Seduction Squad: Tainted Page 7

He shook his head. “It wasn’t me. And he wasn’t framed for fraud. Someone informed on him, but Oliver was guilty as hell.”

  My head was spinning. My mind felt like water, attempting to take the path of least resistance. I had spent so long believing Theo was responsible for everything that had gone wrong in my life that denial was easier than acceptance.

  I tried to tell myself I was under his spell. This was what Theo did best. Charm and persuasion were his weapons of choice. If they didn’t work, he had other resources at his disposal. Like an avalanche thundering down a mountainside, or a river in flood, he was relentless and unstoppable.

  This time, he didn’t need any of his force-of-nature personality traits. It didn’t matter what I told myself. I knew—just knew—when I looked into his eyes, that he was telling the truth. I was seeing the real Theo. The problem with that was, I was no longer sure I knew myself.

  “Who was it? If it wasn’t you, who set out to ruin him?”

  “I don’t know for certain.” His lips thinned into an uncompromising line. “But I have a good idea.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Theo

  “This is creepy.”

  Christie faced me with her hands on her hips and a decidedly mutinous expression on her face.

  “How is this—” I pointed to the stack of boxes from a range of Miami’s designer fashion stores that wobbled precariously on the bed between us, “—creepier than paying you to dress up the way you did ten years ago so we could finish the uncle-niece sex we nearly had?”

  There was a suspicion of a stamped foot about the way she shifted her body weight. “I have a perfectly good suitcase full of clothes.”

  “Nice move on ignoring the uncle-niece thing.” I grinned and she bit her lip. I only had to say those words and no matter what else was going on with her, I knew she would be wet and aching, wanting to feel my hand on her ass and my cock inside her.

  “Stop trying to distract me.” She swung away, turning her back so she could look out of the window that occupied one wall of the master bedroom.

  I went to her and placed my hands on her shoulders. Her slender frame was rigid with tension. “Christie, your own clothes are fine, but you are going to be my hostess for the next few days. You’ll stand at my side and my guests’. You didn’t know that when you packed. I wanted to buy you some things to help you look the part. I am not trying to control what you wear for the rest of your life.”

  Why did I get the feeling this was about more than the clothes I had sent for? The answer to that question was easy. This was Christie. Ten years had done nothing to dull my perceptiveness where she was concerned. Being close to her again had reawakened feelings I’d forgotten existed. The urge to swathe her in bubble wrap to protect her from harm hadn’t gone away. Nor had the need to be with her every minute. Didn’t matter what else was on the agenda, Christie came first. And the ability to read her emotions was as strong as ever.

  Although I could sense her mood, I couldn’t interpret its source. This uptight humor had descended when we arrived in Miami and it had been coiling ever tighter inside her as the time for the cruise guests to arrive grew closer.

  I couldn’t ascribe it to nervousness at the forthcoming social gathering. Christie was a senator’s daughter, and Oliver had been a senator with higher aspirations. That talk about the Oval Office had not been idle gossip. Most of it had been generated by his own publicity machine. Christie had been born into a political family. Her mother, Kate, and her grandmother, Ruth—who was also my stepmother—had encouraged Oliver in his ambitions. As a result, Christie grew up in the limelight. Attendance at large functions was part of her routine. Standing at her father’s side while he raised both their hands in a triumphant salute was probably her earliest memory. His daughter playing in the sandbox on her first day at school had been just another photo opportunity for Oliver’s campaign. Never one to shy away from publicity, he used his pretty wife and his cute daughter at every opportunity. By the time she was in her early teens, Christie was comfortable making speeches to thousands at her father’s rallies. As her mother’s health declined, she stepped in and hosted fundraisers and parties. Kate died when Christie was fifteen, by which time Oliver’s daughter was his chief asset.

  No, Christie would have no problem with the social aspect of this cruise. On the contrary. She would shine in the company I had invited.

  Staying on the subject of Oliver, was she pissed because I’d told her the truth about her father? Christie had clearly come here in the belief he had been framed. I felt a smile twist my lips. Oliver was a crook. The worst kind, in my opinion. The kind who liked to pretend he was honest. He hid behind a veneer of respectability. His “do as I say” attitude led him to believe he was above the law. When we had been in business together, he looked for loopholes and rubbed his hands together with glee if he could exploit the system he was supposed to be upholding. He had known many of my business interests weren’t legal—he even knew Cora and what she was capable of—but he was happy to close his eyes for the sake of a profit.

  Oliver hadn’t been framed. He’d been found out. Someone had informed the IRS about his tax dodging. Their inquiries had led to a full-blown Department of Justice investigation. I wasn’t sure how Oliver had managed to convince Christie he had been framed. I guessed she heard what she wanted to. Like a seam of coal running through the bedrock of her existence, her belief that I was the bad guy had been so strong she had been prepared to ignore cold, hard facts. Until now.

  I could guess, of course, who had informed on Oliver. The same person had spent ten years slowly torturing him by destroying his business. Hitting him where it hurt. In his wallet.

  It wasn’t her usual slash and burn style, but Cora had sworn to get Oliver Mason. And Cora always delivered on her promises. It had all started that night. The night Oliver threw me out of his house, his face contorted with rage as he called me every foul name he could think of. The night he told me he would rather kill Christie with his bare hands than hand her over to the son of Cora Basile and Archie Ward.

  “You think I raised my girl so she could be your whore? You may be my stepbrother, but I know what you are, Theo. A fucking drug-dealing mob boss who will never get his filthy hands on her. Get out. Go back to your murdering bitch of a mother.”

  And, in my rage and pain, that was what I had done. I hadn’t told Cora what happened, but she knew I was hurting. She had picked up on the rift between me and Oliver...and she vowed to make him pay. That was Cora’s way. Loyal and deadly. She might be an evil psychopath, but she was my evil psychopath. When I refused to allow her to kill Oliver, she had nodded and smiled. And she had killed him anyway. It had just taken her ten long, slow years to do it.

  Cora liked to give her victims notice of their impending death. Like a cat with a mouse, she enjoyed toying with her prey. There was a chance she’d issued Oliver with an occasional warning. Even that she’d done it on my behalf. She’d never admit it, and Oliver wasn’t around to ask, but it was possible he’d had a reason other than intuition for believing I was behind his downfall.

  If Christie’s mood swing had been about Oliver, I’d have expected it to happen as soon as I told her he was guilty. She had taken that information pretty much in her stride. Almost as if she was expecting it. Possibly she was reevaluating both our roles in her life. If she was seeing me differently, she would have to also take a closer look at Oliver. I guessed she wasn’t going to make any sudden announcements about a change in her feelings where he was concerned.

  Was this about us? Was she still smarting because she thought I was keeping her here against her will? I almost laughed out loud. We were so far beyond that it wasn’t even worth considering. I had watched as Christie worked through the spectrum of emotions about being with me. She tried to play the reluctance card now and then, but we both knew it was a game. The d
eath throes before her acceptance of the inevitable. Inevitable that came with a price tag so huge it scared me.

  Paolo was still conducting his inquiries into where Christie had spent the last six months. Her business was pretty much on the rocks and she appeared to have wound things up around the time Oliver died. And then she had...vanished. I had my suspicions about where she had been. Hoped I was wrong. Feared I was right.

  I wanted to devote time to this. Her. Us. If I was honest, all I wanted was to lock that door again. Shut her in. Forget the rest of the world existed.

  If only I didn’t have to go ahead with this fucking cruise. If only life was simple. If only the fuse on that time bomb wasn’t getting shorter by the minute. If only I didn’t have a psychopath for a mother. If only. The story of my life.

  I turned Christie to face me. There were clouds in her eyes, contrasting with the clear blue of the skies beyond the window. Before I could say anything, the internal telephone rang. Impatiently, I answered it.

  “The first of your guests are boarding now, sir.” Paolo’s tone held more warmth than usual. The gratuities from these parties tended to be good. He would be so pissed about the way this one was going to end.

  “Thank you. I’ll be right there.” I replaced the receiver.

  “They’re here?” Christie’s combative mood seemed to be receding.

  “Yes. I have to be there to meet and greet.”

  She gave a decisive little nod. “What do you want me to wear?”

  “Christie, if I had a choice, you would never have to ask me that question because you would be permanently naked in my bed.”

  Her smile chased the clouds in her eyes away. “Since that’s not an option right now, I’ll wear the black halter neck and the nude heels.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Christie

  I leaned against the deck rail and pretended to sip my champagne. My face ached from smiling and my feet hurt. The designer heels were twin skyscrapers, forcing my feet into an arch that would stretch the capabilities of a prima ballerina.

  The guests were all on board and I was seeing The Dark Side at its best. The luxury yacht operated like a well-oiled machine. From the helicopter landing pad on the top deck, to the trays of champagne and canapés here at the side of the swimming pool, every need of Theo’s guests was catered for...before they knew they had a need.

  This was an informal welcome while Paolo organized the delivery of luggage to cabins. Dinner would be a buffet served here on deck later as we sailed out of Miami at sunset.

  I was taking a brief respite from my meeting and greeting duties, catching my breath as I tried to remember the names of the people to whom Theo had introduced me. In reality, there was only one among them who interested me.

  He was the real reason I was here. The reason I was prepared to go along with this charade. To pretend that I was happy to be Theo’s hostess for this cruise. My target. My first ever Seduction Squad mission. I wasn’t being eased gently into my role. No fucking a business leader or politician and stealing his secrets. Not for me. My first job was an assassination. Killing a major political figure on board a luxury yacht. That job had been given to the rookie.

  Rookie or not, the Signora thought I could do it. Jake had trained me. They trusted me, and I was determined to show them they were right to do so.

  Even so, I was walking a knife edge. When I stepped onto this boat, I hadn’t thought how my mission would affect Theo. I hadn’t cared. Even though sex with him was part of my plan, I hadn’t seen him as a person beyond my near-incest, revenge fuck toy. If I factored him into my plans after that, it was in terms of what I would do if he discovered why I was here. My escape strategy consisted of deny everything, message the Signora and—if necessary—use every dirty trick Jake had taught me to fight my way off this boat.

  Now Theo was part of my reality and deceiving him didn’t feel good. Against all the odds, the last few days had been incredible, but the whole time I had been conscious of harboring this huge secret. I didn’t care what the rest of the world thought of me, didn’t care who I hurt to get what I wanted—if I did, I wouldn’t have joined the Seduction Squad—but I cared about Theo. It was a highly inconvenient revelation.

  The truth had been staring me in the face. It was about time I stared back. My father’s death had allowed me to stop being Christie Mason, senator’s daughter. I could throw aside the years of conditioning and good-girl duty and finally be me. At twenty-eight years old, no one really knew who I was, least of all me. I found out during my Seduction Squad training.

  I had convinced myself I was settling an old score by hunting Theo down and making him pay in regret and guilt. But I’d lied. All it had ever been about was him. Revenge was nothing compared to the need to see him again.

  And the Seduction Squad? That fulfilled other needs, ones the sweet, shiny, camera-ready, politician’s daughter didn’t know she had. Just like the custom-made spanking paddle, the assassination kit was part of my life now. They both kept me in a state of bright-eyed readiness.

  What would happen if Theo found out about my mission? That was the burning question. Because I was going through with it. I owed it to the Signora...and to myself. This was my final farewell to that other me. But if Theo knew I was planning to murder one of his guests...

  I was less scared about him hurting me, more afraid he would no longer want me. I didn’t even know what the future held for us. When I looked into his eyes I saw forever, but we hadn’t even talked about for now. Some intuition told me he couldn’t talk beyond this cruise. Would Theo want the real Christie? The one with blood on her hands? This wasn’t the time to ask him that question. Not while the canapés were being served.

  Ferran Garcia didn’t look like a politician. Tall and pale, with studious features, his appearance was more that of a medieval monk. This was the man who was standing on an anti-corruption ticket. He looked like he could deliver on his promise. I felt a pang of conscience. Ferran Garcia had the appearance of a saint...and I was the sinner who was planning to choke the life out of him.

  “Don’t ever view the target as a person.” Jake’s words came back to me, grounding me and hardening my resolve. “Once you do that, you are lost.”

  I thought of the Signora. She was a legend within the Seduction Squad. Before she took over as the person in charge, she had been one of us. Another operative. Using the alias Inge Lopez de Vega, she had been the deadliest assassin in the world. The stories about her exploits may have been exaggerated, but, even if they were only half true, they were eye-popping. I reminded myself that even the mighty Inge once had a first kill. She had experienced this butterflies-as-big-as-bats in the stomach moment as she viewed her first target. I may never reach legendary status within the squad, but I wasn’t going to let the team down.

  Even as these thoughts swirled around in my head, I was conscious of Theo working the deck. Prowling like a big cat stalking its prey. Owning this occasion and these people. Yet...there was something in his manner. A slight rigidity that I had never seen before. As if an invisible wire running through his body had been pulled just a little too taut.

  I tried telling myself I didn’t know him well enough to judge whether he was uptight. Ten years was a long time to be apart from someone. I had never seen him in this sort of situation. Maybe he was hoping to pull off a big business deal with one of these people and this cruise really mattered? I shook that thought aside. Theo didn’t do stress and anxiety. He was a carrier, passing tension on to others without exhibiting any of the symptoms himself.

  Even so, the atmosphere was—I searched for the right word—off. I’d hosted enough functions for my father to know what I was talking about. The undercurrents at this one were powerful enough to sink a ship ten times the size of The Dark Side.

  My thoughts were interrupted as a woman strode onto t
he gangplank just before it was pulled up. Moving as though she owned the yacht, she joined us on the upper deck. She was tall, blade-thin and elegant with white hair scraped back from a face that was arresting rather than beautiful. Dressed in a severely elegant black dress, she waved a dismissive hand at Paolo when he approached her.

  I frowned. Ten minutes ago, Paolo told me all the guests were here. He had said there should have been one more, but she hadn’t turned up. As I moved across the deck to greet the newcomer, Theo beat me to it.

  “We agreed you wouldn’t do this making an entrance thing.” He spoke in a low voice.

  I had never seen such cold eyes. Steel gray with the glint of diamonds, they seemed to see everything at once. “I agreed nothing.”

  I could feel Theo’s anger coming off him in waves. “Since you are here at last, you had better fucking do exactly as I tell you.”

  Although her lips lifted, she looked like a woman who had never been taught to smile. Then those eyes turned in my direction and I wanted to scrub my skin clean. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your hostess?”

  He hesitated long enough for me to know how much it mattered. “This is Christie Mason.”

  “Mason?” There was a predatory note in her voice.

  “Oliver’s daughter.” Theo reached for my hand. “She is with me.”

  The air crackled with the force of their competing personalities. They are fighting over me. I don’t know how I knew that from the silent exchange that passed between them. But, in that instant, I knew how it felt to be the prey while two big cats decided which would claim me. Should the prey move infinitesimally closer to one of the predators, tangling her fingers tighter with his? Should relief be her uppermost sensation when he won?

  The woman nodded. “Your way. We have other battles.” That non-smile flickered again. If snakes could smile, that was how it would look. “Introduce me.”

  I was conscious of Theo’s fingers filling the spaces between mine. Warm and strong. As though they were meant to be there. “Christie, this is my mother, Cora Basile.”