The Billionaire’s Valiant Rescue (3 page)

He gripped my hand in his, and the warmth and strength did much to lift my spirits from the depths.

“Yes. We. I saved your life, now it’s my responsibility to keep you safe.”

“Jack, I—”

But it was clear he brooked no argument. Gesturing around the ornately furnished room, he added, “Nobody knows you’re here. You’re perfectly safe. So don’t worry about a thing, and try to get some rest, all right?”

I stared at him. “Who
are
you? An angel sent from heaven?”

He laughed. “Why? You’ve never met Saint Martin before? Wait till you see what I can do with a cloak and a reasonably sharp sword.”

My lips curled up into a weak smile. Whatever Robert had given me was working. I felt sleep roll over me like a warm blanket. Before my eyes drifted closed, I gave Jack’s hand a squeeze, and whispered, “Thank you for saving my life.” I didn’t remember if I’d told him before, but I figured you can never thank a genuine saint too many times.

He said something in response but I was too far gone to catch it. With Jack’s hand enveloping mine, I fell into a dreamless sleep.

Jack stared down at the limp form of Melanie and wondered at the wave of tenderness washing over him. Why was it that this girl affected him so?

In the thirty-four years he’d been alive he’d known plenty of women, more than a few of them in the biblical sense, but never had he harbored even an ounce of genuine affection for any of them.

He’d had his brief infatuations, though he could hardly recall the last one, but they’d never lasted beyond a couple of days and had never extended beyond the purely physical.

As the son and heir of a vast fortune—father had made his first million at twenty-two and had never looked back—Jack Carter had the women lined up. It wasn’t an exaggeration he could bed any woman he coveted. A mainstay on the list of Europe’s most eligible bachelors, he’d decided a long time ago that marriage simply wasn’t in the cards for the likes of him. No woman was worth the trouble.

His dad kept trying to strong-arm him into the holy bond but he’d managed to dodge that bullet each and every time.

Why did he have to get married if his older brother Thomas had already provided the Carter empire with the next in line for the throne? His nephew Samuel, now a chubby two-year-old, had been a godsend not only to a proud grandfather and a doting father but also to a greatly relieved Uncle Jack.

A keen and savvy investment banker like his old man, Jack had already managed to add to the Carter coffers to the tune of hundreds of millions, so he figured he’d earned his keep and a reprieve from the marital curse.

He gently released Melanie’s hand. At the thought of what the young woman had suffered through, his blood boiled. It was imperative they find who was responsible for the outrage, and he had a pretty good idea where to start.

Returning to the living room of the suite he rented at the Brussels Carlton, he walked over to the small desk he’d organized near the window. He liked the view over the European capital it afforded him, though at this time he couldn’t care less about such trivial matters as scenic beauty.

Flipping up his laptop cover, he stared at the email he’d just received from Argosy, the detective agency the Carter family kept on retainer.

Melanie Harper, according to Tucker Jackson, the detective assigned to the case, didn’t exist. The apartment she allegedly held on Pelican Avenue was registered in the name of a Sue Fuller, who also lived there. Mrs Fuller was a woman of forty-two, mother of three, and held a full-time position at the Ixelles department of spatial planning. She had never heard of Melanie Harper nor did she recognize her from a picture. In other words, a dead end.

No one combining the name and age of Linda Soakes was registered anywhere in the Schengen Area, so the woman had blatantly lied, and even though Jack had tried to describe the alleged Mrs Soakes to the best of his recollection, the search had turned up a big fat zero.

The most promising lead was the picture he’d snapped of the unconscious Melanie and sent to Argosy. Surely they would be able to identify her based on her appearance? Apparently, they couldn’t. After failing to click with Mrs Fuller, a further search had been fruitless. Facial recognition software was all fine and dandy, but unless Melanie was a hardened criminal with a string of convictions to her name or a known terrorist threatening to wreak havoc, she wouldn’t be on the police radar. And since a searchable database of all 507.4 million EU citizens didn’t exist, finding Melanie was a hopeless task.

The only avenue Jack hadn’t yet pursued was to mine Melanie’s cell phone for possible leads. He needed her permission to do that, and he wanted to wait until she was feeling better before going down that route.

He ambled over to the mini-bar and poured himself a thimbleful of Scotch, then stood staring out at the night sky while he let the amber liquor’s fiery tongue lap at his insides and lift his spirits.

He’d taken an instant liking to Melanie Harper, and he wondered why. Was it because she was the helpless victim of a cruel fate? Any man would reach out and try to do whatever he could to right that wrong, wouldn’t he? Just like he’d rescue a wounded puppy found tied to a tree, Melanie had simply appealed to his humanity.

He’d keep her safe until she was sufficiently healed and the mystery of her identity and apparent abduction solved, and then they’d part ways and that would be it. Right? Of course. He didn’t feel anything for her beyond understandable compassion.

He thought back to her shivering body draped against him when he lifted her clear of the bracken water. Her arms slung around his neck, her hot breath against his cheek and her soft breasts pressing through her wet blouse against his chest...

He quickly downed the rest of the drink in a single gulp and squeezed his eyes shut at the familiar burn in his gullet.

She’d felt great in his arms, cuddled up against him. He hadn’t minded that he’d been soaking wet by the time he had her safely back on the quay. He could have held her forever.

The familiar scratchy sound of Rufus’s nails against the hardwood floor had him look up. The puppy, gamboling in from the master bedroom where he had his basket, gave a short yelp, surprised to find Jack still up and about.

Jack checked his watch. After two. Perhaps it was time to finally turn in for the night. There didn’t seem to be anything he could do. Argosy was on the case, Melanie was safely tucked away in the spare bedroom, and Rufus didn’t need to go out until the early morning, a fact of which the playful Alsatian would definitely remind him once dawn loomed on the horizon.

He stretched his limbs and knelt down to tickle the puppy behind the ears.

“You like her too, don’t you, Rufus?”

Rufus gave a soft bark, confirming Jack’s suspicions. “Sucker,” he grunted, giving the dog a gentle prod.

Rufus looked up, his tongue lolling, and though Jack couldn’t be sure, he thought he detected in the pup’s cinnamon eyes a hint of glee. “Right back at ya, pal,” the dog seemed to say.

I woke up when I heard the noise. A ruckus, coming from somewhere nearby. A dog barking. People shouting. Instinctively, I jumped out of bed. Or at least tried to. My legs had turned to rubber, and when I hit the floor, it was face forward and not as gracefully as I’d intended.

“Ouch. Fuck,” I grunted, then quickly scampered under the bed when the loud noises seemed to draw closer.

I don’t know why I hid under the bed. Jack had assured me I was safe here and I believed him. Still.

Suddenly, the door swung open. Someone must have hit the switch, because the room was flooded with light.

I shivered in my nightie, not from the cold but from pure terror. They were coming for me. Somehow the people who had done this to me had found me.

It was only when a puppy padded up to me and licked my nose and I heard Jack’s voice calling out, that I caught my breath.

“Melanie? Are you in here somewhere?”

I shimmied out from under the bed with as much dignity as I could manage, and gave Jack a tiny wave from the cherry wood floor.

“Hey, Jack.”

A relieved grin came over his handsome face, and my heart leaped in my chest. The puppy bounding all around me, I crawled into a sitting position and looked beyond Jack in search of the source of the noise. “What happened?”

He held out his hands in a gesture of reassurance. “Nothing to worry about. I had to go to the bathroom and managed to trip over one of those infernal side tables hotel management insists on strewing all around the suite.”

I raised one eyebrow. “Damage?”

He pointed at his foot and wiggled his toe. “It will heal.”

It only occurred to me now that the man was dressed in one of the silliest pajamas I’d ever seen. A big fat Donald Duck featured prominently on his chest, and little ducks dotted the rest of the cheerfully blue-and-yellow ensemble. I couldn’t suppress a giggle.

He gave me a questioning look and I pointed at the duck. “I like the duck.”

He looked down at his chest as if seeing the outfit for the first time. “Oh. That.” He gave me a sheepish look. “What can I say. I’m big on Disney. You should see my apartment. It’s a collector’s paradise.”

“Where is your apartment?”

“Paris. It’s where I have my residence. I’m only in Brussels on weekdays.”

“Paris!” I’d just remembered this awkward obsession my mind seemed to have with the place.

He looked at me searchingly. “The first thing you said when I hoisted you out of the canal was that you needed to go there.”

“I know. I mean, I haven’t the foggiest why, but the urge to go there keeps haunting me.”

He walked over and reached out to take my hand. I gratefully let him pull me onto the bed. “You know what we could do? Once Robert gives you a clean bill of health, we could take the Thalys and see if the place doesn’t jog your memory.”

I looked over at him gratefully. “I would love that.”

“The scent of freshly baked croissants. The sight of the Eiffel Tower. The hum and bustle of Paris traffic. You might remember that you’re actually the French President’s wife or something.”

“Yeah, right. With my lousy French?”

“Try some. See how it fits.”

“
Je suis
, um,
une pain
?”

He grimaced at my poor rendition of the language of Molière. “I think it’s safe to say you’re not the
Première dame de la république
. Though Robert did mention your language skills might be momentarily affected.”
 

I sighed. “I’m starting to think I’m not anybody’s first lady.”

“Well, you’re first lady of this suite if that makes you feel any better.”

“I’m the
only
lady in this suite.” I eyed Rufus askance. “Unless he’s actually a she?”

Jack guffawed. “No, Rufus is definitely a he.” He gave me a gentle nudge. “Your position is safe, Miss Melanie. You’re
La Présidente
of this realm.”

I laughed heartily at this, probably for the first time since Jack fished me out of the river, and his eyes lit up at the sound.

“I like it when you laugh. Your face becomes radiant.”

I felt a hot flush suffuse my cheeks. Radiant was right. I looked away in embarrassment. Being so close to Jack made my pulse quicken, and it was all I could do not to reach out and lean my head on his shoulder. Him being so near made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

He must have sensed this, for he slung his arm around me, and drew me in.

I did lean my head on his shoulder then, and couldn’t resist heaving a sigh of delight at the sensation of his body heat radiating through our respective pajamas.

Only now did I notice we were wearing matching outfits, only mine was sporting a big Minnie Mouse on the front, with dozens of tiny mice traipsing about the rest of my top.

“Hey, we’re almost like twins.”

He gazed down at my Minnie Mouse, and I could sense his growing excitement at the sight of my boobs pushing out Minnie’s ears. The coarse cotton hid my hardening nipples well, but they still managed to tent the fabric.

Jack cleared his throat. “Minnie looks a lot better on you.”

I noticed a sudden twitch in his crotch, and detected a noticeable rise in the two mini ducks darting across that region. Whatever I was feeling, Jack was feeling too.

Heat. Pure heat. Crackling between us. Enveloping us in a rising torrent of lust.

A soft sigh escaped my lips, and shivers ran up and down my spine. The spot where his hand was touching me suddenly seemed electrically charged, and I felt a thrill of excitement pulsing through my nether regions.

Another twitch stirred Jack’s tented pajama pants, and I could see his cock rising up slowly but surely. He wasn’t wearing boxers, just a thin layer concealing his burgeoning manhood.

Suddenly, I felt a strong urge to touch him there. To place my hand and feel the raw power of his length. Envelop his towering girth with my fingers and feel the blood pulsate along the veiny surface.

I raised my head to look into his eyes and wasn’t surprised to find the lust I was feeling mirrored in them. My breath was quickening, and involuntarily I pushed out my chest, straining my aching tits against the coarse material of the Minnie Mouse shirt. The sensation of the cotton massaging my sensitive nipples had me expel a shuddering breath. I wanted his hands on me. His soft, gentle, warm hands clasping my boobs, then reaching under the shirt and stirring my naked flesh.

I wanted his tongue plunging into my mouth, ravaging mine.

More than anything, though, I wanted that red-hot rod burrowing deeply between my folds, taking me right here, right now, and making me his.

I didn’t know who I was, but I knew damn well what I wanted.

I wanted Jack Carter.

Inside me.

Now.

It was Jack who finally broke the spell. With an awkward grunt, he rose from the bed and looked down at me with a look of confusion in his eyes.

“I, erm, better go back. To sleep, I mean.” He raked his fingers through his mussed up auburn curls. “It’s late and you—
we
—need our sleep.”