The Golden Valkyrie (7 page)

“Thank you,” Lance said warily. “That’s very kind of you. Now, if you’ll excuse us?”

Honey had first been so taken by surprise that she could only stare open-mouthed at the boldness of the woman. Joanie Jessup was in her early fifties, on the plump side, and sported an elaborate bouffant blond coiffure. She was expensively if a trifle garishly dressed in a pink décolleté cocktail gown. She was also very obvously under the influence. Then, as Honey gazed from Lance’s stunned, wary face to the woman’s drunken leer, she suddenly giggled helplessly. Lance shot her a glance of extreme displeasure.

“It’s not enough?” The woman reached into her purse and drew out another fifty and slapped it down on top of the first. “I should have known you’d be expensive, you big gorgeous devil.” She bent lurchingly, and nibbled seductively at his ear. “But you’ll be worth it, sweetie. Redheads are always such passionate lovers.”

“My premise exactly,” Ben Raschid murmured, leaning back in his chair and observing his cousin’s discomfort with every evidence of enjoyment.

“Very funny,” Lance said caustically, trying to detach the woman’s hold from about his neck and glaring at both Ben Raschid and Honey’s grinning faces with profound disgust. “Miss Winston, I believe you’re supposed to be my bodyguard,” he said icily. “Well, guard my
body,
damn it!”

Honey hastily smothered her smile, but her eyes were still dancing as she said solemnly, “Right away, sir.” She quickly got to her feet and leaned forward to whisper in Joanie Jessup’s ear.

The plump blonde slowly straightened, her expression ludicrously disappointed. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she pleaded almost tearfully, reluctantly releasing Lance’s shoulder and gazing gloomily from him to Ben Raschid and then back again.

Honey shook her head silently, her expression equally mournful.

Joanie Jessup slowly picked up the two fifty-dollar bills and stuffed them back into her evening bag. “You’re sure?” she asked despondently, gazing yearningly at Rubinoff.

“Positive,” Honey said firmly.

“What a God-awful waste,” the woman murmured. “But, then, all the best-looking ones are.” She turned and lurched uncertainly away.

“Are what?” Lance asked, his eyes narrowed suspiciously on Honey’s face.

“Gay,” Honey said simply. “I told her that you and Alex were lovers.”

“You told her what?” Lance asked explosively, and Ben Raschid muttered a brief, explicit obscenity.

“Well, you told me to get rid of her,” Honey said defensively, trying to hide the giggles that persisted in welling up despite her efforts to stifle them. “I knew that would be the quickest way. Alex’s remark about passionate redheads gave me the perfect lead-in.”

“Oh my Lord,” Alex groaned, burying his face in his hands. “If you don’t murder her, I will, Lance.”

“It’s my privilege,” Lance said grimly, standing up and pushing back his chair with barely restrained violence. He leaned over, grasping Honey by the wrist, and pulled her to her feet. “Come along, Honey.”

“Where are we going?” Honey asked, startled, as he pulled her along behind him and crossed the room.

“I’ve got to expend my irritation by either shaking the living daylights out of you or channeling it into some other outlet.” They had reached the dance floor, and he spun her onto the glowing, ever-changing plastic surface. “Dance with me, damn it!”

She danced with him, and it was like no dance she’d ever known. The music was loud and raucous, and the moves were as ritualistic and sensual as those in a primitive mating ceremony. The shifting colors and exploding pyrotechnics beneath their feet offered their own excitement, and Lance’s face in the flaring crimson glow had a look of hungry sexuality that awoke an answering response in Honey. Then the music suddenly changed its wild tempo to a slow, mellow melody that was as sensual in its own fashion as the former wailing cacophony. Honey and Lance were both breathing hard, their emotions and senses as glowingly alive as the exhilarating adrenaline pounding through their bodies. They stood looking at each other for a moment and then, in silent agreement, they flowed together once again.

Lance wrapped his arms around her, cradling her in a close embrace, and her own arms slid almost instinctively under his suit coat and around his waist. Her head rested contentedly on his shoulder as they moved slowly around the dance floor. Honey was dreamily conscious only of the soft throbbing music and the strong beat of Lance’s heart beneath her ear. His arms tightened around her, bringing her closer to the hard column of his thighs, and she felt a sudden weakening in her own limbs. How strange that the touch of warm hard sinews should make her feel so soft and weak in contrast. Strange and rather wonderful.

“Honey.” Lance’s voice was husky and velvet-soft in her ear.

“Hmmm?” she answered, snuggling closer to him.

“I’m definitely not gay.”

“I know.” Honey sighed dreamily. Nothing could be clearer than that fact at this moment. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

His deep chuckle held a note of surprise. “I think so,” he said, “but I’m glad you agree.” His lips brushed her temple in a caress as gentle as a summer breeze. “You know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?”

She nodded, her arms tightening around him possessively. She was vaguely aware that her conduct was totally inconsistent with her usual behavior. Her cool serenity and pragmatic approach to life seemed to be completely banished by the potent combination of the music, lights, and the physical magic exerted by the man holding her so closely it was as if there were one entity.

“Let’s get back to the hotel,” Lance said huskily, stopping in the middle of the dance floor. His arms were still holding her so close to his body as he turned and propelled her gently back toward the table that their hips brushed at every step. It was almost as if they were still dancing, Honey thought hazily. She was momentarily jolted from her state of euphoria by the realization that Alex was gone from the table.

“Where’s Alex?” she asked, her eyes searching the room in sudden panic as she realized just how derelict in her duty she’d been in the last hour. She had let Lance beguile her into completely forgetting her purpose in being here tonight, and now Alex was nowhere to be seen!

“I’m getting a little annoyed with your constant preoccupation with Alex’s whereabouts,” Lance drawled, his lips quirking. “I assure you that Alex can take exceptionally good care of himself. It’s me you should be concerned about.” He draped her black velvet wrap about her shoulders and threw a few bills down on the table. “Haven’t I demonstrated sufficiently just how much I need you? What if another Joanie Jessup appears on the scene lusting after my irresistible physique?”

“But we can’t just leave,” Honey protested as he took her elbow. “He’s my responsibility, too. I have to find him.”

“Honey, I told you that…” Lance started when his eye fell on a piece of folded paper in the center of the table. He picked up the note and perused it swiftly. An amused smile was on his lips as he looked up to say, “It’s from Alex. It seems that after you cast aspersions on his masculinity he felt the need for a little active reinforcement. He’s gone after the redhead. He says he’ll see us back at the suite.” He lifted a mocking eyebrow. “Tomorrow morning.”

“But where did he go?” Honey wailed. “How can I protect him if I don’t know where he is?”

“You can’t,” Lance said cheerfully as he guided her swiftly through the nightclub to the front entrance. “So why don’t you stop worrying about him? Alex will turn up early tomorrow morning, just as he promised. He knows that I’ve ordered the helicopter to take us to the Folly at ten o’clock.”

“The Folly?”

Lance flagged down a passing taxi with an imperious hand, and the cab pulled to a smooth stop at the curb before them.

“Sedikhan Petroleum recently acquired an estate on a private island in the Gulf of Mexico about ninety miles off the coast of Galveston,” Lance explained, opening the passenger door and helping Honey into the cab. He sank down in the vinyl seat beside her. After giving the driver the address, he continued. “It was formerly owned by an Englishman named Thomas Londale and became known as Londale’s Folly.”

“Why?” Honey asked curiously as Lance slid an arm about her shoulders and pulled her close to his side.

“Who knows? Perhaps because the island is located in the hurricane belt and Londale had all the buildings on the island built of stone. It probably cost him a small fortune just to import the building materials.” His hand was playing idly with the silky hair tumbling about her shoulders. “Alex and I leased the property two years ago when we were here last, and found that it met our needs. It’s close enough for Alex to keep in touch with his beloved power-play games, but private enough to allow him total relaxation if he wants it.”

“And you?” Honey asked softly. “What does Londale’s Folly offer you, Lance?”

His face became oddly guarded. “It gives me what I need too,” he murmured, and before she could question the statement, his hand closed tightly in her hair and tilted her head back. He looked into her eyes, his own glowing with a warm intensity that made her feel oddly light-headed. “Do you know that I haven’t even kissed you yet?”

It seemed incredible to her, too. The intimacy of the moments they’d shared tonight had bound them together with golden cords of passion. How strange to realize that they’d only touched each other in the most conventional ways.

“I can’t wait any longer,” Lance whispered huskily. “I sure as hell didn’t want it to be in the back of a taxi, but I need you now, Honey.”

Her eyes were wide and wondering as they gazed at the dark intent face slowly lowering to her own. The first touch of his lips was so light as to be almost tentative, a light, brushing caress that teased with a provocative gentleness, then wooed and persuaded, until her own lips were clinging to his in an exchange that was dizzyingly sweet.

Lance’s hands framed her face with hands that were as gentle as his lips. “Lord, that was good,” he said softly when their lips finally parted. “God, you’re a sweet little thing.” Then he was kissing her again, and it was just as magical as before.

“I’m not little,” she protested dazedly, while his lips moved to the sensitive hollow of her throat.

“You’re not?” he asked. “No, I suppose you’re not. Somehow I think of you as being small and cuddly.” His lips closed on hers again, and they were both breathing in little gasps when Lance spoke again. “You may not be little, but you’re definitely cuddly,” he muttered. His hands left her face to slip beneath her black velvet wrap and cup the fullness of her breasts. “You’re so soft and round and cushiony.”

Her chuckle was a trifle breathless. “You make me sound like Grandma’s feather bed,” she said faintly, and then gasped as his thumbs lightly grazed her sensitive nipples through the soft velvet.

“I’d like to use you as a bed,” he murmured hoarsely. He lowered his head to rest it on her breast, while his thumbs rhythmically caressed her nipples. “I’d like to have these lovely mounds cradle me like fleecy pillows, and bury myself in the softness of your body.” She could feel the warmth of his mouth through the velvet as he rubbed his face back and forth across her swelling fullness with a sensual, almost catlike contentment. “Dear heaven, I want that.”

No more than she did, Honey thought feverishly. The muscles of her throat and chest were so taut that it almost hurt to breathe, and every touch of Lance’s hands or lips seemed to leave a trail of molten fire in its wake. The words that he was whispering were as evocatively passionate as his gentle, stroking hands.

Then his hands were sliding around the back of her dress and deftly undoing the zipper. At first she was so lost in the hot sensual haze that it seemed perfectly natural to feel the warm eager fingers on the naked flesh of her back. Then, as her black velvet wrap was pushed impatiently away from her shoulders, she abruptly came to her senses. What were they doing?

“No,” she whispered, putting her hands on her chest. “We can’t, Lance. Let me go.”

He looked up, his face as flushed and dazed as her own. “Let you go?” he asked, as if the idea were totally incomprehensible. “You know I can’t do that.” His lips covered her own in a kiss as bruisingly fierce as the others had been gentle, parting her lips to invade the moist sweetness with his tongue and explore it with an erotic skill that almost made her forget why she was protesting. “You see?” he gasped, coming up for air, his heart beating like a trip-hammer against her breast. “How the hell can we stop?”

“The driver,” she said faintly, nodding to the silent, discreet figure in the front seat of the cab. She was so aroused that for a moment she was tempted to ignore their audience and melt once more into Lance’s arms and forget everything.

Lance muttered a shocking obscenity, and his arms tightened possessively around her for a brief instant. Then he drew a deep, shuddering breath, and his embrace loosened fractionally. “Okay,” he growled raggedly. “Just give me a minute.”

It was a bit longer than that before he slowly released her and drew away a scant few inches. “Sorry,” he said gruffly, while his shaking hands reluctantly zipped up the back of her dress. “I guess you noticed that you have a fairly explosive effect on me. I don’t usually attempt seduction in the back seat of a taxi cab.” He shook his head disbelievingly. “If you hadn’t stopped me, I think I would have taken you without a second thought.” He tucked her wrap securely around her shoulders once more, and pulled her into the sheltering curve of his arm. “Now, be still, and I just may withstand temptation until we get back to the hotel.”

She was obediently still, her head tucked contentedly into the hollow of his shoulder while he stared impatiently out the window at the slow-moving traffic. “My God, it’s just like rush hour even at this time of the night,” he said disgustedly. “It will take us forever to get anywhere.”

“Houston has a growth problem,” Honey said dreamily, thinking how beautifully sculptured were the bones of his cheek and jaw.

He glanced down at her languid clouded eyes and bruised swollen mouth, and for a moment there was a flicker of amusement warring with the desire in his eyes. “At the moment I can sympathize, no,
empathize
perfectly,” he said thickly. “Oh, what the hell!” His lips swooped down, and once again she felt his teeth and tongue working with erotic expertise. “We might as well do something while we’re waiting.” His hands slipped once more beneath her wrap and began to knead and tease her swollen breasts. “I wouldn’t want you to cool down and change your mind, would I?”