MC ROMANCE: Wanted by the Alpha Biker (Motorcycle Club Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) (MC Romantic Suspense Contemporary New Adult Short Stories) (164 page)

Chapter Two

              Walking to the speedboat waiting to whisk her off to Valente’s yacht made Ashley feel as if she were walking down the aisle and the plank, respectively.  She’d never run an op on the water, and as huge as the billionaire’s yacht was, it would still keep her penned and cut off from any other avenue of escape – or hope of help.

              “Safer on the water,” she reminded herself under her breath as she gripped her tote a little tighter.

              Valente stood on the deck watching for her, and as the speedboat drew near, his white teeth flashed.  He vanished from the deck, which Ashley didn’t understand at first.  On the starboard hull a hydraulic hatch lifted from the water.  The speedboat driver cruised through the portal into a large rectangular pool inside the yacht.

              “Oh, my.”  She smiled at Valente, who was waiting on the pool deck to help her out.  “Your yacht has a garage.”

              “Internal basin,” he corrected.  “Eighteen thousand liters of water that can be added or emptied in three minutes.  I can even heat the water if the sea is too cold for swimming.”

              If she kept looking into his burnished copper eyes, she’d never feel cold again.  “All the comforts of home, then.” 

Valente lifted her from the boat with his strong arms.  “This is a pretty color on you, and you feel as light as a bit of fluff.  Do you only eat clouds and feathers, Bella?”

              “I prefer fish and chips.”  Since he wore only an old faded shirt and a pair of frayed cutoffs, Ashley gave herself a moment to admire his muscular torso before she glanced down at her lavender sun dress.  “I considered wearing my tweeds, but I didn’t want to be too formal.  Or melt.  Permission to come aboard?”

              “There is a charge,” he warned her, and rested his hands on her shoulders.  “One kiss.”

              Ashley brought his hand to her cheek, and as he bent his head turned hers and pressed her lips to his palm.  “You didn’t say where,” she told him as he scowled.

              “True.”  He leaned close enough for his breath to warm her mouth.  “But next time? I will, Bella.”

              Valente relieved her of her tote, handing it off to a waiting steward, and then took her on a tour of the gigantic vessel.

              “Tell me how you managed all this,” Ashley said.

              “My grandfather was a fisherman,” he told her as he showed her the enormous, luxurious guest cabins.  “He left his boat to my father, who hates water but loves money.  Papa sold it to his cousin Luigi, who likes calamari, and used the money to buy two more boats.  Since this worked so well for him, he did it over and over until he was buying and selling ships.  Then he thought he could make more money loading them with people and cargo, and sending them all over the world.  And he did.  The end.”

              Ashley’s eyes widened as he brought her into a sumptuous galley where white-clad attendants stood behind a huge buffet of seafood, pastas, vegetable and fruit platters and a small mountain of dessert pastries.

“I hope you did not have a large breakfast,” he murmured as he guided her to the lavish feast.  “Carlo, this is magnificent.  Tell me, do you have fish and chips?”

“I can in five minutes, sir,” the chef said, beaming at Ashley.

“Well, it really doesn’t go with Russian caviar and Dom Perignon, does it?” she said to Valente.  “We can have it the next time you’re in London.  My treat.”

Over the delicious food Ashley talked with Valente about her fictitious travels, and listened to his stories about the shipping industry.  He fed her spiced shrimp, and garlicky pasta, and slices of tiny, golden apricots simmered in honey.  By the time a steward served her black tea and Valente a strong espresso Ashley thought she must be glowing with satisfaction and pleasure.

“You may stay on my yacht as long as you like,” Valente told her.  “You are small, and you do not eat very much.”

“Ah, but you’ve never seen me at a fish and chips shop,” she reminded him, adding a dollop of milk to her cup.  “I push big, strong chaps out of my way.  Counter girls fear me chomping off their fingers.  No one ever tries to take the malt vinegar bottle from me.”

“The last time I was in London, my British friend took me to a pub.  He ordered warm beer, which was bad enough, but then had the waitress bring a plate of beans on toast.”  Valente shuddered visibly.  “I would have called for the police, but everyone was eating it.”

She nodded in sympathy.  “I remember the first time someone had me try calamari.  To me it tasted like very skinny, rubbery shrimp, until the breading fell off.  Then I asked my friend what sort of shrimp had tentacles.”

Valente made a face.  “I do not care for either.  Or toad in the hole, for that matter.  Tell me, why do your people eat frogs on toast?  Did the French do that to you?”

They laughed and swapped more food stories, and then Valente asked her to go up on deck with him.    

“What are you going to do with the rest of the food?” she had to ask as Valente guided her up the stairs.  “We barely touched it.”

“It is time for the crew to eat,” he said, leading her over to a pair of chaise lounges in the sun.  “There are fifty of them, and they are like piranha.  There will be nothing leftover.”

“Most men would not be so generous with the help,” Ashley said as she sat down on the lounge. 

Valente reclined on the one beside her and stretched out his long legs.  “They are not the help.  They are my people.  Good, hard-working people.  I know their names and their families and the faces of their children.  I never forget that if not for Papa hating water, I would be working alongside any of them.”

They basked silently in the sun together for a half-hour, and then Valente insisted they go undercover to protect her fair skin.

“You will burn to the crisp,” he chided as she protested.  “Then I will not be able to touch you, and I will cry.  Many tears.”

He took her to the canopied back deck, which had an entertainment center he used to play an opera CD.  As they listened to Caruso sing Puccini’s
Donna non vidi mai
, he challenged her to a game of chess.

Ashley considered purposely losing so as not to dent his ego, but as the game progressed, it became clear that Valente was the superior player. 

“You should have had my king cornered five plays back,” she said, giving the board and then him a suspicious look.  “Stop being nice and trounce me already.”

Valente moved his bishop into the checkmate position.  “There.  You are trounced.  What do I win, Bella?”

Ashley politely offered him her hand, which he took in his.  Instead of shaking it, he brought her fingers to his lips.

In that moment Ashley forgot her mission, her training and her common sense.  Valente tugged her to him, sitting her on his lap as he pressed her hand to his chest.

“You feel that?” he murmured, rubbing his cheek against her hair.  “My heart is singing.”

His heart was pounding, almost as hard as hers.  Then Ashley felt their pulses sync and shivered. 

“This is reckless,” she whispered.  “You don’t know me.  You haven’t even kissed me.”

“I want to.”  He skimmed his fingers along the curve of her cheek, across her lips, and under her hair.  “I think I will, and very soon.  I want to know every part of you, Bella.”

She ducked her head.  This was one of the risks of running an op as a romantic partner; actual romance occasionally happened.  To maintain her cover she might have to have sex with Valente, something she’d never done during any mission in the past.  They’d trained her in the various ways in which to avoid it, too, which she should be employing right now.

“I have an island, not far from here.  A big house on it, too, all alone and waiting for someone to visit.”  Valente threaded his fingers through her pale curls.  “Come and stay the night with me there, Bella.  I will make you happier than you can imagine.”

Ashley had no doubt he would.  He was a charming, sensitive man, but there was also passion simmering in him.  She could feel it in every look, every touch.  But that passion was for a travel writer who didn’t exist, not an MI-6 operative. 

All she had to do was say no.  She could go back to the hotel, and arrange a replacement, and forget about this man.  She would be safe and sensible and entirely correct in doing so.

Ashley looked into his dark, hungry eyes.  “Yes.”

Chapter Three

              Valente left Ashley listening to Caruso and went to the bridge to consult with his captain.  Nilson, the Swede who piloted the yacht, used electronic instruments on his sophisticated control panel to plot and program their new course.

“Skies are clear and the sea is calm, Signore,” Nilson said.  “We should arrive before sunset.”

“Excellent.”  Valente turned to the captain.  “Once we reach the island, I will take the speed boat to shore.  The young lady and I will be spending the night at the house.  Possibly two nights.”

The captain nodded.  “Unless the yacht catches on fire, we will not disturb you, Signore.”

Valente walked back through the lower deck, where Paolo met him.  “Master, there is a call on the satellite phone for you.  It is another of those unhappy cartel villains, I think.  He said if you do not speak to him, this time he will blow up your Ferrari.  Since you lent it to Mistress Chiara . . . .”

“I know.  These people are like the cockroaches, aren’t they, Paolo?”  He changed direction and went into his lounge, where he picked up the phone and pressed the blinking button on the console.  “This is Valente.  I have not changed my mind, and I will not let your people use my ships.  You can blow up my Ferrari.  They are all insured.  Also, since I own twelve, you should bring plenty of explosives.”

“I am glad you find this amusing, Signore,” a cold voice said.  “For we do not.  Laugh at us while you can.”

The line went dead, and Valente switched to another to call his cousin.  “Chiara, don’t use the Ferrari this weekend.  I think the brakes are slipping.  I will send someone to collect it.”

“Stop lying,” she said.  “It’s another death threat, isn’t it?”

He rubbed his brow.  “I don’t know.  There have been so many they run together.  Just don’t use the car, please.”

“As long as you stay on the yacht with Ashley,” she countered.  “I want you safe.  Ciao, cousin.”

Valente frowned as he hung up the phone.  He knew Chiara could be nosy, but he’d said nothing to her about inviting Ashley to spend the day with him.  Either she was having him watched, or she was wheedling information out of his crew. 

Or Ashley had told her.

Valente considered what had happened at the party last night.  Ashley, who he now knew to be as graceful as a ballerina, had bumped into him.  Chiara had supposedly invited her to the party while knowing nothing about her.  She also hadn’t asked Ashley a single question about herself while they were talking, either.  Naturally his cousin knew how much he liked petite, fair-haired women, so it was entirely possible that their meeting was anything but an accident.

He smiled a little.  So what if Chiara had been meddling again?  For once she had found someone he could like and talk to as well as make love.  When he returned to Venice, he would buy his cousin her own Ferrari. 

When Valente finally rejoined Ashley, he found her curled up in one corner of the back deck lounge with her wrap spread over her shoulders.  That she’d fallen asleep might have insulted another man, but Valente appreciated the benefits of an afternoon cat nap, particularly when he was out on the water.  He stretched out beside her, and almost immediately she snuggled against him with a sigh.

As Valente closed his eyes, he heard her murmur, “You shouldn’t have fed me so much.  I’m much more alert on an empty stomach.”

“There is nothing for us to do but relax.”  He stroked her soft curls with his hand, and felt contentment sink into his bones.  “So go back to sleep, Bella.”

“You feel so good.”  She rubbed against him, tugging him over so that he lay on top of her.  “Ah.”

Suddenly Valente was awake, and so was the thick length of his cock, which now pressed between her legs.  Keeping his eyes on hers, he reached down to slide up the skirt of her dress.  “Do you know what I want to do to you, right now?”

Delicate pink color tinted her cheeks.  “The same thing I want.”

“We have not kissed yet,” he murmured, and then he saw the need in her eyes.  “Oh, Bella.”

He tugged down her panties, feeling as if he might jet all over her before he could get inside.  But no, she remained still, watching his face as he worked his cockhead against her damp, soft folds.  As he pressed in her eyelids fluttered, and she smiled.

“That’s what I wanted,” she whispered.

The wet, tight heat of her enveloped his shaft, and he stroked in deeper, filling her with a second thrust.  He held himself in her until she squirmed under him, and then began to pump in and out.  He wanted to keep his rhythm smooth and slow but her pussy clasped him so hungrily soon he was fucking her as hard and fast as he could.

She came first, pressing her mouth against his shoulder as she shook under him.  Then he grunted and plowed deep, shuddering as he flooded her with his seed.

Valente looked down at her, amazed and shaken and suddenly ashamed.  “Forgive me.”  He drew out of her.  “I’ve never done that in my life.”

“Neither have I.”  She stretched, and then sighed.  “Now I suppose you’ll want me to kiss you on the lips.  I don’t know about that, Gio.  Seems awfully forward, don’t you think?”

              Valente chuckled and gathered her close.  “I can wait until you’re ready.” 

#

              Ashley dreamt of walking naked through an endless desert.  The sun shone fiercely over her head, but she felt nothing on her skin.  The very absence of heat made her slow and then stop as she peered around her.

Off in the distance, Geoffrey waved to her from the back of a heavily-laden camel.  “Your father called,” he shouted.  “Wants to know where to send your toff.  Venice?”

A deeper voice answered him with, “She’s my daughter and I’ll arrange her marriage, thank you very much.”

Ashley turned her head to see her father standing atop a high dune on her other side.  “Father, what are you doing in the desert?  You despise the heat.”

“You’re a very ungrateful girl, Ashley Victoria.”  He puffed furiously on a pipe, the ivory bowl carved to resemble Winston Churchill’s face.  “Come home and attend to your duty to the family.”

“Bella.”

Ashley whirled around to see a luscious oasis blooming just in front of her, and Valente standing beneath a date palm, his hands filled with white feathers.  “Gio?”

He lifted a finger to his lips, scattering the feathers.  “Quiet, Bella.  They will hear you.”

Ashley woke and opened her eyes to see Valente sitting up and listening.  He held her in his arms, pressed close to his chest.

He glanced down at her.  “There are armed men on the ship,” he said, his voice barely audible.  “They have taken over control.  We must get down to the speedboat.  Be very quiet.”

She nodded, and when he rose, took hold of his hand and followed him down below deck.  There Valente he inched along a corridor until he reached the access door to the basin pool.

“Your launch is gone, Signore.”

Ashley turned her head to see a tall, thin man dressed in black.  He held a handgun pointed at her head. 

Valente stepped in front of her.  “That is a shame.  We were hoping to go for a sunset cruise.  Perhaps you could lend us your boat?  We will bring it back in a few hours.”

“Go up to the top deck,” the man ordered.  “Or I will shoot you and give your girlfriend to my men.”

Ashley assessed everything she saw as they made their way to the top deck.  At least three dozen armed men were forcing the crew top side, where they used zip ties to bind them to the port and starboard railings.  This included the captain, the pilot and the communications officer.  No one had been shot, although many of Valente’s men had bloody noses and split lips.  Paolo, the elderly valet, looked at Valente with tears in his eyes.

“You need not waste your time with this girl or my crew,” Valente told the man behind them.  “I am the one you want.  Take me.”

“Put them on the launch,” the man told a pair of his thugs.  To another, he said, “See to the radio and the engines.”

Ashley silently climbed into speedboat, where they were bound with zip ties and left on a bench seat.  The man in charge joined them a short time later with three more of his men and started the engines.

Valente bent his head to hers.  “Don’t be afraid, Bella.  I will give them what they want, and they will release us.”  He hesitated before he added, “No matter I say, go along with it.  It is only to keep them from hurting you, you understand?”

Ashley would have laughed out loud if things hadn’t been so grim.  “Yes, of course.”

By the time they reached a large, anonymous-looking cargo ship, Ashley had noted how many weapons each man carried and which were the professionals.  The man in charge and one of his thugs carried themselves with the readiness of military training; the other two were hired muscle with little experience.  One kept eyeing her as if imagining what he’d like to do given the time, opportunity and privacy.  She nervously avoided his gaze as she planned how to use him.

The hijackers cut their bonds, and then forced her and Valente to climb up a rope ladder.  On the deck more men carrying automatic weapons surrounded them.  After being briskly patted down, the man in charge marched them through a maze of corridors to a large hold filled with crates and camera equipment.  In the center of the deck stood a pole with a top bar that had ropes hanging from both ends.

A man with white hair stepped out of the shadows.  He wore a light gray suit that didn’t flatter his bony frame, and had a puffy keloid across the left side of his face.  The scar distorted one side of his mouth into a permanent sneer.

“Welcome aboard, Signore Valente,” the scarred man said.  “I am glad you could join us.  We have so much to discuss.”