Bent Out of Shape (3 page)

He knelt over her and kissed her nipples—first one, then the other. “I’d say you had a couple of good stretches, wouldn’t you?”

Jamie’s cheeks warmed and her inner muscles clenched involuntarily. She chuckled, but his mouth on hers silenced her. “Fabulous,” he murmured, flicking his tongue over the seam of her lips. He cupped her breast in his hand and rolled her nipple beneath his thumb. “Best yoga lesson I’ve never taken.” He nuzzled her neck and bit the skin of her throat gently.

Rap-rap-rap.

“Mr Paul? Are you in there, Mr Paul?” a man asked from outside the door. The locked doorknob jiggled. “Is everything quite all right, sir? I was under the impression that you were gone from the property, sir, and am now receiving conflicting reports of your whereabouts.”

Peter froze, his eyes widening in alarm. He lifted one finger to his lips and shook his head.

“W-what’s going…” Jamie stuttered.

“Shhh!” he whispered. “No one can know I’m here!”

Jamie gaped at him. “What the hell are you talking about?” she whispered back. “You said Mr Paul wanted his assistant to—”

He raked his hands through his hair so that it stood wildly on end. “I’m not Mr Paul’s assistant.”

Jamie scooted away from him and jumped to her feet.
The blackest lie…

“Well, not anymore.”

Chapter Three

She backed away from him with palms up in the air. “Then what the hell is this all about?” she asked as she snatched up her clothes and hurriedly dressed. Peter followed suit, silently stepping into his shorts and putting on his shirt.

Boom-boom-boom.
The door rattled in its frame.

“Mr Paul? Should I notify security, sir? Are you in need of assistance?” The man sounded concerned.

Peter dropped his face into his hands. “Fuck!” he muttered. “I’m so screwed, Jamie. I’m not even supposed to be on the grounds.” He looked up suddenly and grabbed her hands. “Let’s get out of here!” He yanked her towards the side door. Jamie pulled away from him. “Listen,
you
might be in trouble, but I’ve got permission to be here. I had an appointment, remember? I had a background check and everything. I’m legit!”

He shook his head miserably. “Not exactly. I sent permission to the guard on behalf of Mr Paul, but unfortunately that was
after
he had fired me.”

“You forged a letter from your ex-employer to get me in here?” Jamie’s mouth fell open. “You are a piece of work, bub! But that’s not my problem, is it?”

“Look, you don’t know how crazy this guy is about trespassers. Trust me—he’s a nutcase, and the guards are trained to follow orders without question. Ever been hit by a rubber bullet, pinned down by a Doberman and then tasered? You wouldn’t like it, pretty lady.”

Jamie bit her lip and glanced back towards the door.

Boom-boom-boom-boom!

“Come on!” Peter led her to the side door, unlocked it and looked around. He tilted his head to beckon her—
this way
—and pulled her along after him.

Jamie hustled to keep up with him as he darted around bushes and hid behind trees. She locked eyes with a startled brown bunny for a split-second before they both dashed away for cover in the foliage.
I feel your pain, buddy,
she commiserated. She and Peter paused, panting, at the corner of the mansion beneath a huge old magnolia. From the guest house, the pounding and shouting had escalated, and she now heard the shrill whine of sirens as golf carts bumped over the lawn and penned in her compact SUV. “Are you kidding me? Cops in Club Cars?”

Peter shrugged. “They charge up in the shed, they’re quiet and they don’t tear up the lawn. I actually suggested them to Mr Paul. He’s got a couple for personal use, too.”

The door to the guest house opened and a stream of people poured in, some with guns pointed up to the sky. “Oh, god,” Jamie mumbled. “This is insane! Where’s your car? Let’s just break through the gate!”

“I…uh…climbed the fence,” he admitted.

“
What
?” Jamie snapped.

He scanned the landscape for movement. “After I disabled a couple of the cameras.”

Peter grabbed her around the ribs and ushered her around the back of the house. “Who in the hell are you?” Jamie demanded. Vigorous, bloodthirsty-sounding barks moved rapidly towards them. “And are you
trying
to get me killed?”

Peter fumbled for keys in his pocket, unlocked the back door of the mansion and pushed her inside. “Trust me,” he muttered.

“Trust you?” she said. “You’re a psychopath!” She wrenched her arm free and tried to squeeze past him.

“Look, if you go back there, the guards will lock you up in a little room until they decide to believe your reason for being here. Sometimes they’re a little hard to convince. Are you up for a week’s stay in a prison cell?”

“That’s totally illegal!” she shot back. “You can’t just lock people up if they trespass. This is America, dammit!”

The barking dogs grew closer. “Tell that to
them
,” he insisted. “And tell it to Mr Paul, who just happens to hold all of the judges around here in his pocket and isn’t afraid of pesky little things like personal rights.”

Jamie threw her hands up in the air. “Fine, fine, show me the way out of here then, just be quick about it, okay?”

He raced with her through room after room, each more beautifully decorated than the last. Jamie wished that she could have a better tour of the place—it looked like something out of a magazine. She caught glimpses of cloisonné urns, heavy silk drapes and pots of lilies as they sprinted through the hall. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead and exotic sculptures gleamed on the shelves. She was dying to catch her breath and explore Marcus Paul’s treasures—but then she thought of a guard’s meaty hands on her shoulders and a dog’s slavering jaws on her calf. Jamie hurried to keep up with her guide.

He led her down to the basement level, past a gleaming oak bar, entertainment room and kitchen, then stopped in front of a floor length mirror. “Huh?” Jamie asked. “Want to make sure we look good before we get chewed by the Dobermans? I thought you knew a way out of here.”

Peter glanced at her, amusement flickering in the corner of his mouth, and took out his keys once more. He held up a notched metal rod and pressed it into the side of the mirror’s gold frame.
Click.
The mirror swung forward and revealed a hidden passageway. “Nobody knows about this except for me and Mr Paul,” he informed her, “and Mr Paul’s incommunicado right now.”

He stepped through the narrow opening then offered his hand to Jamie.

“Nice!” she breathed as he pulled the mirror door shut behind them and bolted it. They were enfolded by darkness. “I’ve gotta say, Mr Paul has a nice place, but for somebody so uptight about security, he wasn’t very careful when he fired you. I can’t believe he didn’t get his keys back from you.”

Peter pressed a switch on the wall and warm light glowed from a series of wall sconces. A thickly carpeted hallway stretched before them and bent out of sight. “Nobody’s perfect,” he told her, “as Mr Paul would be the first to admit. He did take my set of keys from me, of course—”

“But you made copies,” Jamie finished. She shook her head. “Look, I enjoyed myself very much back there, but I don’t know you, and what I’m learning is making me more than a little nervous.” Peter strode off down the hallway and Jamie, with one last baleful look at the door, followed him. “Why were you fired, for starters? Did you do something that you shouldn’t have? Steal money? Run a gambling ring? Have a shopping spree on the Home Shopping Network with one of his credit cards?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I’ve always deserved Mr Paul’s trust.” The hall took a sharp right turn and angled downward at a steep slope. “Well, until now, I suppose,” he said, chuckling. Jamie humphed. “I stumbled upon some personal information, and I suppose Mr Paul didn’t want me around anymore after that. He gave me an impressive severance package and a sparkling referral letter, then showed me to the door.”

“And you just happened to have a spare set of keys handy?” Jamie asked. She noticed a rushing sound ahead of them.

“Mm-hm. Purely as a security measure, of course. Just in case mine got lost or stolen.” The noise grew louder, thunderous even.

The hallway opened up abruptly into a stone-walled room and the source of the sound was revealed—a waterfall splashed down into an oval pool.

Peter smiled. “Gorgeous, huh? It’s from a natural spring that feeds into the grotto pool up top, which also has a waterfall, by the way. Mr Paul wanted a private pool in addition to the large guest pool, so the designer had the water flow from the upper pool down here, over the waterfall and into this pool. There’s a diverter that Mr Paul can close off if he wants it quiet. Then the water just flows through the upper pool and down the Twisted Fork creek and there’s no waterfall at all down here.” He pointed to brass tubes at the far end of the chamber. “When the diverter’s open, the water enters through the lower waterfall, then gets sucked up through those pipes and goes back up to rejoin the creek. Guests at the estate have no idea that this place even exists, and why would they? All they see is his beautiful above-ground pool, fed by a spring, with water that runs off down the Twisted Fork through his property.”

“I see.” Jamie walked around the chamber. The flagstone floor felt warm on her bare feet—heated, she surmised. Eight padded wicker chaises, each double the width of a regular chair, were evenly spaced along the two long sides of the pool. Peter walked to one end of the room and slid a Japanese screen to reveal a hidden kitchen. Pale green glass tiles formed the wall over a granite counter top, and a tidy array of appliances and cupboards, all gleaming with polished steel fronts, fit into the compact space.

“Bathroom’s over here, by the way.” Peter motioned to a door next to the mini-kitchen.

Jamie cleared her throat. “Look, this is nice and all, but what exactly is the plan? We can’t stay down here forever, you know.”

He opened a wine refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of pinot grigio. “Obviously.” He uncorked it with a pop that echoed in the chamber. “But, we can be comfortable for a day or so, which will give the guards time to assume the intruders escaped over the fence.” He poured the pale wine into two stemless goblets. “Mr Paul ought to be back by this time tomorrow and I know I can talk my way out of this then, but we can hang out down here for an extra night just to be sure.”

“It’ll also give the guards time to tow away my car,” Jamie grumbled. “What the hell am I going to do about that?” She accepted a glass of wine from him and took a long drink.

“We’ll get it all straightened out. Mr Paul can be a bit obsessive when it comes to his privacy, but the last thing he needs is a used Honda. He and I parted on very good terms, so when I am able to explain things to him, I’m sure he’ll realise that there was no bad intent and no harm done.” He settled into a lounge chair with a contented sigh.

“Then why don’t we go talk to the guards
now
?” Jamie asked. She paced up and down next to the pool, exasperated. “If everything’s cool, then why are we holed up down here?”

Peter sipped his wine then licked his lips. “Mr Paul is out in the wilderness until tomorrow afternoon. He likes to leave his cell phone behind and stomp about in the woods with nothing but a compass to guide him and his favourite dogs, Zeus and Apollo, to protect him.” He shrugged. “Mr Paul’s out of the picture for now. The way I see it, we can either spend the night in a cell in the guard house or down here in the Sensual Cenote.”

Jamie snorted wine through her nose. “The Sensual Cenote? Are we in a Lemony Snickett book? And what the hell is a cenote?” She winced and sniffled as she settled in to a chaise next to him.

He examined his fingernails, but Jamie detected a hint of defensiveness about him. “Well, that’s what Mr Paul calls it, so that’s the name I’m accustomed to using. A cenote is a sinkhole filled with water. Not quite accurate since this is manmade, but it amuses Marcus Paul. Call it what you like, but we’ve got food, beverages and a bathroom. If we can tough it out for another day, Mr Paul will be back and I’m confident that I can smooth things over.”

“Mm-hm.” Jamie nodded. She watched the waterfall rush over the artfully tumbled rocks into the far end of the pool. “You, the fired employee who forged your ex-boss’ signature and then trespassed on his property, will smooth things over.” She sipped her wine thoughtfully. “Ri-ight.”

Peter took another deep swallow of his drink and placed the glass next to his chair on a wicker table. He reclined the chair until it was almost flat and lay there, the picture of relaxation. Jamie rolled her eyes. The room was silent except for the constant rush of the waterfall. She wiggled her toes and cleared her throat. Peter raised one eyebrow and smiled faintly, but kept his eyes closed.

Exasperating lunatic.

Chapter Four

Jamie rummaged through the stainless steel cabinets in the kitchen area. She found crackers, paté, fine chocolates and dried figs in one, dishes in another and a stack of fluffy towels in a third.

“Whatcha looking for?” Peter asked behind her.

“A swimsuit, if you must know,” Jamie replied irritably. “I thought he might keep a spare down here for visitors.”

He chuckled. “I told you, this is Mr Paul’s private swimming pool. He comes down here by himself or with intimate friends. He swims in the nude.”

She braced her hands on her hips and turned to him. “And you know this because…?”

“I’m his assistant.”

Jamie shot him a look.

“Well, I
was
his assistant. Anyway, you’re not going to find a swimsuit down here, but if you want to search the cupboards, knock yourself out.” Peter shrugged and settled back on the chaise. “If you want to go for a swim, just get naked. It’s not like I haven’t seen it before. In fact, my memories of your unclothed body are quite clear.”

“Aren’t there any books or games or
anything
?” she asked. “There’s not even a TV or a radio! I’m gonna go crazy just listening to the water crashing down and waiting to get jumped on by guard dogs.”