Sweet Revenge (17 page)

Feeling his eyes on her, she raised her head and swallowed a startled gasp. There was a look on Dylan’s face she’d never seen before—a dark, hard, almost ruthless expression. In the next instant, it was gone, replaced by a wry grimace. “Wish we had some of those brownies you made the other day.”

Suddenly nervous and not sure why, she turned her mouth up in a tense smile. “I could whip some up for you.”

“That’s okay. There’s something I’d rather have anyway.”

“What’s that?”

“You.”

It was an odd feeling to shiver with excitement and blush at the same time. Though they’d made love less than an hour ago, the memory of Dylan’s kisses, of his mouth on her breasts and between her legs, of his hard body driving into her caused a reaction in every erogenous zone she possessed.

“Are you finished?”

Had his voice gotten thicker? Heat flooding through her, she nodded. Thinking to help him clear the dishes, she stood and picked up her plate. Before she could move, he took the plate from her and set it back on the table.

“I’ll clean up later.” Surprising her, he scooped her into his arms and strode toward her bedroom.

Something had changed Dylan’s mind tonight. At some point, they’d have to talk about what and why, but that could come later. For now, she wanted to revel and delight in the knowledge that this brave, gorgeous man wanted her. Everything else could wait.

His jaw tight, Dylan dropped Jamie onto the bed and followed her down. He’d started the night with the clear intent of finding out Jamie’s secrets. Instead, he’d gotten completely off track, detoured by the sheer need to kiss her, hold her, and be inside her.

That couldn’t happen again. He might hate himself for what he had to do, but he’d hate himself a lot more if Jamie went through with her cockamamie plan and ended up dead. Seducing a woman to get information from her wasn’t his forte. Dylan knew he didn’t have the charm it took. However, never had he been more determined to seduce a woman in his life.

Unbuttoning his shirt, which she was still wearing, he slowly uncovered her beautiful breasts—round with dark pink nipples that were peaked and hard, as if begging for his mouth. He knew their taste, how they would redden even more once he’d suckled on them, and knew the moans she would make deep in her throat.

Moving the shirt over, he shifted his gaze to her flat stomach and her delicate little belly button. His eyes went farther, taking in her sleekly toned legs and narrow, feminine feet. Her body quivered, and he was startled to see her arch upward toward him. Unable to resist, he trailed his fingers over her torso, bypassing the dark gold curls at her mound, and traveled down one leg and then came up the other leg.

“Dylan, stop torturing me.”

The husky, aroused voice almost did him in … almost made him forget his goal once again. Desire pounded through him; he wanted nothing more than to mount her and reignite the fire they could create within each other.

His eyes roamed up and down her body, devouring her. He was ready to kiss, caress, and love her until she was so insensate with need, so desperate for release, she would hold nothing back from him. She would give him everything in return for the intense pleasure only he could offer.

He raised his gaze to her eyes—a fatal mistake. Desire shimmered within their depths, but he also saw the innocence and the trust. She had given him her body so sweetly. Trusted him not to hurt her, not to take advantage of that gift. And now, what was he about to do? He was about to breach that trust. Holy hell, was he any better than the bastards who’d hurt her before?

Cursing violently, Dylan shot off the bed.

Jamie gasped and sat up. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this.”

“Do what? I don’t understand.”

She looked at him as if he were crazy. Damned if he could argue with the assessment. He knew what he looked like. Standing in front of the bed, half naked, wild-eyed with lust and an erection so hard he could hammer nails with it. Hell, she was probably wondering why she’d wanted him in the first place.

Reason and anger were all he had left. He opted for reason first. “You need to tell me what you know about Reddington.”

Her eyes went wide with astonishment. “I don’t understand.… Why are you bringing this up now?”

“Because time is running out. The bastard’s returning to business as usual. If you’re holding back information that could get us inside his organization, it’s not only damn irresponsible, it’s fucking selfish.”

She flinched, but he refused to feel guilty about his bad language. If the F-word bothered her, she was in for a hell of a wake-up call.

“I’ve already told you that—”

“Yeah, I know. You’ll tell McCall when your training is over. That’s not soon enough. I need to know now.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m leaving.”

Her entire body jerked as if he’d slapped her. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got a new op.”

“But what about—”

“Aidan Thorne’s going to finish up your training.”

“But why?”

“Because I’ve got a new job.”

As if just realizing that she was naked she jerked the shirt over her body. Her hands were shaking, and he knew that no matter what he said or did, there was no way she wasn’t going to be hurt. Might as well get to it and get it over with.

“You’re not trained, Jamie. You’ll never be trained for this kind of operation. You’re a schoolteacher. A young woman who something bad happened to. It’s only natural that you want revenge, but—”

Like Venus rising from the sea, she rose slowly from the bed and got to her feet. “Don’t you dare tell me what I am. I know what I am, Dylan Savage. And I know who I am.” Her voice was shaking badly, and at first Dylan thought it was because she was about to cry. When he saw her eyes, he realized that the tremble in her voice came from fury, not tears.

“You think this is all about revenge, you go right ahead. I know my reasons.” She turned and opened a dresser drawer.

“What are you doing?”

“Packing.”

“Jamie, stop it.”

“No. My training is over as far as I’m concerned.”

“Dammit!” Grabbing her shoulder, he pulled her around to face him. He should have remembered that he’d trained her for this kind of attack. She whirled and punched his face. Dylan jerked back, but she still got in a stinging blow to his jaw.

Refusing to let that deter him, he wrapped both of his arms around her and pulled her off her feet. Throwing her onto the bed, he pinned her down and growled, “Dammit, settle down and listen to me.”

Furious breaths heaved through her body as she glared up at him. “Let. Me. Go.”

“As soon as you calm down.”

She bucked up and tried to throw him off. He had more than a hundreds pounds on her and a hell of a lot more training. He didn’t budge.

“Let me up.”

“Damn you, Jamie. You can’t even handle me. How the hell do you think you’re going to not only survive in a snake pit with Reddington and his minions but steal information from him?” He lowered his head and growled into her ear: “Tell me what I want to know and I’ll let you up.”

As if they both realized that this was the final act—that whatever came next would be the end, one way or the other—they froze in place, neither of them breathing. Seconds passed. Then finally, inevitably, Dylan felt Jamie’s surrender. The breath whooshed from her lungs as she wilted like a scorched flower. “I know where he gets his domestic help.”

“What?”

“The company he uses in Madrid to get his domestics is called Superior Services. I thought if I could apply as a maid, I could get into his home and steal his files.”

At the thought of her actually going to Reddington’s hideaway, Dylan’s blood froze. “Dammit, Jamie. We have credible intel that the bastard sold several of his domestics when he tired of them.”

“That’s why I wanted the training. To get what I need and then get away from him.”

He was torn between shouting at her for being such a naïve fool and kissing her for wanting to be so brave and creative. He did neither. With the knowledge that no matter if she stayed for further training or left now, whatever they had between them was over, Dylan pulled away from her and stood.

Jamie didn’t move. Just continued to lie there as if she had no life left in her.

Regret like bitter bile in his mouth, Dylan fought the intense need to comfort her. Instead, he nodded grimly and said, “I’ll call McCall and let him know.”

In a voice lifeless and dull, she asked, “Was that what tonight was all about?”

There was no point in keeping the truth from her. “I couldn’t think of any other way.”

She didn’t respond to that, just rolled over in bed, her back to him.

“I think it would be good for you to stay and let Aidan finish up your training. He’s—”

“What I do or don’t do regarding my training is no longer your concern.”

“Promise me you won’t try this harebrained thing.

That you’ll let LCR handle this.”

“Fine. I won’t do it.”

“You promise?”

“I said I won’t. If that’s not enough for you …”

“Okay, fine. Good. We’ll get him, Jamie. I promise. Why don’t you go and spend some time with McKenna? I’m sure she—”

“Get out of my room, Dylan.”

With the ache in his gut intensifying, he could only say, “I’m sorry it had to end this way. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Again there was no answer.

Dylan left, closing the door softly behind him. She hated him now, and though he told himself he’d only done it for her own good, the bitter taste in his mouth told him differently. Tonight, before dinner, he’d lost control. That hadn’t been about seducing information from her; it had been about making love to the woman he loved.

Dylan knew to his soul that he would never make love to another woman ever again. Oh, he’d probably have sex again, at some point, but the part of himself he’d always held back had been revealed with Jamie tonight. Now that part was wrapped up tight, never to be revealed again.

At dawn, Jamie rose from her bed, got dressed, and started packing. She’d lain awake all night, dry-eyed, torn between an agonizing hurt that went straight through bone and a fury that fueled a determination that no one, not even Dylan Savage, could squelch. Now, hours later, she just felt empty.

She opened drawers and threw clothes into her suitcase without regard to wrinkles or care. Silence wasn’t a concern, either. Dylan had excellent hearing, so even if she tried to be quiet, he’d be able to hear her. What was the point? He knew she was leaving. And there was no reason to stay. They had used each other to get what they’d needed. Dylan had gotten the information he wanted, and she had gotten the training she needed. Neither of them were happy with the outcome.

Marching into the bathroom, Jamie dumped her cosmetics into a small bag. She glanced up at the mirror and almost gasped at the stranger looking back at her. Her face was drained of all color and her eyes looked dead—as empty as she felt inside.

The knowledge that she’d allowed this to happen only intensified her anger. She had known that Dylan wanted whatever information he’d thought she was hiding. He’d made no secret of that. And instead of questioning his motives for his little seduction scene last night, she’d eagerly gone into his arms like a love-starved teenager going out with the high school jock. She’d never been an easy mark, but Dylan hadn’t even had to sweet-talk her. She’d been so damn thrilled that he’d had a change of heart. Never had she felt more disgusted with herself.

She slammed the drawer closed and turned back to her bedroom. Grabbing her bags, she went into the living room and dropped them on the floor. They thudded loudly. She returned to the bedroom, grabbed the last suitcase, and dropped it beside the others. Without her permission, her gaze went to the closed bedroom door. There was no way he hadn’t heard her … no way he didn’t know she was about to walk out the door.

She took a shaky breath. Her bags were packed; she was dressed. There was nothing keeping her here, no reason not to leave. Still, she paused. Her eyes on the door, she waited. The clock above the mantel sounded unusually loud in the dead silence. No sounds came from the bedroom.

With her chin tilted at a defiant angle, she bit her lip to control the slight tremble of her mouth and picked up all three bags. Without a backward glance, she carried them to the door, opened it wide, and stomped out onto the porch. She then turned and pulled the door shut, very quietly.

She trudged down the steps and headed to the back of the cabin, where her SUV was parked in the detached garage. Practically throwing the bags inside, she got into the vehicle, started it up, and drove away. Once again, not bothering with a backward glance.

Dylan had almost managed to do something that her past experiences hadn’t been able to accomplish. He’d almost broken her. There was a burning in her chest and a flood of tears just waiting to break behind her eyes. But Jamie knew she was made of sterner stuff. Damned if he would ever know how much he’d hurt her … damned if he would know how much she had loved him.

And damned if he would know that she hadn’t told him the truth.

fourteen

Two months later
Reddington’s island

“Aren’t you coming for a swim with me this morning?”

Looking up from his plate, Raphael almost choked on his breakfast. Giselle stood before him dressed in an almost nonexistent bikini. Her lithe, golden body already slicked down with sunscreen, she was the epitome of a bright and oh-so-beautiful young woman.

Since normal breath was almost impossible right now, he swallowed the food in his mouth to clear his air passage. In Giselle’s presence, he was either breathless and enchanted or infuriated and impatient. And always, all the time, he was aroused.

He’d been on Reddington’s island for months. During this time, he’d learned innumerable things, including three absolutes. One was that Stanford Reddington was a brilliant businessman. Second, he’d discovered, to his dismay, that Reddington’s family had no idea of the man’s illegal activities. Third and most disturbing of all: Raphael was in love with Giselle Reddington, the daughter of a human trafficker and slave trader.

When Reddington had invited him for a visit, Raphael had known it was an open-ended invitation. He just hadn’t realized that Reddington would be the one to decide when it was time for Raphael to leave. So far, there’d been no indication that the man was ready to allow that to happen.

Each day after breakfast, except on Sundays, Raphael spent the morning with Reddington. He had to give the guy credit: he was doing what he’d promised and showing Raphael the ropes of running a multibillion euros enterprise. And Reddington had been right—Raphael was learning much more here than he probably ever would in a university. Problem was, he wasn’t getting what he’d come to the island to learn. Everything Reddington shared with him dealt with only the man’s legitimate businesses.

Equally alarming, but in a different way, was the fact that Reddington had made it clear that he highly approved of a relationship between Raphael and Giselle. Under ordinary circumstances, Raphael would have been thrilled. To be in love with a beautiful woman and have her adoration, as well as her father’s approval, would be any man’s dream. Unfortunately, nothing about this was ordinary. If and when he got the chance, he planned to find the information LCR needed. Even though her father was a slimy criminal, Raphael knew Giselle would never forgive him.

A small, gurgling laugh reminded him that he’d yet to answer Giselle’s question. “Raphael, you look like you’re in a trance. Are you okay?”

He grinned. “Just enjoying the view.”

Laughing softly, she whirled around. “It just arrived yesterday. You like?”

“Like” was too mild a word for his thoughts. Hard to believe that a seventeen-year-old girl could be so unaware of her own beauty. He had no doubt that Giselle knew of her appeal, but she didn’t use her looks as a weapon, as did many young attractive girls he’d been around. She had a sweet personality and a self-deprecating humor he found delightful. Problem was, he could do nothing but admire her from afar.

“It’s beautiful, as are you.”

Her smile went even brighter, and she dropped into a chair across from him. “Thank you, Raphael. You always say kind things. Will you go swimming with me this morning?”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Your father gave me several projects to work on, and I’m eager to get started on them.”

Her full lips came out in a little pretend pout, and Raphael groaned under his breath. If she ever realized what she did to him, the “let’s just be friends” discussion he’d had with her would be meaningless.

“Sundays are supposed to be spent with those you care about.” Her dark eyes gleaming with a sweetly teasing wickedness, she added, “Does that mean you don’t care about me?”

“You know better. I just want to make a good impression on your father.”

She got to her feet. “How about sailing with me this afternoon? The weather’s supposed to be perfect.”

Unable to resist, Raphael nodded. “I’ll meet you on the boat at one o’clock. Okay?”

“Perfect. I’ll pack a picnic for us.” Blowing him a kiss, she turned and disappeared down the stairs that led to the beach.

Raphael waited for several minutes to make sure she didn’t come back. Sunday was the one day the entire family did their own thing. Reddington rarely came down for breakfast on Sundays, preferring to spend the morning in his suite with his wife. And Giselle was correct—Sundays were generally work-free on the island … at least for everyone but the servants.

Work wasn’t exactly what Raphael had planned, either. At least not anything Reddington would approve of. Last week, he’d noticed that the large portrait of Reddington’s father that hung in the man’s study was crooked. Not an odd occurrence by normal standards, but Reddington was anything but normal. He was meticulous and incredibly anal about everything.

After months of subtle searching of the entire island, Raphael had come up with nothing to show for it. According to LCR sources, Reddington kept all of his private files and records at his home. Raphael had almost despaired of finding anything until he’d seen the crooked frame. Could Reddington be so cheesy and old-fashioned as to have a safe or secret hiding place behind the framed picture of his father?

Raphael set his napkin beside his plate and stood. Even though Sundays were relaxed and informal on the island, he was rarely alone. If he wasn’t with Reddington, then either Giselle was around or Reddington’s younger daughter, Amelia, was regaling him with questions about his travels.

He had been on the island for a couple of weeks when he’d realized something not only disturbing but downright cruel: the family never left the island. Though they seemed content, Raphael wondered if they had ever asked Reddington why he kept them prisoner.

Taking care to appear as if he was indeed going to work, Raphael grabbed the files he’d brought down with him. He didn’t want to get caught in the man’s private office. Most of the time, they conducted business in a larger office on the third floor of the mansion.

Reddington’s private office was on the first floor of the mansion and much smaller. Raphael had been allowed in it only a few times. If he did get caught, he had the credible excuse of needing a computer to compile some spreadsheets. After a lengthy and exhaustive search, he’d realized that this was the only computer on the island. Incredible as it seemed, the man was determined that no unapproved information reach his family. The Internet was filled with the scandal of Jamie Kendrick’s accusations.

Keeping his island insulated from the world was a full-time job, and Reddington employed several people who appeared to have only one priority: keeping his family in the dark.

With the files under his arm, Raphael made a beeline to the man’s office. If he acted as if he had every right to be there, no one should give it a second thought.

The tasteful but obvious wealth of the mansion no longer awed him. When he’d first arrived, he’d figured he’d looked like a kid making his first visit to an amusement park. The opulence had been overwhelming. After he’d gotten over his initial shock, he’d reminded himself where Reddington’s money had come from—the wealth was nothing more than a façade to cover evil.

Looking neither left nor right, he entered the private office. This was the first time he’d gone in alone. The office was about half the size of Reddington’s other office. There was a large desk on one side, with a computer the only thing on it; two sofas situated together in one area; a conference table and six chairs across the room; and, in a discreet corner, a fully stocked bar.

Raphael headed immediately to the computer. If someone came in, he needed to be able to show what he was working on. Opening the folders he’d brought with him, he spent half an hour developing a spreadsheet and inputting numbers. Then, satisfied with the ruse, he stood and went to the painting. He noted that it had been straightened and figured the minute Reddington had seen the tilt, he’d immediately set it to rights.

The condescending image of Reddington’s father stared down at Raphael as he eased the picture aside. He was so intent on his task, he didn’t hear the door open until it was too late.

“Raphael, what are you doing?”