reached up and stripped the satiny fabric of her thong down her thighs, it was another kind of cool and another surge of excitement. Both were overshadowed by the warm stroke of his hands up her calves, over her knees as he knelt before her, dragging her thighs over his shoulders. Joss caught a breath of anticipation. He folded back her skirt, blowing on the sensitive folds of skin. And then the heat of his mouth was on her.
He didn’t waste time teasing her and she didn’t want it. His mouth was relentless, driving her, taking her up until all she could do was feel. She wanted it hard and urgent, she wanted the orgasm that curled in her, still half-formed. As he brought her close, though, he slowed down to leave her balanced on the edge, half gasping with pleasure, half delirious with want. And a fraction before the point of inevitability, he stopped and stood.
“No!” Joss cried out.
“Oh yes,” he said softly. She heard the clink of his belt, the growl of his zipper, the crackle of plastic and his slow exhale as he sheathed himself.
The tip of his cock brushed against her, making her jolt. She stared at him, at his face drawn in taut lines of concentration as he positioned himself. And then he pistoned his hips to slide into her, fast and deep, and she gave a strangled cry.
Hard and urgent. She wrapped her legs around his waist. It was what she’d craved, this rush of sensation. His hands were unwrapping her blouse, pulling up her bra to find her bare breasts. The feel of his cock possessed her, the fullness, the slick rub against her tender inner flesh as each move teased her clitoris, tormented, inching her closer and closer to orgasm.
Bax caught at her ankles, straightening her legs, pulling them apart to watch as he buried his cock deep in her tight, warm wetness. Stroke after stroke, he got thicker and harder, thicker and harder as the orgasm gathered. He gritted his teeth, holding on, promising himself one more stroke, and one more until she began to shudder and shake and cry out as orgasm burst through her. And when it was done, he let himself follow.
“I DON’T KNOW about you, but I’m thinking we’ll be able to do a pretty believable job of pretending we’re lovers,” Joss said lazily as she pulled her clothing back on.
With her hair loose and wild and that light of satisfaction in her eyes, she looked more enticing than ever. If there had been a bed in the room, Bax would have been giving serious thought to tumbling her back into it.
“Too bad you don’t have a couch in here,” Joss commented, as though she’d overheard his thoughts. “Just think about Sweden.” She leaned over for a quick kiss, and topped it off with a bawdy wink.
Bax tucked in his shirt. “I don’t like the idea of you going over there,” he said. “Silverhielm and his guys are too dangerous. Do you really understand what you’re getting into?”
“It’s not your decision. I’m going over there, whether you want me to or not,” she told him. “Now, if you want to be involved and work with me, that’s great, but I’m doing it no matter what.”
The desperate kid look was back again and it tugged at him. Mentally, he cursed. He didn’t get the sense she was doing it for show. She was telling him the truth as she saw it. Stubborn, contrary, unpredictable and somehow very good at getting over on his blind side.
He’d be better off stopping right now, but there was something about her that he couldn’t walk away from. If it meant going to Stockholm with her to keep her safe, he’d do it, he realized.
And if it meant giving in to both of their desires against his better judgment, he’d do that, too.
5
AT FIRST GLANCE, Stockholm seemed to be as much water as land, vivid bands of blue weaving their way among the confusion of islands that formed the city. Whereas most metropolitan areas boasted a single river winding through, in Stockholm water charmed the visitor at every turn, from broad passes to narrow inlets between the steep rock, or tree-lined edges of the islands. Bridges vaulted from shore to shore and boats and ferries sailed in between, seeming more a part of the city than the streets and cars.
As the taxi brought Bax and Joss into the heart of Stockholm, the modern utilitarian structures that had dominated the landscape at the fringes gave way to the aged, graceful buildings of the old city. They sat shoulder to shoulder on the waterfronts, their ornate and gabled facades tinted ocher and blush, tan and pale yellow. The old city was a pastel fantasy, reflected in the rippling waters of lake and sea.
“It’s lovely,” Joss murmured. “So much blue and so many trees. I had no idea.”
“You should see it farther east, in the archipelago,” Bax said. “It’s something else, just islands and water. That’s where our friend lives, on his own private island.”
“His own private fortress, more like.” Joss stared out the windows of the cab, eagerly taking in the sights of the city. “So you’ve been to Stockholm before, I take it?”
“Passed through a few times.”
“Often enough to know anyone useful?”
He gave her a pitying look. “Isn’t that why you hired me? As a matter of fact, I’ve already arranged a meeting.”
“I apologize for underestimating you,” Joss said, looking over to see him relaxed on the seat in his travel clothes. She should have known he’d be organized. There was nothing for getting to know another person like taking a long and complicated international flight together. Bax always had ticket and passport in hand, chose the right line, knew where their seats were. That wasn’t too much of a surprise to her. What had been a surprise was how quickly the hours together had gone, lightened up by his flashing humor and odd bits of knowledge.
She’d expected the trip to be illuminating on the subject of John Baxter. She hadn’t expected it to be fun.
The taxi swung around a U-turn and pulled to a stop in front of a rococo fantasy of a hotel. “The Royal Viking,” the cab driver announced. Windows topped with stylized lintels marched across the high, sheer front of the hotel. On the first floor, elaborate carvings decorated the rosy stone facade. Flags flew from the green copper roof, snapping in the breeze. Behind them, script letters spelled out Royal Viking against the sky.
At the foot of the hotel lay the waterfront, lined with the white tour boats and ferries.
The building had the same sort of presence as an aging prima ballerina, stylish and graceful, but mellowed. There were small signs, perhaps, of the passage of time, but the bones and muscles remained disciplined.
“The Royal Viking, huh? You’ve got expensive taste,” Bax commented as they got out.
“I figure if we want to get our friend’s attention, we’ve got to walk the walk, as well as talk the talk,” Joss said with a little smile, watching the blue-uniformed bellhop bring a wheeled luggage rack out to collect their bags. “If I’ve inherited some of Jerry’s stolen swag, I should already be living well off the more easily fenced items, right? Besides, if they think I’m not too smart, they’re likely to drop their guard.”
“To their peril.”
She smiled at him. “Exactly. By the way, the room’s under your name,” she said over her shoulder and walked through the doors into the hotel.
“What?” Bax stopped her, brows lowering.
