it, isn’t it? Those three
p
’s: power, praise, and politics. And not wanting to be number two for another twenty-two years.”

“Adam isn’t going to sit still for this, Ed.”

“Tough shit. Together you have created an amazing success
story, and I can’t see you shirking at your moment of glory. Your merger-mania has cost you a business friend. His reticence and peculiar business morals have lost him his company and his best business associate. It’s even Stephen. And you’re right and he’s wrong in the financial climate of today. Now let’s get this raid over with and our acquisitions in the bag.”

Ralph Werfel felt better, and had to admit that that ruthless little shit of an upstart Ed Osborne was a hard case — smart and right.

The elevator doors opened. The two men, attaché cases in their hands, and with all corporate knives at the ready for the kill, stepped out onto the white marble floor of the two-story-high reception area with its wide, full-length windows fronting the New York skyline. White marble Greek sculptures were mounted on square bronze bases and placed most effectively around the room. The sun beamed through the bare windows, lending the gallery and its treasures an even more dramatic and electrifying ambience. With the bright blue sky and the skyscraper peaks replacing classical Athens, even Ed Osborne was affected by the power of the pieces … and their silence.

A larger than life-size nude man carved of white marble from the island of Paros, who appeared to be of considerable age, fist clenched over heart, a protruding forehead, and very little hair, a massive strong man still young in body and his sex, was the most eloquent piece. Senator? Philosopher? Had he spoken in the Forum?

Another piece, a life-size beautiful goddess with a crescent moon tiara worn in her white marble hair and a diaphanous marble gauze draped skimpily over her nakedness, with nipples like fresh cream rosebuds, smiled down upon them. Diana the huntress? Where was her bow? And how many stags had she slain?

And a third statue, again large as life, was a youth of infinite beauty and tenderness, with one arm raised as if beckoning the observer to him, the other held open and away from his body. How beautiful this virgin boy, this innocent youth, so open and sweet and vulnerable.

“Adam Corey’s pieces?”

“Yes,” said Ralph.

“From his excavations?”

“Yes.”

“And all arranged here in this gallery by him, I presume?”

Ralph nodded his head in affirmation.

“This, I take it, is the waiting room before you enter the boardroom? No chairs, no tables, nothing but to stand around and contemplate the situation, whatever that situation might be. Not an easy place to consider treachery, but a great setting for the night of the long knives. I think I’m beginning to understand why you’re sweating this one out. An unusual adversary, your Adam Corey.”

A pair of bronze doors at the far end of the gallery opened, and one of Adam Corey’s private secretaries came forward to usher the two men into the Corey Trust boardroom.

It was Ed Osborne who was taken aback at what he saw upon entering the room although Ralph Werfel was not. The room was empty except for two men and a woman: Adam Corey, his faithful servant Turhan, and his private secretary Edelson.

Osborne had expected at least eighteen to twenty people. What was the guy playing at? He hoped Corey wasn’t foolish enough to spin out the takeover in the hope of gaining time to work out tactics to prevent the raid. That was futile and Osborne was prepared to tell him so flat-out.

Twenty-two years working with Adam had taught Ralph a great deal about the man. When he saw the boardroom empty except for Adam standing at the head of the famous Corey Trust boardroom table, an imposing thirty-foot-long slab of six-inch-thick, petrified California redwood, Ralph guessed he had him — if not ready to sign, then certainly bloodied, bowed, and on the run.

If he wasn’t, then where was Josh, and where was Adam’s sister and the other shareholders? And where were his executive board, the Corey Trust’s lawyers, bankers, accountants? Ralph smiled and told himself, The sonovabitch has gone down without a fight because that sharp prick knows he can’t win. We’ve made him an offer he really can’t refuse.

The table end was wide enough to seat three people comfortably, and it was there that Adam chose to have placed Georgian wing chairs for the three of them. Turhan was behind his employer, and the faithful Edelson, pad and pencil in hand, stood close by. It was evident to Ralph from the way the documents, pots of ink, containers of sharp pencils,
carafes of ice water and glasses, stacks of blank white paper, and the portfolio on the takeover bid were laid out in front of each chair that Adam intended to sit between himself and Ed Osborne. Adam’s place had in addition a cordless telephone. The other twenty chairs around the table were to remain empty: the places directly in front of them were not set for a meeting.

Shrewd and cunning as ever thought Ralph. Divide and rule. Ralph was annoyed: eye contact with one’s associate was always an asset in negotiations. Adam had blocked that.

Was Adam going to make a deal there and then, or announce that he was going to fight the takeover right down the line to the New York County Courthouse? Whatever the man had decided to do, he was well and truly in trouble. Ralph hoped that Adam would be sensible and take the easy option.

The two men approached Adam. Ralph was pleased to see that he looked beaten — the calm, cool façade was still intact, but beneath that the man had to be upset. It gave Ralph Werfel a great deal of satisfaction to see Adam that way, and the impetus to grind him further into the ground, if possible. After Ed Osborne had been introduced to Adam, it was a very aggressive Ralph Werfel who spoke.

“Delighted you’ve found the package we put together for this takeover well enough constructed to make a deal without the interference of our army of advisers, lawyers, and stockholders. You may not believe this, Adam, but I didn’t want to fight you on this.”

“That’s too bad because I would have enjoyed beating the shit out of you.”

And with that Adam hit him in the face with a succession of quick, sharp right jabs, and one powerful punch to Ralph’s belly. The Mark Cross pigskin attaché case flew into the air and crashed to the floor. The buttons on his jacket popped and shot across the room. Winded, Ralph went down like a sack of flour. Amazement distorted his now painful and bruised face.

Ed Osborne went through several shades of white, but he did not move to help his associate. He managed to stand fast. He watched Adam pull Ralph up off the floor by bunching his shirt and jacket together over the man’s pained and bruised
solar plexus with one hand, and by the scruff of his collar with the other.

“For Christ’s sake,” Ed said, “don’t hit him again. Are you some kind of a sadistic weirdo or just a thug? We came here to talk through a business deal, not to play out some cheap version of the shoot-out at the O.K. Corral. Now, you sonovabitch, we’re talking assault and battery.”

Ralph, speechless and trying to get his breath back, was dangling from Adam’s hands like a rag doll. Adam pulled him, rubbery legs and perfectly polished English handmade shoes dragging along the pale marble floor, over to one of the wing chairs and shoved him into it, saying over his shoulder, “Turhan, see to it that Mr. Osborne stays seated. Either peaceably or otherwise.” With his hands under Ralph’s arms, Adam pulled the moaning man up in the chair into a sitting position, took the handkerchief from Ralph’s pocket, and pulling the man’s head back by a handful of his hair, wiped the trickle of blood from just above his lip. He picked Ralph’s hand up and, putting the handkerchief in it, placed the injured man’s hand, none too gently, up to his nostrils.

“You had better keep that there, Ralph,” Adam said. “I’ve broken your nose. ‘
Our
army of advisers, lawyers, and stockholders.’ No, not ‘
our
,’ ‘
your
’ is how you should have put that. You and I share
nothing
anymore. You’re fired.” Then to the devoted Mrs. Edelson, who still stood with her back turned to the sordid scene, he said, “You can turn around now, Edelson. I think a snifter of my Napoleon brandy might be in order. Always a favorite with Mr. Werfel, and I would like him to leave this office with an aggreeable taste on his tongue. Oh, you had better pour one for his accomplice as well.”

“I don’t believe this,” Osborne said indignantly. “What’s going on? We’re here to talk high finance, not play walk-on parts in your B movie.”

The snifters were placed in front of the two men, and with trembling hands Ralph lifted his to his mouth and slowly drank.

“Ralph, are you able to get out of here?” asked Ed, bending forward and looking past Adam to the injured man. “Oh, Christ, your nose is coming up like an onion. Your face is one hell of a mess.”

Adam, too, looked at Ralph. “Why, so it is. That’s what
happens when you get a broken nose. Always looks worse than it is. A small ice pack for Mr. Werfel, Turhan.”

“You’ll pay for this, Adam, and dearly. Shit, you’ve loosened my teeth. Dear God, will I make you pay for this!” Ralph winced as the brandy stung the cuts in his mouth.

“I figure I already have paid for my little fistfight with you, and heavily. Not only in monetary terms, but in the damage you have done behind my back. We’ve got eighty-five subsidiaries in this trust. In any number of them, you’ve either shed labor or cut overhead or sold off surplus capacity to release cash for fresh acquisitions. And you have kept the board in the dark about all your maneuvers.”

“The board? You mean you. The board never complained about the financial growth of the Corey Trust,” Ralph said.

“Because the other members of the board, like me, have had the facts of that growth concealed from them. You are not the man I once knew and trusted. And I reckon that one of my greater losses in this treacherous incident. You’ve become a sleazy asset-stripper with nothing on your mind but mergers and acquisitions, with scant interest in what your target companies actually do. You — who professes in a raft of paperwork how intensely interested you are in their financial potential.