The Darkest of Shadows (24 page)

“If you’re going to stand there hovering, you might as well be of some use and carry that out for me.” I nodded to the larger of my bags and then followed him out into the lounge.

Frost, Charlie and our driver were waiting in the foyer, and after some slight difficulty getting all the bags on the luggage cart, we were on our way to the airport.

New York was one of the further destinations that we traveled to, and I was immensely happy that Lawrence’s private jet was fairly large. It had two different seating areas and a bedroom equipped with its own bathroom, so the long-haul flights weren’t a problem.

It was very early morning, US time, when we finally made it to New York. Lawrence had an apartment there, which we had stayed at before, so it was comforting to return there instead of a hotel—and it was a little bit unexpected when Lawrence told the porter to put all our bags in his bedroom.

I raised an eyebrow at him and smiled in amusement. “We sharing, are we?” I asked.

“Absolutely.” He pulled me against him. “If I let you go, you might forget about me, and then where would I be?”

I laughed. I didn’t mind, actually. We were only able to truly be ourselves when we were alone in our room, and at the moment I wanted that feeling. Like he said, I was happy today; if I wanted to change it tomorrow, I had no doubt that he wouldn’t make an issue out of it. I was more comfortable with the situation, knowing it wasn’t an irreversible decision.

“Do you two mind?” Charlie groaned as he pushed past us.

Lawrence and I shared a secret smile, and I went into his room—now our room—and unpacked my things.

“We have to go to dinner tomorrow night,” he told me later that night, as we lay together in bed.

“That’s fine,” I assured him; he sounded reluctant, which had me wondering who it was we were meeting. It wasn’t a scheduled meeting, so obviously something last minute that he’d coordinated. “Who’s it with?” I rubbed my hand over his arm where it lay against my naked stomach.

“Longborn and O’Neill.”

They were high-profile corporate lawyers, the firm that Lawrence used for all his US dealings.

“What did you do?” I turned my head to smile at him.

He kissed me before answering. “Nothing,” he said innocently.

“That’s what they all say.”

“Actually, this time I didn’t do anything,” he assured me. “There’s a company that has made overtures through them about purchasing a business venture that I’m part of. The lawyers want to run me through the details, because there is some sort of limit on the timeframe of the deal.”

“Sounds like heavy dinner conversation,” I commented.

He shrugged. “Isn’t it always?”

I rolled over so that I lay on top of him. “I’m sure I can think of something to keep you going through such a long, intense meeting.” My lips hovered just above his own.

“You are so amazingly sexy, woman,” he rasped. “If I’d known what was waiting for me, I’m not sure I could have kept my hands off you for as long as I did.”

“There’s nothing stopping you now,” I reminded him, and he took full advantage of the invitation.

We spent the next day finalizing some business details and, on my behalf, sending apologies to the scheduled events that Lawrence had bailed on while he had been staying with me. I had to construct some seriously contrite e-mails to get him out of that bungle. Not attending such high-profile events and not even sending one’s apologies was not something easily forgotten, or forgiven.

I dressed with care that night. I knew it wasn’t technically any different from any of the other hundred or so events that I had been to with Lawrence, and even though we weren’t advertising that we were more than work colleagues, I knew that we were more. And for him, I wanted to look like the sort of woman that he should have walk beside him and share his bed.

The heels were stunning, the dress short and dramatic, and the hair slicked back (definitely not my normal style); overall, the image was seriously sexy, but not slutty.

“Jesus Christ, Lilly,” Lawrence said with a whistle as I walked out of the bathroom to find him slipping on his jacket. He crossed the room in long strides and grabbed hold of my hips, his hands running over all the most sensitive places on my body. “You are killing me.” He ducked his head down against my neck and groaned.

He made me laugh, and he made me feel like someone else. “You like?” I asked with an amused chuckle, then pulled back from him so that he could appreciate the whole picture.

“I think that it’s going to be blatantly obvious to everyone tonight that I like what I see.” He didn’t have to explain what he meant; I could see the evidence with my own eyes. His pants bulged impressively, and he had to adjust himself before he did himself an injury.

“You know, you’re not such a bad catch, either.” I swept an appreciative glance over him. He was dressed in one of his usual suits, this one dark grey with tiny black pinstripes running through it; he looked powerful and sexy, and my eyes told him how much I liked what I saw.

“This is going to be the longest dinner of my life,” he groaned, then grabbed my hand and towed me out of the room.

.

Eleven

Walter Newman, Senior Partner with Longborn & O’Neill, the man Lawrence usually dealt with at the firm, brought four others to dinner that night. I forgot their names as soon as he introduced them. I was a bit surprised at the amount of manpower he needed; it must be an interesting proposal that we were here to discuss.

It was unusual that someone as young as Walter would be a Senior Partner with a law firm as old and prestigious as Longborn & O’Neill. He was in his early forties, and like Lawrence, he looked after himself. He was dressed in a suit that cost more than most people made in a month and had a confidence about him that must work well in court. He was one of those people who, I imagine, could lie easily and well, which was probably why he was a senior partner.

He gave me a cursory once-over when I walked up to the table with Lawrence, dismissing me almost instantly from his attention.

“Mr. Monterey.” He shook hands with Lawrence. “I’m glad you could spare the time to meet with us tonight. It’s an unusual proposal and something we determined was best presented directly to you as soon as possible.”

We sat, and the waiter took our orders; it wasn’t until we were eating our meal that Lawrence got back to the proposal.

“Tell me about it,” he said simply.

Walter leaned across the table and handed Lawrence a single piece of paper. “On Christmas Eve, we received that fax. It’s a formal request for Monterey Enterprises to consider the sale of its interest in the Lane Cove Casino development.”

I knew about that development, and I also knew that it was predicted to make a whole lot of money. It was one of the few building projects Lawrence intended to keep after construction was finished.

“What do they want with it?” Lawrence asked.

Walter shrugged a shoulder. “They don’t explain in their proposal, and we can’t find any link between this company and any of the other investors involved in the Casino.”

“Who is this BTWK?” Lawrence read the name from the sheet. “I’ve never heard of them…and how the hell did they get their hands on that kind of money?” he asked.

I reached over and took the piece of paper from his hands, causing Walter to send me a calculated look, which I ignored. It was none of his business what I chose to involve myself in.

The letter was simple and contained no more than four lines. It came from Whiteman Lawyers in Las Vegas and stated that their client, BTWK Developments, were interested in purchasing the Lane Cove Casino development for a figure just short of five hundred million dollars.

Lawrence only held a quarter share in the development, and our investment was significantly less than that what they were offering. Even the revenue from the finished development would take many years to surpass that figure.

“BTWK was incorporated the day before we received that fax,” Walter said, handing over another document, which, after a cursory glance, Lawrence passed onto me.

“We’ve traced it back though half a dozen other companies, and we still haven’t been able to work out exactly who’s involved in the bid,” one of the other men stated, and then went through a list of company names and directors, none of which sounded familiar to me.

“Wait,” Lawrence interrupted at one point. “That last one, Meheng? I know that name.”

“Franklin Meheng. CEO of Corlin, Inc. He’s been in and out of court for years. Troubles with the IRS and also some insider trading suspicions, but no one has ever been able to get anything concrete on him,” Walter supplied

“It’s only a suspicion that he’s related to this venture,” the other man cautioned. “We can track him through some of the other companies, and it’s possible that he doesn’t know anything about the bid. He’s one name in a long list of possibilities. We haven’t had enough time to undertake a thorough investigation into their affairs, and the time limit on the proposal meant that we could only offer you the information that we’ve been able to track down in the last few days. The fax states that the offer is only valid till midnight on the first of January.

“Whiteman’s won’t supply any more details?” I asked, but Walter shook his head.

“Part of the arrangement is that the owners’ identities remain confidential—and also, oddly, that the transaction itself remains a secret for twenty-one days after the sale is finalized.”

Lawrence and I shared a glance that both of us understood. A deal like this was wrong on so many levels. There was information in play here that we didn’t know, and Lawrence was enough of a businessman to realize that one didn’t rush into anything that involved that amount of money without a cooling-off period. Business transactions took time and study, not reckless speed.

“What’s your recommendation?” he asked Walter.

“No genuine investor makes an offer like that,” Walter stated flatly.

Lawrence nodded and let the topic go for the moment, but occasionally as we ate he asked a few more questions generally relating to the company’s identity. Something about it bothered him; I could tell that much from his manner.

“I’m not interested,” Lawrence told Walter, as soon as the last of the dishes were removed. “Tell them that we appreciate their taking the time to get in touch with us, but at this stage, we are still investigating our options in relation to the venture and aren’t interested in selling.”

“I’ll pass the message along,” Walter confirmed.

Lawrence rose from his seat, shook hands with Walter, and nodded to the other gentlemen while he waited for me to join him.

“It was a pleasure to meet you in person, Lilly,” Walter told me. I’d wondered if he had recognized my name from Lawrence’s initial introduction; for some reason, this time he had just referred to me as his friend Lillianna, so Walter could be forgiven for not initially recognizing exactly who I was.

My smile was genuine when I returned his handshake. “It’s always nice to put a face to a voice over the phone,” I said. He held my hand longer than necessary before releasing it slowly.

“I’ll be in touch once I finalize the response.” He directed his words to me rather than Lawrence—which was apparently too personal for Lawrence to manage, because he slipped his arm around my waist and stepped close in beside me. Walter took a half step back. Lawrence’s actions spoke clearer than words that I wasn’t in the market for any man’s attentions.

“Good night, Walter.” Lawrence’s voice was unusually low.

“Mr. Monterey.” Walter inclined his head in acknowledgment of the farewell. As Lawrence was about to turn away, he stopped and, with his arm still around me, looked back over his shoulder at Walter.

“Oh, and Walter, find out what this is all about,” he instructed. “I don’t like the tone of this proposal. Find out why they made the offer and who they are.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I thought we weren’t advertising our relationship?” I asked in an amused voice, as we exited the restaurant.

“Just setting the boundaries,” he responded coolly.

“Is that what you call it?” I asked. He was jealous. What a remarkable thing.

He growled low in his throat, a sexy rumbling sound that I only ever heard him use when we were making love. It sent a tingle of anticipation through my body.

It was a long drive back to the apartment.

“I’ve got to go out for a few hours.” Lawrence kissed me awake the next morning.

I stretched beneath the sheets, yawning loudly in protest. “Don’t you ever sleep?” I asked him in annoyance. He had kept me up half the night, and it was only just past eight o’clock, which meant that I had officially slept for about four hours. Not enough!

“Who wants to sleep?” he asked. “When there are so many other things that I’d rather be doing.” He sat on the bed beside me, and we had a gentle tug of war about whether or not I wanted to expose my nakedness to him. He won and proceeded to kiss his way down my neck and over my breasts.

“If you’re going out, then you really need to stop that,” I told him in a breathless moan.
Seriously!

“Oh, I don’t know,” he teased. “I certainly had to put up with my fair share of anticipation last night at dinner, so it’s only fair that you should have to wait, too.”

“I don’t think so,” I told him in challenge, and sat up so that we were more level. Then I proceeded to remind him what he would be missing if he went out. By the time I was finished, I wasn’t the only one doing some heavy breathing.

“Jesus Christ, woman,” Lawrence snapped, getting up from the bed and walking a few feet away from me. “If I had more time, I’d win that argument.” He walked around the room a few times to try and clear his head.

I lay back on my elbows, totally naked on the bed, and watched him in amusement. I loved that I could make him lose control. That I could take away that perfectly polished exterior and see the man underneath, the man that no one else ever got to see.

He shot a finger at me. “Do not move from that bed,” he ordered. “I’ll be back in an hour.” Then he stormed out, and I would have bet money that he wouldn’t be a second past that hour.