Lancelot's Lady (24 page)

There was a long moment of awkward silence.

Mrs. Atkinson set the knife on the cutting board.
"
Rhianna, dear, can I make an observation?
"

"
Of course.
"

"
I
'
ve known Mr. Tyler for a number of years. I
'
ve watched him convince himself he loved a woman who only thought about herself. He did everything he could to make his marriage work. And he was miserable.
"

"
Why are you telling me this?
"

Mrs. Atkinson sighed.
"
I
'
ve seen how he looks at you. And how happy you make him.
"

"
What do you mean?
"

"
Our Jonathan has very strong feelings for you. I suspect you feel the same about him.
"

Rhianna opened her mouth to argue, then snapped it shut.

"
I
'
ve never seen him this relaxed,
"
Mrs. Atkinson added.
"
Or happy.
"

"
Maybe he
'
s just been alone too long.
"

"
Perhaps. But that doesn
'
t change how you two feel about each other. Does it?
"

"
You
'
re an observant woman.
"
Rhianna said self-consciously.
"
Maybe too observant.
"

"
With no TV here, what else is there to do?
"
Mrs. Atkinson smiled, then picked up the knife and resumed her chopping.

"
So what do you suggest I do about these…feelings?
"

"
Well, first thing you do,
"
the housekeeper said, wiping her hands on her apron,
"
is drop in on Mr. Tyler. He promised you the rest of the day, right?
"

"
He did.
"

"
Never let a man get away with not keeping a promise.
"

"
I
'
ll remember that,
"
Rhianna said as she strode toward the front door.

"
One more thing,
"
Mrs. Atkinson called after her.

"
What
'
s that?
"

"
No matter what has happened in the past, there
'
s no future without a certain amount of risk. If you want something badly enough, go after it.
"

Rhianna thought about Mrs. Atkinson
'
s words all the way to Jonathan
'
s studio.

Could she risk heartbreak?

~ * ~

Jonathan paced the cabin floor, frustrated by the conflicting feelings he had for Rhianna. No other woman since Sirena had made him feel the way he did now. His little castaway was nothing like Sirena. His ex-wife only knew how to take. Rhianna did the opposite.

At first, it was all about the chase. He
'
d be the first to admit that. Hell, it had been a long time for him. But now? He felt more than just physical desire for Rhianna. What he felt was seductive and dangerous. One part of him told him to view things as a brief fling. Another part couldn
'
t bear the thought of watching her leave.

What the hell was he going to do?

He strode toward the painting he
'
d been working on. It was veiled with a white sheet. When it was complete, this painting would be his best work. He knew that without a shadow of doubt. His newest creation could bring in a hundred thousand easily, thanks to Rhianna.

He reached for a brush just as the door behind him opened. He turned and his heart did a little skip. Rhianna, looking fresh and beautiful, stood in the doorway.

"
You found me,
"
he said.

"
You
'
re not a hard man to find.
"

He shrugged.
"
I figured I might as well come back here and tidy up, since you were busy.
"

"
Are you painting?
"

"
No.
"
He turned toward her, brush in hand.
"
I don
'
t think I
'
m in the mood to work on this.
"

"
What are you in the mood for?
"

He frowned.
"
Are you trying to tempt me?
"

"
I don
'
t know.
"

He took a step closer and watched her from hooded eyes. He wanted nothing more than to take her, right there against the door, but something held him back. Perhaps the slight tremor of her hands. Or the barely concealed fear that haunted her eyes.

Go slow,
he reminded himself.

A glimmer of a thought teased his mind.
"
I know what I
'
m in the mood for.
"

She waited silently.

Jonathan cocked his head to one side.
"
I want to paint you.
"

Rhianna laughed.
"
Me? I
'
m hardly a model.
"

"
Do you trust me?
"

Her smile faded.
"
Yes.
"

Jonathan placed the paintbrush on the table by the easel. Then he took both her hands and led her to the sofa. Reaching for the barrette in her hair, he unclasped it. As Rhianna
'
s long tresses fell about her shoulders, he reached for the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head. Rhianna shivered when he wrapped his arms around her and unclasped her bra.

"
What are you doing?
"
she asked, breathless.

"
I want to paint the beauty I see in you. The part you try to hide, but can
'
t.
"

He slid the bra from her arms and flung it to the floor. Then he hooked his thumbs into her panties and slowly peeled them down her long legs.

"
I didn
'
t come here for…
"
Her voice faded as he knelt on the floor.

"
I know.
"

Rhianna
'
s green eyes flickered between uncertainty and yearning.
"
I came here to talk.
"

"
Later.
"

He wanted to kiss her. Everywhere.

Not yet.

~ * ~

Rhianna could feel his breath on the place where her legs met. It sent tingles through her body, and all her thoughts of confrontation flew out the window. How could she possibly think with Jonathan kneeling before her, asking her to trust him?

"
Lie down on the sofa,
"
he told her.

When she was positioned on her back, he studied her. Then he raised one of her legs.

"
Like that,
"
he said.

She watched him move to the table by the easel and squeeze various paint tubes onto a wooden palette. With three brushes in his hand and the palette, he approached her.

"
What are you doing?
"
she asked, confused.

He smiled.
"
I
'
m painting you.
"

"
Shouldn
'
t you be working on canvas?
"

"
You
'
re my canvas.
"

Rhianna
'
s heart fluttered.
"
You can
'
t put paint on me. I
'
ll never get it off.
"

"
The
se are watercolors. Very safe on the skin and they
'
ll come off in the shower.
"

Her eyes widened.
"
But―
"

"
You said you trust me, Rhianna.
"

"
I do.
"

"
Then close your eyes and be my canvas.
"

She did as he asked, holding her breath, waiting for the first touch
of paint.

"
This is a wandering vine,
"
he said as the cool tip of a brush moved down the side of her neck in flowing swirls toward her right breast.

Rhianna quivered when another brush stroke slid under her breast, then upward very slowly, ending just below her nipple. She gasped at the erotic sensations it caused. The soft strokes reminded her of his tongue caressing her skin.

"
This is a hibiscus, just opening to the sun,
"
Jonathan said, his voice hoarse.

The brush swirled over her breast and a moan escaped
. When cool paint circled the tender nub, she clamped her legs together in response.

"
Be still,
"
he whispered.

He added curves and curls in agonizingly fluid motions, until she was nearly going out of her mind. What she wanted―what she needed―had nothing t
o do with paint and brushes.

A warm hand slide up her thigh.

"
Relax,
"
he murmured.
"
Trust me.
"

Another swipe of paint left an icy trail from her breast down to her belly button. She thought he
'
d stop there, but he didn
'
t. The tip of the brush swirled lower, then veered off to one side before curling inward along the inside of her thigh. He did this on the other side, then slowly parted her legs.

She heard a hiss of breath. Not hers. Jonathan
'
s.

"
I trust you,
"
she said.
"
Completely.
"

With her eyes still closed, she imagined him staring down at her, watching her every response as he painted her body. Her heart beat quickened. She
'
d never felt so liberated, physically or emotionally. Or so turned on. Every muscle in her body begged for release, and in that moment she knew that she
'
d take anything Jonathan gave her. Even if it meant leaving with a broken heart.

"
I want you, Rhianna,
"
he whispered in her ear.
"
But this time I
'
m going to give you what you need.
"

Before she could say a word, something wet whispered against her, between her legs. At first, she thought Jonathan was painting her there.

Then she realized he wasn
'
t using a brush.

Chapter 24

Winston spent most of the hour-long flight to Nassau in the washroom at the front of the plane. The three glasses of red wine had done nothing to calm his nerves. The turbulent flight had him holding his breath and clenching the armrests until his knuckles turned white. It also didn
'
t help that he had to suck in his stomach each time he passed in front of the middle-a
ged woman seated beside him. She was so engulfed in some trashy romance novel―like the ones Winston
'
s mother used to read―that she barely moved her legs. Maybe next time he got up he
'
d step on her toes.

His stomach gurgled loudly.

"
Gravol,
"
the woman said
without looking up.

"
Excuse me?
"

"
That
'
s what I take before a flight. Settles the stomach.
"

"
Thanks for the advice,
"
he said dryly.

The woman resumed her reading.

As the plane circled for the final approach, Winston
'
s gut churned and he was sure he
'
d vomit this time. He staggered to his feet, planning to get to the bathroom before the seatbelt light flashed, but he was too late. The flight attendant was shaking her head and motioning for him to fasten his seatbelt. Returning to his seat, he gritted his teeth against a wave of nausea.

"
There
'
s a barf bag in the pocket in front of you,
"
the woman beside him said.

Winston wanted to strangle her right there. Erase that self-righteous smirk off her face.

Instead, he smiled.
"
I
'
ll try not to get any on you.
"

The woman
'
s eyes widened in horror and she shifted as far away from him as possible.

In the end, he had no need of the paper bag. The plane landed smoothly and he was the first one out the door and into the airport. He made a beeline for the men
'
s room and emptied his breakfast and lunch into the toilet. He felt much better after that.

A long lineup of taxis waited outside the airport, and Winston settled on a black vehicle with an equally black driver. Both suited his dark mood. The driver took him to the Nassau Palm Hotel, a few blocks from the downtown core. It wasn
'
t a four-star hotel, but it would do. The main attraction for Winston was that the famous Paradise Island casinos were only a short ferry ride away. Since he had to wait for his Glock to arrive tomorrow, he
'
d wile away the hours at the casinos.

Maybe his luck would change.

In a small room on the third floor, Winston unpacked the few pieces of clothing he
'
d brought and hung them in the tiny closet. Then he stripped off the suit and carefully placed it in the laundry bag, readying it for the hotel staff to send it out for dry-cleaning. He
'
d need the suit tomorrow in order to pull off his act.

Dressed in a pair of baggy shorts, a Red Sox t-shirt and a sun visor from his last trip to Mexico, Winston added a pair of reflective sunglasses to finish the look. He resembled most of the men he
'
d seen in the hotel lobby. Nondescript. Average. Forgettable.

"
You look like a tourist, Win,
"
he said to his reflection in the dresser mirror.

If he could mingle with other tourists in Nassau and keep a low profile, no one would remember him. Or be able to describe him to the cops.

That meant no one could find him later
―or Rhianna.

Winston set his laptop on the dresser and plugged it in. He
'
d have to pay for Internet access, but that was fine. He was using a stolen VISA. It belonged to Charles Duke, a wealthy client who suspected his wife of being unfaithful. And she was―with Winston. With her desire for bondage scenarios, she
'
d made it easy for him to confiscate the credit card and her husband
'
s passport during Winston
'
s last visit.

Signing in to his Miami bank account, he released a slow whistle when he saw the balance.
Lance had been true to his word. The five hundred grand had been deposited, bringing his
"
escape
"
account over the one million mark.

You
'
ve made me a rich man, JT.

To celebrate, Winston called down to room service and ordered a steak dinner, rare, with fries. And banana cream pie for dessert. He also asked for a bottle of champagne and two glasses. Tomorrow, he
'
d have a special toast with his fiancé.

Half an hour later, a room attendant knocked on the door and wheeled in a cart with dome-lidded plates. The man handed Winston an ice bucket containing a champagne bottle.
"
I hope this
'
ll be okay,
"
the attendant said.
"
It
'
s our finest.
"

Winston gave a nod and tipped the man. Not too much, not too little.

When he was alone, he sat at the table. It was barely big enough for the two plates. The steak was a bit overcooked, but other than that, he had no complaints. He switched between bites of fries and pie and devoured everything in twenty minutes.

"
Time to do some creative financing,
"
he said, opening his laptop on the table.

Within a half hour, all the funds were transferred from his Miami account to his Zurich account. From there the money was sent through various untraceable networks until it reached an obscure bank in Morocco.

Then he constructed an email.

Dear Mr. Lance, I
'
ve moved overseas to Switzerland. You can confirm that by stopping by my former office. I
'
ve mailed you a postcard, but it
'
ll take a couple of weeks. Please have my bonus sent to the Credit Suisse in Zurich, Switzerland, immediately.

He included the pertinent banking information, then hit
'
send
'
. When the extra fifty thousand arrived in Zurich, he
'
d reroute it to Morocco as well. All traces of Winston Chambers would end in Switzerland and Lance would have no reason to suspect Winston was anywhere else, especially since he
'
d cleaned out his office and left a false forwarding address with his landlord.

He leaned back in the chair and cracked his knuckles.
"
Now for the next order of business
―locating the elusive Ms. McLeod.
"

Opening the nightstand drawer, he shoved aside a nearly new Bible and grabbed the phone book. He flipped the pages until he came to the heading he was seeking.
Hotels.
He spent nearly three hours calling hotels and inns i
n the Nassau area.

No luck.

"
You have to be staying somewhere,
"
he muttered.

Next, he tried some of the other islands, each time professing to hotel clerks that there had been a family emergency and that he had to reach his
niece
immediately.

But Rhianna wasn
'
t on any of the other main islands.

So where the hell was she?

With the suit in hand, Winston took the elevator down to the lobby. At the front desk, he flagged down an attractive, blond-haired desk clerk in her mid-twenties. She
'
d be more receptive to his story.

"
Can I help you?
"
she asked pleasantly.

"
You could.
"
He thought of all the ways the woman could be of service. None included wearing clothing.
"
I have a meeting tomorrow and I
'
d like my suit dry-cleaned.
"

"
Consider it done.
"

Once the suit was tucked away in a back room, he said,
"
There is something else…
"

The blond flashed perfect teeth.
"
Something wrong with your room, sir?
"

"
Not at all.
"
He paused for effect.
"
I
'
m trying to locate someone. There
'
s been a tragedy in the family.
"

"
Oh my gosh,
"
the woman said, her smile vanishing.
"
I
'
m so sorry to hear that.
"

Winston blinked, as if trying to keep tears at bay.
"
I need to tell my niece in person. But I don
'
t know where she
'
s staying.
"

"
Where have you checked?
"

He gave her the slip of paper with the names of the island hotels he
'
d called.

The blond frowned.
"
Are you sure she
'
s at a hotel and not visiting someone here?
"

Winston shook his head.
"
I really don
'
t know. My niece has been a bit elusive lately.
"
He leaned forward conspiratorially.
"
She had a fight with her father.
"

"
I
'
m sorry, sir, but the only thing I can suggest is that you check the airports to see if she
'
s flown somewhere.
"

It wasn
'
t the answer he was hoping for, and he struggled to maintain a friendly smile.

"
I
'
ve already done that.
"
Useless bitch.

He strode toward the front door and had nearly reached it when someone caught his arm.

"
Sir, have you tried the marinas?
"
the blond from the front desk asked.
"
Maybe she went by boat. Some of the smaller islands have bed and breakfasts.
"

This time Winston gave her a genuine smile.
"
Thank you.
"

"
Please let me know if there
'
s anything I can do to make your stay here more pleasurable.
"

He raised a thick brow.
"
Anything?
"

The woman seemed bewildered at first. Then a small gasp escaped her glossy lips. Clearing her throat, she said,
"
Have a good day, sir.
"

He watched her hips sway as she retreated to the safety of the front desk. When she glared back at him, he winked. Any other time he would
'
ve taken her up on her offer, but he was saving himself now for someone else. Someone special.

A blistering blast of air hit him as he left the air-conditioned lobby and stepped outside. He immediately began to sweat, though it was a toss-up as to whether he was sweating from the heat or from excitement at being closer to his prey.

"
Take me to the nearest marina,
"
he said, climbing into the back of a taxi.

The sullen driver gave a nod, then cranked up the Reggae beat that thudded from the car stereo.

That
'
s okay,
Winston thought.
I don
'
t wanna talk to you either.

He barely noticed the passing scenery, until they reached the parking lot of the Bayshore Marina. At the sight of the nearly two hundred boats tied to the docks, his palms grew clammy and he wiped them on his shorts.

"
Damn!
"
he muttered beneath his breath.

It would take days to question all the boat owners.

He paid the driver and watched the taxi drive away before shuffling down the main ramp. A variety of watercrafts greeted him, from sailboats to speedboats to eighty-foot yachts. He stopped at the first bo
at that carried passengers―a retired husband and wife.