Wealth

Wealth-6

“My passport is at Harrods in my suitcase,” she said realizing that that was the least of her worries.

“Your suitcase is in your room. I had it collected while we were shopping.”

“You can’t just take me over and assume I’m going to play along.”

“I’m just cooperating with the authorities, Kaitlyn. Your boss told you to stay close and pump me for information didn’t she? You can’t deny it. You’ve not even switched your pump on yet, and bosses always want results. Just do your duty, constable.”

“I don’t do plumbing.”

“Good job I don’t leak then,” he said taking her by the hand to the elevator. “It’d be such a cliché to kiss a girl in here.”

“Then keep your gob to yourself. The next scene in the film is where they lose track of space and time, the doors open, and there’s a crowd gawping at the show.”

“Not in my personal suite, I hope.”

His lips felt for hers, his eyes closed when she peeped. This time his hand touched the side of her breast, the pressure sending that same ping to her groin. She let him draw her tight against him. He had a slight smell of the day, of male. The elevator door opened. She took a breath but kept her eyes on his face.

“Don’t tell me there’s a crowd and they’re about to applaud,” she said.

“There would have been but this is a budget movie. I couldn’t afford the extras and the champagne.”

She turned as he smiled and led her by the hand into the room. A magnum of champagne waited on a beautiful antique table.

“OK, I’m just a regular corny billionaire. I have to watch gangster movies to know how to behave. The guy gets the gorgeous yet unobtainable woman and offers wine. Then she realizes maybe she could want him, it all goes misty and they start singing.”

Kaitlyn smiled. She had to. She just had to. She struck a pose.

“Hoo, like a virgin. Touched for the very first time. When your heart beats next to mine,” she sang.

“Wow!”

“I’m karaoke cop. You’ve been warned.”

She was pleased to have asserted an ounce of her own style. What a room. Thick pile cream carpet, chandeliers, chocolate brown buttoned leather sofa, paintings she guessed were old master Italian style with cherubs and rich noble types. An intercom was buzzing gently on the wall.

“We’ll fill our glasses and go along the corridor for a moment. They’re opening Tower Bridge for us. I love it. It reminds me of going through the turnstiles to watch soccer at Selhurst Park when I was a kid.”

He popped the cork of the Pol Roger Cuvée Winston Churchill vintage champagne. She took a sip, then a gulp. It was delicious and complex. Almost at once the hit went to her brain and belly. Her last meal had been lunch with DCI Shannon Knightsmith. Another glass of this golden thrill of temptation and she’d be letting go.

They took their drinks through a door to a darkened room with uniformed officers, sweeping radar screens, a ship’s wheel held by a sailor. The view ahead was of Tower Bridge, illuminated against the night. Reflections rippled in the dark current-dappled water. Slowly the bridge started to open.

“This is power. Now this is f*****g power,” she said.

And how she loved it. How it was not to be an ant struggling endlessly against the world. How this power went with the champagne. A waiter was at her side with the bottle.

“May I?” he inquired nodding at her empty glass.

“You bet.”

The huge ship eased itself through the bridge. Straight ahead stood the tall quirky-shaped skyscrapers of Canary Wharf with illuminated signs of the world’s greatest banks. By far the biggest was Sackman-Platinum.

“Impressed?” he asked.

“Yeah, who wouldn’t be?”

“I’ll show you your suite. All your clothes are prepared. Then we’ll eat.”

He opened a wood-paneled door. The smell was of perfume, maybe flowers. Her clothes from Harrods lay neatly on a golden silk-covered king-size bed. He stroked his hand down her cheek.

“I’ll leave you now because I can be a very naughty boy sometimes. You must be hungry and you do need to eat. Our bellies are from the same London kitchen. I bet if I like it, you’ll like it.”

“How do I find you again or am I on CCTV?”

“Go through that door in the corner. Don’t forget to give me a twirl as you come in.”

Chapter 8For a moment she sat on the edge of the bed. The perfection of the silk shocked her even through her half-drunk, befuddled senses. There was something she just had to do although she had been ordered not to. She hit the call button on the unfamiliar cellphone.

“Who’s this?” said the voice of DCI Shannon Knightsmith.

“It’s me, Kaitlyn Thorn. I know you told me not to call, but I haven’t got fifty options.”

“Look, you’ve done the right thing. I’ve been calling you over and over.”

“I’ve had a phone change. Shannon, it looked like the bad guys, whoever they are, were tracking me. I’ve stuck with Randolph Quinn but I’m clueless now.”

“I’m so sorry, Kaitlyn. Someone inside our unit must have tipped them off. Believe me we’re turning over every stone but right now we can’t trust anyone.”

“Cool, I’ll just hang in here on his personal yacht. As far as I know we’re on our way to Milan via Venice. I guess you’re OK with signing off my overtime pay. I haven’t got much jurisdiction as a cop once I’m out of UK waters.”

“I can live with that. The boat is on satellite surveillance so we won’t lose you. Has he opened up at all?”

“Too early to tell. I’ll know better after dinner if we pop another bottle of champagne. He’s one hell of a generous guy.”

Her thoughts focused briefly on the small matter of his illegal possession of a firearm. For now the boss didn’t need to know small details.

“I’ve got your number now. Stay with it, Kaitlyn.”

“It’s tough, but someone’s got to do it. Gotta go, duty calls,” she replied.

So, she’d checked in with the boss and she was a w**********l pleasing the system. Better get changed and not forget the twirl.

She knew she looked good. The sapphire and diamond earrings sparkled in the light from the chandelier. The ring glinted on her finger. The dress was a perfect fit, the s***h running just high enough up her thigh to provide an interested man with a glimpse of her lace trimmed panties. Was she allowing herself to be seduced by wealth, power, and s****l desire? Could her integrity be so easily put at risk? Too damned right it could and she knew it. She looked good, the champagne was a dream and Randolph Quinn was gorgeous. It was time to go through that door.

For a moment he didn’t speak. His hair was still wet and even darker, swept back with an aristocratic insouciance. He had changed into a white shirt accentuated by his tan. A Hermes belt held up his black Zanella handmade trousers. She held his eyes before executing her twirl.

“So, so lovely,” he said with an astonished simplicity. “I thought you’d scrub up well, but you didn’t need much on top of what you’ve got. But b****y hell, how am I gonna keep hold of a girl like you?”

“First you’ll have to get hold of me at all.”

He took a couple of strides and pulled her into his arms. His kiss was as if their lips had once before been molded in the history of a man and a woman. It was a finding of place, some place that you would always crave once you knew it existed. A helpless pulse buzzed in her groin. She let him hold her thrilling spot to the hard muscle of his thigh. She was hot and wet, feeling almost too close, far too close. He groaned a little as her belly pressed into his powerful erection. If he ran his hand now up her bare thigh she would come as they kissed with wet searching tongues. She was holding herself tight, feeling his hard c**k pushing against her. She was just holding that pleasure, just too long, couldn’t hold back thinking of his c**k jetting his juice into her as she came. She played a hard-core fantasy of him j*********f, helplessly pulsing out his sperm. He held her tight in support as she convulsed against him. My God, she’d just let go. She must be gushing as she growled out the last spasm of her ecstasy into his mouth and onto his softly kissing lips.

“That was so beautiful, such a compliment to a man to think someone so lovely would find pleasure in him.”

“I, I, I sort of wandered off into the long grass,” she said.

“I’ll have to fix up some sort of safari on a really big savannah,” he said with his warm smile. “We need to eat and think about our situation.”

She took a deep breath. b****y hell, she’d just come kissing him. Maybe he hadn’t realized. Teasy aftershocks still flickered in her own little shaft. His hand ran down across her breasts to her waist. He led her to the door and out onto a swish dining deck with panoramic views and a glass-domed roof. The lights of the coast were sprinkled along a dark horizon.

“That’s Canvey Island and Southend. We’re at anchor in the Thames Estuary. Unless the bad guys have got warships or submarines we can relax here.”

She took in the view. They were at the top of the enormous ship.

“I used to sell burgers at my uncle’s fairground diner on Canvey Island,” she said.

He nodded and smiled, pulling her to him.

“We’re from the same pod, ain’t we? I love the old fairground stuff, the rides, the fried onions, the rifle range sideshows and the cuddly toys. I always dreamed a lovely girl would be on my arm one day and I’d win her the prize teddy. Pity we can’t go ashore.”

He spoke in his normal cheeky way but with an edge of sadness. She pushed her fingers back through his hair and looked up into his eyes.

“You could take a girl to a fair, surely.”

“If I could find the right girl and if my life could ever be normal.”

“Like not being a billionaire on the run from the Albanian Mafia. If you want to talk about your options, I’m your girl.”

He tweaked his eyebrow, but didn’t answer.

“One day we’ll have caviar and lobster thermidor, but tonight I’ve just ordered a couple of big rib eye steaks. Don’t tell me you don’t like fries.”

They took a window table while waiters brought them their meals. The steak was rich and soft. He poured generous glasses of red Chateauneuf du Pape. She took a slug of smooth heaven. Added to the champagne, the wine swept aside her reserve and focus.

“So, Randolph just b****y well tell me why you want me here?”

“I saw you and liked what I saw. I said to myself here’s a brave girl who’s out on her own in a cop car, turning up at whatever happens next. How many girls do you think are interested in billionaires?”

“Dunno, might be a few old slappers I suppose. Generally a sweet virgin like me wouldn’t be interested.”

“And that’s why I want you. Kaitlyn, you’re f*****g gorgeous and you know it.”

“I want you to know I play Bingo with my mum, I get drunk and sing karaoke, and, and. And I’m starting to really care about you and I’m f*****g terrified that you’re going to hurt me.”

She blew out her cheeks. She was a bit drunk and just saying what she thought. She had never been made to play girl games. He reached out and took both of her hands in his.

“Hurt you? You’re afraid of that?”

“Yeah. Simple. I get swept up in you and you soon see the real boring deal. You won’t want any commitment like all the b****y rotten bastards and users, and I’m there with my fake smile saying I understand. Look Randolph, it’s the wine talking, but s**t I don’t care. I should never just open up like this, but I’m afraid of my own helplessness if I want a guy. I know it’s not hip or feminazi to tell you that but that’s how I am. Maybe that’s why I shoot guns, do karate, drive fast cars.”

His eyes were on her face, their kindness almost a caress.

“And why you have that tattoo of Ishtar on your arm maybe?”

She nodded. Had she ever truly thought about the reason?

“She represents female power, but a lot of that power is in the idea of giving love too. It says I’m someone, not a cop. It says I’m all sorts of stuff.”

He turned her arm to see the whole design. He leaned across the table and gently kissed the figure at the groin.