UNDER BY DURESS (14 page)

“Be good, Tahima. Remember what I can do to you.”

She nodded and turned to get out.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

She looked back. “What?”

He held out her cell phone. “You should check your messages.”

She took it quickly, got out, and hurried into the building. Only when she was safely in the elevator did she check her phone. She noticed the phone was on silent with several missed calls in addition to five increasingly anxious texts from Bob. The meeting had been brought forward by thirty minutes. She would be late after all. And she was completely unprepared.

Damn
Stephen
!

Stacey was watching out for her.

“Tahima! Didn’t you get Bob’s messages? Heavens, hon, are you okay? You look like you were out on the town all night.”

“I’m sorry.”

“The client’s waiting in the boardroom. Bob got the plans from your desk. You’re only five minutes late. Take a deep breath, make your apologies, and go sell that awesome design of yours.”

Tahima allowed herself to be nudged towards the boardroom.

Stacey even knocked on the door for her. “I’ll get you some coffee,” she whispered. She opened the door and pushed her in.

Tahima stopped dead. Gian Rossini stood looking out of the window, hands deep in his pockets, listening to Bob wax lyrical about her design.

Bob turned to greet her. “Ah, she made it. Well done, Tahima, I know you had a rush to get here this morning.”

A small part of Tahima admired Bob’s quick-thinking. The rest of her wanted to crawl into the corner and hide as Rossini turned to greet her. His smile faded.

Then he turned to Bob. “Mr. Parker. Would you mind if I chat with Tahima about her design? I know you must be very busy.”

“Oh . . . well, yes, I guess that would be alright. Do I understand you’ve met already?”

“Yes.”

Bob nodded. He moved to the door, but looked unsure, probably worried about leaving a female employee alone with a crime boss. Tahima placed her fingers on Bob’s sleeve.

“It’s fine,” she whispered.

Bob gave her an odd look, but nodded. “I’ll check in on you, make sure you have everything you need, Mr. Rossini.” It was a veiled warning.

When the door shut, Rossini moved quickly around the room and gently nudged Tahima to a chair. She sat down gingerly and could not prevent a wince. He hissed, guessing her problem as she knew he would. Fresh tears completed her humiliation.

He sat down beside her. “Tell me.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.” Her voice broke.

“You shouldn’t be at work. Who did this to you? A new dom? Stephen?”

She flushed. “I can’t say. Please, Rossini. You’ll make it worse.”

“How? How can I possibly make it worse? I don’t understand. You were so strong. Now you’re wasted away, a bundle of nerves. I swear I can see right through you.”

“You certainly know how to flatter a woman.”

He took both her hands in his. “I should have come to see you earlier. Why didn’t you call?”

“No. You were right to make things clear. And it was sweet of you to let me know there were no hard feelings.”

“What do you mean, make things clear?”

“Your card . . .  Finishing it.”

“Finishing what?”

Tahima’s defenses were down. He was confusing her and she was feeling strange. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

Rossini looked around, dumped fruit out of a bowl and stuck it under her nose. Tahima managed to hold her stomach, and her dignity.

“You’re pregnant,” he said suddenly, his eyes doing the Maths and getting it hopelessly wrong.

Tahima stared at him. “No, I’m not. I had my period last week. I took some painkillers this morning. They always have this effect on me.”

“Always? Merda . . .”

There was a knock and Stacey entered with a pot of coffee. She looked startled to see the fruit on the table.

Rossini covered for her. “Sorry, I knocked the fruit over.”

Stacey wasn’t convinced.

Tahima stepped in. “He’s such a klutz.”

Stacey nodded. Eyes wide, she set the tray down and scarpered.

Rossini grimaced. “I think my reputation preceded me.”

Tahima smiled.

Rossini looked pleased. He poured her a coffee and set it down in front of her. “This will help. Cream?”

She shook her head, picked up the cup, and sipped from the edge. “I was relieved to read you were no longer a suspect.”

“Me too.” He looked across the table to her design. “I love your work, by the way.”

“You do?”

“Can’t believe it’s only two million.”

“Why are you here? Why are you my client? Weren’t you in jail somewhere, before they arrested your uncle?”

“I wanted to see you. I needed a reason to see you. And I was never in jail.”

“You weren’t?”

“There’s a lot to explain, but seeing you like this.” He hesitated. “Tahima, you’re in pain and you’re not happy. You have to leave whoever did this to you. I have contacts. I can have you followed and find out who did this within twenty-four hours. If you want some say in this, you’ll talk to me now. I can have you on a plane and on a private island by this evening. You will be perfectly safe, and if you want to live a hermit for the rest of your life, I will make that happen. But what I won’t do is leave you like this.”

“You would do that for me?”

“Of course.”

“We’re not . . . I mean, you finished . . . said . . .” She stopped. “The roses weren’t a goodbye?”

He lifted her left hand and brushed her fingers with a tender kiss. “The roses were to reassure you that I hold no grudge towards you. I didn’t want you feeling guilty that I had been innocent the whole time. I wanted you to know I hadn’t forgotten you, and I wanted you to live your life and know I was there if you needed me. I was at a tricky point in my life and couldn’t risk complicating yours. I never intended the roses to say goodbye.”

Tahima stared at him, hope blossoming in her heart. “They were beautiful roses.”

He smiled. “My complications are resolved now, and I’m here to see if there is room in your life for a man who will be yours . . . however you want him to be.” He took her hand. “Is there room? Because there’s a lot you need to understand about me and my life. I know what my family did to yours. And I don’t want you saying no for all the wrong reasons.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Saying no to what?”

He took a deep breath. “No . . . I’m jumping ahead. You’re involved and we need to settle that first. Now, who did this to you?”

Suddenly, Tahima didn’t want to deal with Stephen on her own. Whatever Rossini’s intentions, he cared for her—on top, underneath, inside and out. He offered her the chance to breathe and she wanted to take it. She wanted him.

“Stephen let himself into my apartment last night. He hoped to pick up where we left off. He thinks no means yes. He punished me and reminded me he can destroy me. I can’t fight him.” She winced to admit it. “I’m out of my depth.”

Rossini’s eyes darkened, but otherwise he showed no reaction. He patted her hand. “Okay. You did the right thing telling me.”

“I don’t want his death on my conscience. I just want him out of my life.”

“Can I beat him up?”

The thought appealed. “Nothing permanent. And I don’t want you getting into trouble for me, either. He’s picking me up at five and he has my keys. His name’s Stephen Boulton. He’s a trader.”

“Okay. Tell your boss I love your design and that I will contact him to sort out the details. I’ll pick you up at four-thirty. You know, you’re looking better already.”

“That would be the coffee.”

He chuckled. “By the way, just so you know, if I ever see another oatcake, it will be a moment too soon.”

*****

Bob tried to persuade Tahima to go home having decided she was unwell. She refused, insisting she wanted to check over the fine details of her design. At least she wasn’t going to get fired. Bob was talking about a raise.

Stacey dropped by. She was worried. “You know Gian Rossini’s part of the mob. I heard Bob say he wouldn’t have taken the job if he’d realized, but we were hired blind by lawyers.”

“Rossini’s not like that.”

“You be careful, hon. I can see you’re taken with him. Leopards don’t change their spots, you know.”

Tahima drummed her fingers on her desk after she had left. Stacey’s caution was a somber reminder of who she was dealing with. And yet she couldn’t believe Rossini would hurt her. He said he would be whatever she wanted him to be. She just wanted Gian Rossini. Still, his words burrowed their way down to her belly and, suddenly, she was very wet. Even her sore ass became a pleasant, burning ache.

She imagined Rossini’s fingers sweeping her cervix, his lips grazing her nipples, one arm tied to the bedframe—his or hers she couldn’t say. Desire swept through her so fiercely she nearly fell off her chair. Four-thirty couldn’t come fast enough.

She nipped out for lunch and picked up some make up while she was out, determined to make herself more presentable. Although, looking in the bathroom mirror later, she wasn’t sure she needed it. She had got her color back. Her eyes were clear—glowing—and and she felt hungry enough to eat lunch.

At four-thirty she exited the building to discover Rossini leaning against a limousine with dark-tinted windows that guaranteed privacy. He opened the door.

“You look a different person,” he commented, obviously pleased.

She smiled and looked him up and down. His suit was Italian and barely able to contain the bulge at his crotch. His shoes were the ones that had mysteriously vanished from her lodge when she had finally got home, leaving no trace that Rossini had ever been there.

Even stranger, a new radio had been waiting on the porch.

She climbed into the limo and settled into the lush, leather seat, shifting until she found a bearable position. A privacy screen separated them from the driver. Rossini sat beside her and the car pulled away.

“When did you find time to order me a new radio?”

He looked taken aback, and then he grinned. “When I used your radio to call for backup—the FBI is remarkably efficient. By the way, Stephen was picked up by the Treasury Department earlier today. He was lurking outside your office.”

“Really? The Treasury?” She thought about that, distracted from his reference to the FBI. She knew Stephen had very dodgy financial arrangements. “That is perfect.”

“I’m predicting he’ll get his beating in jail.”

“How did they know where to find him?”

“I guessed he’d be keeping an eye on you. Got an APB put out on his car.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You have a lot of pull with law enforcement.”

“I said there was a lot to explain.” The car stopped and Tahima realized they were inside a parking garage. The door opened and Agent Westley climbed in.

She smiled warmly at Tahima. “Miss Sheldon.”

Tahima suddenly twigged. She turned to Rossini. “You’re the informant?”

“You’re sharp, Miss Sheldon,” Agent Westley confirmed. The FBI agent sat on the edge of the seat, obviously not intending to stay for long. “Mr. Rossini has asked me to help explain his position. You must understand that what you learn today will be covered by the injunction I showed you before.”

Tahima remembered. “Okay . . .”

“Well, the easiest point to start is the day Mr. Rossini walked into the FBI building, aged sixteen, with an interesting proposition. He’d seen his best friend destroyed by drugs and saw where his life was headed. He wanted nothing to do with his family’s dealings and wanted to build legitimate businesses from a trust fund he’d inherited from his grandmother’s side of the family. He asked for our help. Well, Gian was too young to become an informant back then, but we built a relationship. After all, this sixteen-year old boy was heir to a criminal empire.”

Tahima stared at Rossini. He looked embarrassed and shrugged.

Westley continued her story. “For the last two months, Mr. Rossini has been secretly helping us surgically destroy the Rossini empire and several other mob families at the same time. We’ve taken drugs worth billions of dollar out of the market and cut the supply lines. It’s a huge operation, and because Rossini was
in hiding
—thanks to his uncle framing him for his father’s murder—the blame for our actions has been pinned on his uncle. The only parts of the Rossini empire that will survive will be legitimate operations set up by Gian Rossini. Everything else will be confiscated.”

The agent checked her watch. “I have to go.”

Rossini touched her hand. “Thank you, Gabriela.”

“You’re very welcome.” She looked at Tahima. “I really hope things work out for you both.” Giving Rossini a friendly smile, she opened the door and slid out.

When the door shut, the car started moving.

Tahima realized she had no idea where they were going, but didn’t care. She arched an eyebrow at the man she had dragged through the outback for nearly two whole days. “Sooo . . . not a crime boss?”

He grimaced. “Sorry. I know that’s going to make you feel bad, what with torturing me and all, but I want you to know I kinda got off on it.”

“Why didn’t you say you’d contacted the FBI?”

“I didn’t know you, and if word got out it would have done immense damage—I have to be very careful. My life depends on it. Then you panicked and,” he smiled sheepishly, “well, you turned the tables very effectively. The more I tried to put you off, the more determined you got. In the end, you didn’t give me much choice. I thought the safest thing to do was allow you to turn me in and let the FBI clean up the mess.”

“You were protecting me from the start.”

“Actually, you did a fairly good job of protecting me, although your methods were a little extreme. Do you keep tame bears in the woods just to scare the crap out of your conquests?”

She laughed. “No, he was the real deal.”

“And I didn’t like you nearly drowning the both of us. And if I ever meet up with Hank, I will kick his sorry ass all the way to China.”

Tahima buried her head in her hands. “Oh God, I can’t bear it.”

Rossini pulled her into his arms. “I have a plan for that.”