The Deception (2 page)

“Put a wig on. There’s one in the cupboard. No one will notice. Vince won’t notice. Billy won’t notice. They’re busy tonight. That’s why we have to do it now.”

“Who’s Billy? What do you mean, busy?”

“I mean—”

A noise from somewhere behind him muffled the reply and drew a silent curse from Will. Belatedly, he realized the sound was coming closer and cast around for somewhere to hide. 

Darting back to the empty room, he wrestled with the door handle.

Come on!

He lunged through the doorway just as the burly bartender came into view. With no time to pull the door shut behind him, he prayed silently the man wouldn’t notice anything amiss. The bartender’s movements slowed. Plastered against the wall, Will held his breath.

Just walk on by, mate. Just walk on by.
The thought echoed in Will’s head. To his relief, the man continued down the corridor and disappeared. Across the hall, the women had also fallen silent. A prickle of curiosity tingled down his spine.

What were they trying to hide?

With his close shave uppermost in his mind, he drew in a breath, straightened his clothing and ducked out into the corridor. With a cautious glance left and right, he strode back the way he’d come. The search for the
Room of Dreams
would have to wait.

The crowd in the main reception room had swelled and the noise and laughter had taken on a harsher edge. Will blended into the throng lining the bar. What the hell had the woman meant—
busy
? Was Maranoa meeting with his suppliers tonight? Were the women involved? Who the hell was Billy?

Without warning, loud music pulsed from the stage’s sound system. A roar of approval went up from the crowd. Will shouldered his way through the horde of men until he’d reached the front, ignoring the mutters of displeasure his actions provoked. If the women he’d overheard were dancing, he was sure he’d recognize them. Then he’d get them alone again and this time, he’d be the one asking the questions.

The throbbing house music increased to almost deafening levels, and all eyes were drawn to the stage. At least half a dozen dark-haired, scantily clad women entered from a set of stairs at one end of the platform. As far as Will could tell, they were all Asian.

Dressed in similar attire to the redhead—with the addition of brightly colored feather boas and black fishnet stockings—their painted faces held a look of dazed sensuality. Their lithe bodies began to gyrate to the sexual beat. Fixed smiles failed to reach their glassy-eyed stares.

The girls were high.
No big surprises there. As they danced before him, he scanned their faces closely. He recognized the redhead and his gut tightened. She now wore a long black wig, but there was no mistaking her green-eyed gaze. He turned and tried to catch the eye of one of the bouncers. Anticipation coiled inside him.

The music swelled. Hips ground to the beat. The men surged forward, jostling each other in an effort to get closer. A solid
whumph
almost knocked the wind out of him as he took a shoulder to the kidneys. Stumbling forward, his boot caught on the wooden edge of the stage and he lost his balance.

“
Fuck
!” He toppled down toward the sunken platform and braced himself for a fall. He came down hard upon one of the dancers, pinning her to the floor beneath him. She shrieked in alarm and then struggled against him.

“Just hold still, damn it, so I can get up.” Will raised himself on one elbow and stared into a pair of angry green eyes.

“Get off me, you clumsy jerk.” The woman tried to move again.

With a curse, he rolled away and got to his feet. He mumbled an apology and his hand came out automatically to assist her.

Pointedly ignoring his outstretched hand, the woman got to her feet unaided and shakily resumed the dance. The other girls remained oblivious and continued to move their bodies to the beat.

Will climbed out and shouldered himself back into a spot at the front. He pinned the woman with his gaze. Watching her dance to the music, he tamped down his body’s instinctive reaction. She twisted and turned and her lace-clad breasts dipped and swayed. Any minute, he expected them to fall out of their flimsy covering. Despite his best efforts to remain aloof, his cock hardened.

* * *

Savannah O’Neill did her best to ignore the man in the front row who watched her with a flinty-eyed gaze. It wasn’t easy. He towered over the other men. With his sable hair, fine physique and aura of refined sophistication, he looked like James Bond.

An image of her lying, cheating ex-fiancé flashed before her. She forced her gaze away, disgusted that one good-looking man—okay, one
exceptionally
good-looking man—had made her forget for even a moment her vow never to have her head turned by a male again.

A sweaty hand connected with her almost-bare thigh, startling her from her thoughts. She deftly side-stepped the drunken patron. The sea of desire-hardened faces blurred in front of her. Panic threatened.

What the hell had she gotten herself into this time?

She concentrated with narrow-eyed determination on her goal—a story. And not just any story. After interviewing Malee, she had a sensational one. Max O’Connor, her editor, would be thrilled. It might even mean a raise in pay, which would be more than welcome. Her brother’s rehab bills were adding up. 

Not that Vince Maranoa would know anything about that. She flicked her gaze around the smoky room. A rough calculation of the net worth of the men in front of her was mind boggling. She recognized a television executive, a high-profile lawyer and a well-known heart surgeon.

Without conscious thought, she sought out the man who’d fallen onto the stage. As her gaze connected with his for the second time that night, she felt lightheaded from the impact.

Blue steel stared back at her. Her heart pounded again, this time with nervous excitement. His eyes dipped to her mouth and then moved lower. She drew in a quick breath. A cool smile of appreciation tugged at the corners of his sensuous mouth. Finally, his gaze returned to her face.

She flushed under his appraisal, her face burning with embarrassment. He was staring at her like she was a delicious treat he was about to enjoy, nibble by nibble. And why wouldn’t he? The man thought she was a prostitute. She was just thankful there’d been no sign of Vince Maranoa. Avoiding the notorious brothel owner was at the top of her list.

Savannah’s face was stiff from smiling. The unaccustomed odors that thickened the air made her head spin.
Had Malee managed to escape?

In desperation, she fought against a wave of dizziness, unable to believe the lengths she’d gone to for her story.

The music finally came to an end. She stumbled toward the staircase and staggered past the groping hands of the men who lined the stage. She almost tripped in her borrowed platform heels.

She shuddered with revulsion and genuine fear. A grip of steel tightened around her wrist. She squealed in panic. Spinning around, she came face to face with James Bond.

She gasped. Her heart pounded. The heat of the room enclosed her in its suffocating grip. Seconds later, blackness descended…

CHAPTER 2

A dim circle of light penetrated Savannah’s closed eyelids. She struggled against an encroaching headache. Cracking open her eyes, she located the source of illumination. A lamp beside the bed where she lay had been switched on, bathing the room in a golden glow. Another quick peek confirmed she was in the room she’d recently vacated. She was relieved to note that Malee had disappeared, along with her suitcase.

How had she gotten there?
All she could remember was the blur of noise, grasping men and semi-naked women… And
him.

With a slight motion, she turned her head and realized the black wig had been lost somewhere along the way. Her hair spilled over the pillow in a tangled mess.

 She must have fainted. If only she could remember, but her mind stayed stubbornly blank—aside from remembering the handsome stranger. She had way too many thoughts about him and every one of them was unwelcome.

She frowned in consternation. She’d rubbed shoulders with powerful men before. It wasn’t like being close to a man who exuded an unmistakeable air of authority should have been enough to weaken her knees and yet she couldn’t deny his effect on her…

As if she’d conjured him up, the man in question materialized beside the bed. Half of his face was in shadow, but there was no mistaking his broad-shouldered form or the mesmerizing gleam in his cobalt eyes.

She gasped, startled. “W-what are you doing here?” Wrenching herself into an upright position, she caught sight of her scanty attire and flushed with renewed embarrassment.

Grappling awkwardly with the bedspread, she did her best to cover herself. It was one thing to dance among a group of girls all similarly clothed. It was another thing entirely to be sprawled on a bed in a brothel with a man who presumed she was available.

“I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you, sweetheart. I’ve already seen it, along with about seventy or eighty other men out there. Don’t you think it’s a little late for modesty?”

His deep drawl sent a shiver of awareness down her spine. Her cheeks burned. He was right, of course. Thank goodness he didn’t know who she
really
was. She had to get out of there. Fast.

Hoping to maintain the charade with a show of confidence, she threw off the covering and climbed off the bed.

“Listen, I-I’m due back out on the floor in a little while and I-I have to freshen up. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to leave.” She marched to the door, ready to usher him out. His eyes narrowed—from suspicion or annoyance, she couldn’t tell.

“Don’t bother, Red. I locked it when I brought you in. I would have thought you were used to clients doing that.”

Savannah gritted her teeth. She stared at the door and refused to answer him. The less he knew about her, the better. She’d bluff it and get rid of him so she could make good her escape.

Knowing she had no choice, she turned to face him.

He leaned against the dresser as if he belonged there. His legs were crossed at the ankles and a smile tugged at his lips. He looked like he’d stepped out of the pages of
GQ
magazine.

A shaft of light caught on the door key he twirled between his fingers. She cursed under her breath. This was going to be harder than she thought. Her mind worked furiously. She inched toward the chair where she’d draped the clothing she’d arrived in. It felt like a lifetime ago. He pushed away from the dresser and came toward her.

“Why don’t you sit down so we can have a chat? I’ve wanted to…” He paused, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
“Chat…
from the moment I saw you.”

He sauntered closer. So close, he could probably see the pulse that pounded in the side of her neck. Savannah’s alarm ratcheted up another notch. She looked longingly at her clothes, still out of reach. Swallowing a sigh, her gaze returned to his. She found him frowning at her.

“Surely you’ve known worse clients than me? I can assure you, I shower every day and I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I’m passably attractive.”

He was certainly right about the latter. In other circumstances, his sinfully good looks could be enough to tempt her to break her vow of eternal singledom, but charming or not, she had to get her clothes and get out of there before things got out of hand. Already the situation was slipping out of her control.

“Look, um, I think it might be best if we call it a night. I’m sure you can find another girl to…ah…”

He moved even closer and it took all her courage to hold her ground. “As I said, I’m a little busy right now,” she added in a rush and gave in to the urge to move away from him.

“For Christ’s sake, woman, relax. I’m not going to force myself upon you. You’re not that irresistible.” He brushed past her. In two long strides, he’d made it to the chair. Throwing himself into its cushioned depths, he dragged a hand through his thick hair.

Savannah couldn’t prevent a groan of disbelief. Her clothes were now trapped beneath his butt. Mistaking her panicked reaction for loathing, he cursed long and loudly.

“For fuck’s sake, lady. If I repulse you that much, I’ll give you my word. I promise I won’t touch you. I told you before I don’t force myself upon women, even ones that can be bought and paid for. I only want to talk.”

She remained silent, watching him, wondering if she could trust him. As if he could read her thoughts, his glare eased and his face smoothed into an almost amiable expression. A smile widened his mouth.

 “So, how long have you known Vince?” he asked, his tone now conversational.

Her heart skipped a beat, but she hid it behind a wall of bravado. “Vince who?”

“Vince Maranoa. Don’t tell me you don’t know the man who pays your wages? How long have you worked here?”

“Oh, you mean
that
Vince. I-I guess I’ve known him long enough. How about you? How long have
you
known him?”

Her question caught him by surprise. His eyes widened and a kaleidoscope of emotions passed over his expressive face. Anger, frustration, pain—even bitterness—before he managed to suppress them. He barked a laugh, his eyes now cold. “Vince and I go a
long
way back.”

Savannah stared at him. Her mind raced.

What was going on?
Was James Bond involved with Maranoa’s drug ring? But, if so, why would he find that association painful? She blinked and tried to clear her head.
Had
it been pain she’d seen?

By his own admission, he knew Maranoa well. The man could be a valuable source of information, especially if he thought she was a woman in Maranoa’s employ. He’d said he wouldn’t touch her. If she kept her head about her and borrowed some courage, she could use his misunderstanding to her advantage. That raise could be coming her way yet.

Savannah sauntered over, closing the gap between them. Coming to a stop between his thighs, she drew in a surreptitious breath and did her best to slow her pulse.

“Sounds like you’ve known Vince for much longer than I have.” She fluttered her eyelids at him and scraped a languid fingernail down his shadowed cheek, hardly able to believe her daring. “Tell me, are you the man we have to thank for keeping Vince in drugs?”