was at this point.
But the walk had been worth it. The room was amazing really. An amalgam that was part sultan’s lair, part Far Eastern enclave, with a little old English bordello thrown in for good measure. According to Marta, she would be the first one to…enjoy it, as this part of the resort had only recently been finished.
She wondered what he was going to look like, her tutor. Would he be Asian? Muscles like a martial arts expert, hands that had mastered arts of an entirely different sort? Or perhaps he’d have the smooth skin and bottomless black eyes of an Arab prince, with hands skilled enough to rule desert kingdoms…and her. Maybe he’d have the polished refinement of an aristocrat, with skin as pale as her own, and slender, clever fingers. A man who was an absolute gentleman in the front room, but who knew exactly what kind of wicked goings-on could be indulged in above stairs…and enjoyed them every chance he got.
Regardless, he was going to be hers, at least for the night, and together they would explore the kind of pleasures she’d only written about. She slowly pushed away the pillows she’d strategically moved to block key zones of her body—mostly the erogenous ones, though she’d already learned there were far more of those than she’d ever imagined. Which, considering her occupation, was really saying something.
She slid to what she thought might be a provocative pose, knees bent to the side, breasts thrust forward, back slightly arched. She tried what she thought might be a sultry look, but that ended on a spurt of laughter. Really, she wrote about femme fatales, but just because her inner heroine was teetering on the orgasmic cliffs of delight did not mean her outward appearance had changed any.
She was still awkwardly lanky, with legs that were too long and breasts that were too small. Her hair was a mass of wispy, unmanageable curls in an unexceptional shade of brown, framing pale English skin that tended to flush in splotches rather than a sexy glow. Although she had to admit Celandra had done a good job at enhancing the latter and diminishing the former. About the only thing she had going for her was her eyes, which were the unusual hue of her namesake stone. However, she doubted that would be the first thing he noticed. Or the second.
“Come now,” she scolded herself. “You’re a sultry concubine,” she murmured, trying to get into the spirit. “A woman trained in the arts of pleasure. Men beg for your skilled attentions, fall at your feet in homage to your beauty.” She tried not to snort…or look down at her rather indelicate size tens. She arched her back again, this time draping her arms over her head. She drew up one knee and let it dip across the other outstretched thigh.
Think concubine, think conqueror of men. A wanton seductress who can master any sexual situation, who can have any man exactly the way she wants him. Who can demand that any man take her in exactly the way she begs to be taken.
She thrust her breasts heavenward. “Come and get me,” she growled.
TUCKER WANDERED down another corridor into the newly finished part of the resort, studying the map the Blackstone security team had provided him. The cameras weren’t working in this area yet, but then, there were no guests sequestered here. However, he was sent to make sure no one else was hiding here, either. Considering the rather tricky layout of the resort, Mig had done an admirable job in sealing off the area immediately surrounding the scene. Lucas Blackstone had been completely accessible and willing to do whatever was necessary to help. But the very private nature of his business had made the very access they needed—namely to the other guests who might have heard or seen something—next to impossible to accomplish.
A handful of the guests had left the premises before the police had arrived and many of the others had contacted legal counsel, refusing to speak until their attorneys were present to insure their privacy was not abused. The media was already encamped just beyond the now-closed gates at the end of the winding drive, distanced but by no means forgotten. Mig had taken over the forensic team, while the two homicide detectives assigned to the case had taken over the investigation. Patterson was representing the medical examiner’s office, dealing with the body. Tucker had been pressed into service by the officers presently fanning out, searching for any additional guests who hadn’t been accounted for.
He didn’t mind the duty, only wishing he could do something more substantive to help out. At least he was getting an inside look at the place. And what a place it was. In his wildest dreams he couldn’t have come up with anything like this.
Blackstone had spared no expense. Not in the richly detailed layout, the lavishly appointed rooms, the training of his staff—if the security team was anything to go by—or the extent of security he was installing. Tucker had also gotten wind of the rates, and while it appeared the guests got their money’s worth, he still couldn’t get past the fact that people would pay so much for what basically amounted to sex camp for adults.
He glanced at his map again and ducked into another grotto, then around yet another lagoon toward the cluster of rooms behind it. Each room had two entrances, to ensure privacy, he was sure, but also to maintain the fire code. The man really had thought of everything.
He used the house key card he’d been given and slipped it into the first door. He opened it quietly. The room was dark, as expected. He found the pressure pad and brought up the lights, and tried not to boggle at the array of, well…toys he supposed some would call them. If you were into that sort of thing. He did a cursory check under the bed—or rack he supposed was a better term—and in a few of the leather-covered cabinets, but found nothing. Nothing having to do with the investigation anyway. To each his own, he thought, closing the door behind him…and trying really hard not to imagine what one did with a two-headed dildo on a chain. Or why they’d want to even try.
He checked the next several rooms in the same manner, each of which had a completely different decorative theme. He’d actually been sort of intrigued with the one that had its own private lagoon right in the center of the room. There had been all sorts of tub toys for that one. Ones he’d actually be interested in playing with.
Other than piquing his curiosity though, nothing was out of place. He finished the last room and clicked on his radio. “Greywolf. Sector 12 is clear.” He spoke as he ducked into the internal hallway, but noticed another alcove on his map with a door marked at the rear. “Wait, there’s one more room.”
“Copy. Report when it’s clear.”
It took a few seconds to find it, as it was behind another grotto in what initially looked like a wall of stone, but he finally found the curved entrance to a short recessed entryway. “Some people must really have some privacy issues,” he muttered, wondering how many celebrities Blackstone’s catered to. “Or government officials,” he added with a wry smile.
He was still shaking his head as he slid his key into the slot and opened the door. He automatically went to touch the light pad before he realized that the lights were already on.
He immediately stilled and shifted to the side of the open door, inside the room.
“Halloo?”
The voice was cultured, British. And decidedly female. Tucker recovered quickly, but didn’t respond. He was tucked behind what looked to be a hand-painted Japanese screen. Why hadn’t security known someone was in this sector? Unless she was hiding. But why call out then? He peered through the slit between the panels, thinking maybe she’d been detained somehow, or that it was a trap of some kind. “Sweet Jesus,” he murmured as he got a good look at the raised dais in the center of the room.
If this was a trap, it was a damn good one.
She was splayed, all dewy skin and wide eyes, across a pile of silk and satin. She certainly didn’t look like she was being held against
