Sandra Hill (17 page)

“Well…” She was still unconvinced.

Man, I must be losing my touch.
He held the opened bottle of the Calgon bubble bath under Britta’s nose. His mother’s habit of leaving all her beauty products in her wake was finally bearing fruit for him.

“Lavender.” She sighed.

Well maybe lavender, not fruit,
he joked with himself.

“Well, mayhap I can stay a little bit longer.”

He did a mental high five.

“Okay, honey, take off your clothes while I run the water in the tub and pour in the bubble crap…I mean, liquid. Once you get in, let the water go up to about an inch from the top.”

He glanced away as Britta eased her nude body into the old-fashioned, freestanding tub. If he looked, he’d be in there with her, and then he’d never complete a few urgent tasks before hitting the sack.

He got Britta settled in the tub overflowing with bubbles. He’d poured a half bottle of the Calgon in before reading the directions. She was half-asleep before he even left the bathroom, her neck resting on the back lip of the tub, her long hair hanging over the side.

Then he rushed downstairs, removing his clothes in the process. While he walked through the house, checking on locks and dimming lights, he studied the display window on his phone and groaned. Twelve more calls to check! Calls that had been made to his house, not cell, phone. He listened to all the messages and knew that he had to answer a few of the more urgent ones.

“Jack Delaney here.”

“Zach Floyd. You called earlier?”

Delaney was the hotshot lawyer his grandfather had hired. He was considered the F. Lee Bailey of international law and high-profile legal disputes, well worth his exorbitant fees. “Yes, glad you got back to me tonight. Listen, can you meet with me tomorrow morning? I can come in on the redeye.”

“Yeah. Sure. I suppose. Is there a problem?”

Delaney laughed. “Boy, there are problems and then there are
problems
. Arsallah is playing hardball. I won’t go into details over the phone, but you need a contingency plan in case things don’t go the way we want…at first.”

Zach knew exactly what he meant by a contingency plan. They’d discussed it before. Taking Sammy into deep hiding on a short-term, or maybe even long-term basis. How the SEALs command would feel about that was a given. Zach’s ass would be fried.

“Your grandfather’s coming with me.”

Zach groaned.

“I can tell him you’d rather speak with me alone, if you want. You’re the client.”

“No, that’s all right. I just don’t want this to spiral into a lot of other personal shit.”
Why don’t you quit the SEALs and come to the Pentagon? When are you going to settle down? How could you have gotten a woman pregnant in this day and age? The usual.

Delaney laughed. “I’ll steer the conversation in the right direction.”

Next he called his grandmother.

“Zach-ar-y Frank Floyd! Why is it I had to hear about this special woman in your life from Daniel?”

“When did you talk to Danny?”

“An hour ago.”

I’ll kill him. Did he have to be on his cell, even on the way to the Wet and Wild?

“Sooooo, are we talking wedding bells here, darling?”

“No, we’re not talking wedding bells. Or engagement rings, if that’s your next question.”

“It’s not too soon to get registered at Neiman’s.”

“You are
not
registering me anywhere. Do you hear me?”

“When can I meet her?” This was so like his grandmother; she heard only what she wanted to hear.

“I don’t have a clue. At least not for a few weeks, assuming she’s still around by then. She’s in that new WEALS program, and—”
Oh, God! Did I just admit there is a woman.

“A military woman! PopPop will be so pleased.” His grandmother was the only person in the world who called the general by that ludicrous name.

“Listen, I have to go.”

“Where’s she from?”

He barely stifled a laugh.
Eleventh-century Norselands.
“Norway.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Some of your ancestors were from Norway, did you know that? The Floydsson family, but they pronounced it Flewed-son.”

That’s it!
“Gotta go. Call you later.” He clicked the phone off before his grandmother could blather on…or ask him where Britta was at the moment.

Before he had a chance to put the cordless down, it rang again. His mother.

“Who is she? Is she pretty? I hear she’s tall enough to be a model. Make sure you don’t flub this one up.”

“Flub? What’s a flub?”
Is it anything like that other F word?

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“So, who did I flub before?”

“Every relationship you’ve ever had was a flub. You’re like a bee buzzing from one flower to another. Be careful, or you’ll lose your stinger someday, and then where will you be?”

My stinger is just fine, thank you very much.

“I bought the cutest Muppets underpants for Sammy today. I’ll mail them tomorrow.”

Zach had to smile at that. The kid was already unhappy about superhero briefs…and the wedgies they gave him. What was he gonna think about Miss Piggy riding his too-too?” Too-too had been his mother’s word for
penis
when he and Danny were kids.

He figured he better return his father’s call, as well. Not wanting to play favorites with the other family members.

“Hiiiii!” a female voice answered, sounding about sixteen years old to his father’s fifty-six. Actually, Bridget was more like twenty-five. Women were attracted to his dad because of his wealth and influence in the television industry, but Zach had to admit, his father was also a good-looking man for his age—and very charming. Genetic traits, he liked to think.

“Hi, Bridget. Is my father there?”

She giggled. “He’s…uh, sleeping, ya know.”
Giggle, giggle.
“I could wake him up, ya know, if it’s really important.”

“That’s all right. Just tell him I called.”

The lights off, he went up the stairs, first checking on Sammy, who was dead to the world. It had been a long day for him. He leaned down and kissed the brat’s forehead. He smelled of cotton candy and kid. In so many ways, Zach missed being free, as he had been a few short months ago, but he realized now that he wouldn’t give up his son for all the freedom in the world.

The cordless phone rang again, and he rushed out of the room before Sammy awakened, closing the door halfway behind him. He recognized the security company number on the caller ID.

“Elliott Samboro here. Exeter Termite Control,” one of the partners in Vortex said in a gruff voice befitting the former Marine. Elliott Samboro was his code name; his real name was Tony Siliano.

“What’s up?”

“Mr. Floyd, you have a serious roach problem.”

“How serious?”

“I think we should talk about it in person. Better I should show you.”

Uh-oh. Siliano’s words told him, in code, that the line was being bugged. How that happened when they’d done sweeps twice a day was scary. Arsallah’s men were better skilled than he’d imagined. “Okay. Tomorrow?”

“Sure thing. There’ll be three reps there, early.”

Three reps meant that Vortex was upping the security surveillance.

“And, by the way, you should check over anyone entering or leaving your house till we get the problem corrected. Roaches can attach themselves to clothing or things, like grocery bags or briefcases or stuffed animals.”

Stuffed animals? Oh, shit! Arsallah’s goons followed us to Disneyland.

“Can they be here early…like seven thirty? I’ve got some other appointments.”

“Yep.”

Zach quickly called the commander’s house and left a message for Madrene not to come tomorrow to babysit, that he’d made other plans. He figured it would be safer to have Wilson and Danny inside, with the Vortex guys on the outside, for the time being.

He was down to his briefs but decided to backtrack to the kitchen and grab a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, and two glasses before heading to the bathroom…and paradise.

Britta was in the same position, lying back, asleep, in the tub, which was surprisingly still full of bubbles. There was a frown on her face, though, and occasionally her body jerked as if she was dreaming about something unpleasant.

He opened the wine, poured some into the two glasses, and set them on a low stool near the tub. Then he shucked his briefs, dimmed the lights, and eased himself into the tub behind Britta. “Move forward, honey,” he said, even as he extended his legs on either side of her hips.

“Nay. Desist, you maggot! Ahhhhh, nay, not Sister Efreda, and Sister Seraphina and…! You beasts! Such rape and carnage!” Water was splashing all over the place, against the wall, on the floor, in both their faces.

Britta had come awake, startled and disoriented in the tight grasp of his arms. She must have thought she was back in her country and time, not a pleasant place to be.

“Shhh, it’s okay.”

Once she settled down, he loosened his hold on her, and she turned slightly to peer at him over her shoulder. “What…where?”

“You fell asleep in the tub.”

“Oh.” She still frowned. “I had a horrific dream. But it was not really a dream. More like I was floating between two worlds. Being tugged in different directions. I was back at the nunnery, where my father’s hird of soldiers were—”

“Shhh, it’s okay now.” He kissed her lightly on the lips.

Her eyes widened then. “What are you doing in this tub?”

“Joining you?”

“Why?”

He laughed and reached for the two glasses, handing her one. “Drink. It’ll relax you and make the bad dreams go away.”

She took several sips, sighed, then leaned back against his chest, seemingly unaware of his erection prodding at her butt and his one hand pressed against her belly.

He used his big toe to turn the hot water on to a slow trickle. Any excess would go out the top drain, thus preventing an overflow. They were swathed in steam and bubbles and a slow-building sexual lethargy that would soon turn to sexual frenzy. He hoped. He was already halfway there.

When she emptied her wineglass, he poured them both another.

“Methinks this wine is more potent than Sister Margaret’s mead,” she murmured. “It makes me feel strange. As if parts of me are melting away.”

“Your inhibitions?”

She made a small snorting sound. “Pfff! My inhibitions were lost with you on our first meeting.”

“I had you on hello, huh? Too bad I didn’t know that you trying to lop off my head was a form of foreplay.”

She slapped at his hand, the hand that was fondling her nipples. Setting his wineglass down, he continued to use his left hand to tease her nipples, first one, then the other. At the same time, he burrowed the fingers of his right hand into her hair on the one side, turning her into his kiss, which was wide-mouthed and hungry. He took her whole mouth in his, over and over, as if he were eating her whole with his lips. Then he used his lips to widen hers as far as they would go before tonguing her inside…up, down, around the roof and over her inner jaw. His never-ending wet kiss allowed her no opportunity to reciprocate. He was bruising, demanding, devouring in his intensity.

When she moaned into his mouth, he slowed down.

She moved her hips on him, and he realized that his erection was no longer prodding her butt. She was sitting on him, perfectly aligning his hard-on with her crack, back to front.

“I have an idea,” he whispered into her ear.

“More ideas? How many more ideas can one man have?” Her voice was thick and sultry, and he didn’t think it was because of the wine.

“Thousands,” he answered.

Raising them both up on their knees, he said, “Hold on to the two faucets with your hands, and brace your arms.”

“Whaaat?”

Before she could guess what he was about, he entered her from behind and rose in one smooth sweep till he was standing. The only thing keeping her from falling into the water was her hands on the faucets and his hands on her hips.

She squealed and tried to flail her legs to dislodge him. “Are you barmy? Upside down swiving? Surely sane people do not do this.”

“Oh, yeah, they do. This is one of women’s favorite positions. Besides, you aren’t really upside down. You’re more like on an incline. Yeah, I like the sound of that. Inclined sex.”

“Put. Me. Down.”

“Not. A. Chance.”

“I feel ridiculous.”

“I don’t know. You look pretty good from this angle. And I can’t believe I’m capable of talking above a croak when I’m inside you, practically to your tonsils.”

She said some things to him in Old Norse, probably not flattery.