Sealed With A Kiss

He closed his eyes for a moment and then shook his head. “I wrote her a letter. Did she get it?”

“I don’t know.” She wasn’t going to give him an inch, not here. After the damage he’d wrought, a letter of apology was laughable. “You put her through the wringer. She’s still getting over it.” Joss watched him rub his temples. “It looks like you’re doing the same.”

He gave a humorless grimace that might have been a smile. “That’s all right. I’ve got lots of time to work on it. But then, you’re probably not here to talk about me.” He frowned. “Exactly why are you here?”

Joss studied him. “Trying to undo some of the damage. I’m hoping you might be able to help.”

Before she even finished the words, he was shaking his head. “No. No way. Not without a lawyer.”

“Stewart, you’re already pleading guilty. It’s all over but the shouting.”

“Yeah, well, that shouting you’re talking about could mean the difference between doing a year or rotting in here for five to ten. Besides, like I already told the detectives and inspectors, I don’t know anything.”

“Maybe you know more than you think, something that could help us.”

“You got no business coming here.” His voice rose and he started to get up.

“I’ve got no business coming here?” Joss snapped like the crack of a whip. “You threatened to kill my sister, you stole millions from my grandfather, you betrayed us all and I’ve got no business coming here?” She clenched the phone receiver, fury making her dizzy. “I don’t give a damn what kind of a sentence they hand down to you. That’s not why I’m asking. I’m trying to undo the damage that you’ve done. I’m trying to get back the one-penny Mauritius and you’re the only one who can help me.”

“How do I know you’re not taping this?” he demanded.

“How could I be?” She gestured at the phone. “Anyway, what would be the point? It wouldn’t affect your case, except to help you. You think they’re not going to look a little more kindly on you if my grandfather has back all his property? Come on, use your brain.”

“My lawyer would kill me.”

“Your lawyer’s not here now and neither is the D.A. It’s just you and me, Stewart,” she said persuasively. “You can’t erase what you did to Gwen but you can help make things better. Don’t you want to? Don’t you want to try to fix it?”

She waited in silence, hoping that she’d read him right.

Finally, Stewart sat back down and rubbed his eyes wearily. “You don’t understand. I couldn’t help if I wanted to. I dealt with an intermediary the whole time. I never even found out the client’s name.”

“Don’t sit there and tell me you didn’t at least have an idea. Gwen thinks it might be Karl Silverhielm.”

Stewart’s gaze skated off to one side. “I told you, I don’t know. I only dealt with my contact.”

“What did he look like?”

“It’s all in the police report.”

“Save me some work. What did he look like?” she repeated.

Stewart shrugged. “Light hair, tall, blue eyes. One of those Nordic faces.”

“What was his name?”

Stewart snorted. “Do you think for a minute he gave me his real name? You can bet it was a fake.”

“What was it?”

“Michael Houseman.” When she rolled her eyes, he shrugged. “I told you, there’s nothing I can give to help you.”

“Was there anything else about him, anything that would let us identify him?” Joss persisted. “Think about how he moved.”

“He didn’t look like a thug. He was smooth, classy, even. And he moved like he was trained, like a boxer or something.”

“Can you remember anything about him that couldn’t be changed, his ears, maybe, or the shape of his fingers?”

“Nothing that stands out. His features were normal, nothing unusual about them. His hands were—” He stopped.

“What?”

“Well, it might not be important.”

“Let me decide that. What?”

“His right hand. There was a scar on it, between the thumb and the forefinger. I noticed it when we were shaking hands.”

“What was it shaped like?”

“A jagged line, like a knife had slipped or something.”

“Nice company you keep,” she said dryly.

He bristled. “Look, you wanted me to help, I’m helping.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. Look, you’ve given me something that might be useful.”

“And my lawyer would knock me in the head if he knew I was talking to you.”

“You did the right thing, if it helps.”

He gave a brooding stare. “Little enough of that lately.”

“Stewart.” Joss hesitated. “This’ll mean something to Gwen.”

“Tell her…” The tone signaling the end of the visiting period rang. He waited until it was silent. “I’d give anything to have done things differently,” he said finally. “Tell her that, would you?”

4

BAX SAT in his chair with his feet up on his desk, rubbing the back of his neck. He’d spent too much time on the phone that day, trying to clear up business so he could leave for Stockholm. And wondering if he were nuts. Now, as the afternoon bled away, he was trying to decide whether to write up his notes or just call it a night. He hadn’t slept well the night before, waking in the darkness from dreams of unfulfilled cravings and dangerous pursuit.

And Joss Chastain.

The bargain they’d struck the previous day had been absurd, he knew that. He’d given her his word that he’d take on the case and he’d hold to it, but there’d be no charades of being lovers, no charades of being partners. His better judgment might have been overruled at the time but it had reappeared and he needed to do the responsible thing.

With a thump, Bax dropped his feet to the floor just as Joss swept through the door, all color and light in a pleated royal blue miniskirt and a stretchy blue and silver striped shirt that wound around her body.

“I’ve found something,” she announced.

She was something, something he’d fought all day not to dwell on. Now, with her standing in his office practically vibrating with energy, their agreement seemed just a way to make a formality of the chemistry that flowed between them. The wide ebullience of her grin tempted him to taste. The curve of her waist begged him to touch. In a whirlwind second, she filled the room with her presence and completely destroyed his concentration.

And it pissed him off. “Now what?”

“I just got back from Las Vegas and I’ve got a clue.”

“Let me guess. You figured out that we’ll all be better off if you leave me alone to do my job?”

“Not that kind of clue.” She gave him a withering stare and sat in his client chair, taking her time getting comfortable. The getting comfortable involved lots of shifting and stretching that made him only more aware of her body. “Now, if you’re nice, I’ll share with you. If not, I’ll just keep quiet and let you tell me what you found out today.”

Irritating, he thought. “Let’s get something straight—”

“As your client, I’ve got a right to a report on anything you’ve found out,” she reminded him serenely.

What she didn’t have was a right to blow in here smelling of summer and seduction and completely fracturing his ability to think. “As my client, you pay me to do the investigating. That means if anyone was going to Vegas, it should have been me.”

She didn’t rise to his tone. Instead, she gave him a smile that made his pulse bump. “Some things need a woman’s touch. Anyway, in two days we’ll be flying all the way to Stockholm. Vegas is small change, by comparison.”

“You still should have told me before you went. I’ve already got the police report.” He held up a thick bundle of paper and slapped it back down on his empty desktop. “You wasted your time.”

“Not at all. I went to the Las Vegas jail to visit Stewart Oakes.”

“Who told you to take a flying leap, I hope.” Bax frowned. “His case is still in progress. You shouldn’t be talking to him.”

“His case is a formality at this point. He’s copping a plea on both sets of charges. Talking to me won’t change that. Besides, I can be persuasive when I want to be.”

Didn’t he know it, Bax thought, tearing his gaze away from her mouth. “All right, Nancy Drew, what did he tell you?”

Amusement crossed her face. She obviously knew where he’d been looking. “Well, I tried to get him to say something about the Swedish collector, but he played dumb.”

“Now there’s a surprise.”

“Not dumb enough. I mentioned Silverhielm’s name and his eyes shifted. Even if he doesn’t know for sure it was Silverhielm, he believes it is.”

“You flew to Vegas for that?”

Joss bristled. Good, he thought. Keep her at a distance.

Don’t let her get close with that gypsy hair and those eyes that promised everything. “No. I’ve got information about the intermediary.”

“Right. Houseman or whatever his name was.”

“Stewart said the guy looked Nordic, moved like an athlete.”

Bax gave a dismissive shrug. “That’s all in the police report.”

“And just exactly how did you get your hands on the police report, anyway?”

“A friend or two in the right places.” And his good fortune that San Francisco had jurisdiction over the larceny portion of the case.

“Did the report also mention the scar on his hand? Ooooh, I guess it didn’t,” Joss singsonged with enjoyment and walked over to lean against the edge of his desk, facing him.

Bax looked at her. “There’s a perfectly good chair over there.” And he’d be much more comfortable with her at a distance.

“I’d rather talk face-to-face.” Mischief lurked in her eyes.

“You’re on my desk.”

“Good.” She leaned on one hand. “Something ought to be. There’s something slightly disturbed about a person having such a clean desk.”

“I like things uncluttered.” Which meant not sleeping with clients, he reminded himself, but he couldn’t stop staring at the long, lean lines of her body.

“Sometimes clutter is a lot more fun,” she purred and touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip.

Bax cleared his throat. “What about the scar?”

“Well, obviously it’s an identifier. If we find Silverhielm, we look at his soldiers and try to find the guy with the mark.”

“It’s a long shot.”

“It’s something concrete. Anyway, what did you come up with today, Phillip Marlowe?”

“My Interpol contact didn’t know a whole lot but he promised to ask around. He was able to pass on a few interesting tidbits, though.”

“Such as?”

“Our boy has his fingers in a lot of pies. Officially, he does import/export. Jewelry, mostly. He seems to consider himself a connoisseur of the finer things. Lives on a private island in the archipelago to the east of Stockholm.”

“Nice. Has he been in trouble with the law?”

“Nothing that showed up on any of the systems my contact could access. He’s rumored to be responsible for several ugly murders. Word on the street is that he’s not to be crossed.”

Joss nodded thoughtfully. “Interesting.”

“Interesting? How about disturbing?”

“Are you scared?”

“No, but you should be. If Silverhielm is involved, you have no business coming to Stockholm with me.”

“But how else are we going to be lovers?” Joss sank down to lie across his empty desk, propping her head on one hand. “Why Bax, a person would think that you’ve forgotten all about our agreement.”

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“But how can that be?” She slid her hand over her hip. “Oh, I know, I forgot about your retainer.”

IF HE THOUGHT he was backing out of their deal, he was dreaming, pure and simple. She was going to Stockholm with him and she was going to be part of getting the one-penny Mauritius back. And if it took sex to make him putty in her hands, well, then sex it would be.

Small sacrifice for the cause.

Joss moistened her lips. “Something about an office has always given me the urge to misbehave,” she murmured, trailing her fingers down her neck, into the deep vee of skin exposed by her blouse and over the soft swells of her breasts until she saw Bax’s eyes darken.

Fluidly, she rose and crossed to the door. “Perhaps I’ll just lock this.” She flicked the bolt with a metallic snick, then turned to face him. “Well, now that we’re not likely to be disturbed, how much of a down payment do you require?” she asked. “Enough to need one of these?” She rummaged in her purse to pull out a condom.

Without asking, she walked over to Bax’s side of the desk and sat across his lap. Then she laughed, a low, husky sound of delight as she felt the unmistakable shape of a hard-on beneath her.

“That’s enough, Joss,” he ground out.

“Oh no, Bax, surely your services don’t come so cheaply.” She slid her hands around to the back of his neck and into the springy waves of his hair. “And if you’d wanted it to be over, you’d have stopped me long before.”

Joss leaned in to nibble his neck, tasting the taut skin, roving to the hard line of his jaw and cheek. His chest rose and fell unevenly, as though he’d been running. His hands sat still and loose at his sides. With the tip of her tongue, she traced the line of his mouth, absorbing his flavor, teasing him.

“Poor Bax. You try so hard to be good.” She pressed her forehead against his. “But you want this as much as I do. Why don’t you just admit it?” Her lips were a hairbreadth from his, her breath blending with his. “Why don’t you just give in?”

And in that instant his control snapped and he claimed her mouth with his own.

The kiss was hard and deep and heedless. Her head fell back, inviting him to devour. She might have done the tempting but it was he who laid claim to her. He didn’t ask permission, he just took. Hard and proprietary, his hands roved over her back, along her side and hip, then up under her blouse to curve over her breast. He touched her as though she were already known, already owned and he could amuse himself at will.

Joss gasped at his touch and pressed against him. “Mmm, more,” she whispered. She felt his mouth curve against hers, then felt the trail of his fingertips up the inside of her calf, the inside of her thigh. She shivered as the light touch traveled up under her skirt and higher still, searching for that place at the apex of her thighs, that place where she was already slick and hot and craving his touch.

And then his fingers dipped in under the satin barrier and Joss jolted against him, moaning into his mouth.

Outside, in the hallway, voices sounded, footsteps thudded as people walked home for the night. Within the room there was only the two of them, touch and taste, sound and scent.

Bax’s fingers slid against her, teasing, tormenting her with each stroke. When they slipped inside her, his tongue dipped into her mouth and a coil of tension began to build, tightening with each stroke. “Oh my God,” she whispered.

And she heard the low rumble of his chuckle. “I’m not nearly done,” he murmured, then gathered himself and rose, still holding her. Taking a step, he laid her back on the desk.

She felt the wood, smooth and cool beneath her shoulder blades. When he reached up and stripped the satiny fabric of her thong down her thighs, it was another kind of cool and another surge of excitement. Both were overshadowed by the warm stroke of his hands up her calves, over her knees as he knelt before her, dragging her thighs over his shoulders. Joss caught a breath of anticipation. He folded back her skirt, blowing on the sensitive folds of skin. And then the heat of his mouth was on her.

He didn’t waste time teasing her and she didn’t want it. His mouth was relentless, driving her, taking her up until all she could do was feel. She wanted it hard and urgent, she wanted the orgasm that curled in her, still half-formed. As he brought her close, though, he slowed down to leave her balanced on the edge, half gasping with pleasure, half delirious with want. And a fraction before the point of inevitability, he stopped and stood.

“No!” Joss cried out.

“Oh yes,” he said softly. She heard the clink of his belt, the growl of his zipper, the crackle of plastic and his slow exhale as he sheathed himself.

The tip of his cock brushed against her, making her jolt. She stared at him, at his face drawn in taut lines of concentration as he positioned himself. And then he pistoned his hips to slide into her, fast and deep, and she gave a strangled cry.

Hard and urgent. She wrapped her legs around his waist. It was what she’d craved, this rush of sensation. His hands were unwrapping her blouse, pulling up her bra to find her bare breasts. The feel of his cock possessed her, the fullness, the slick rub against her tender inner flesh as each move teased her clitoris, tormented, inching her closer and closer to orgasm.

Bax caught at her ankles, straightening her legs, pulling them apart to watch as he buried his cock deep in her tight, warm wetness. Stroke after stroke, he got thicker and harder, thicker and harder as the orgasm gathered. He gritted his teeth, holding on, promising himself one more stroke, and one more until she began to shudder and shake and cry out as orgasm burst through her. And when it was done, he let himself follow.

“I DON’T KNOW about you, but I’m thinking we’ll be able to do a pretty believable job of pretending we’re lovers,” Joss said lazily as she pulled her clothing back on.

With her hair loose and wild and that light of satisfaction in her eyes, she looked more enticing than ever. If there had been a bed in the room, Bax would have been giving serious thought to tumbling her back into it.

“Too bad you don’t have a couch in here,” Joss commented, as though she’d overheard his thoughts. “Just think about Sweden.” She leaned over for a quick kiss, and topped it off with a bawdy wink.

Bax tucked in his shirt. “I don’t like the idea of you going over there,” he said. “Silverhielm and his guys are too dangerous. Do you really understand what you’re getting into?”

“It’s not your decision. I’m going over there, whether you want me to or not,” she told him. “Now, if you want to be involved and work with me, that’s great, but I’m doing it no matter what.”

The desperate kid look was back again and it tugged at him. Mentally, he cursed. He didn’t get the sense she was doing it for show. She was telling him the truth as she saw it. Stubborn, contrary, unpredictable and somehow very good at getting over on his blind side.

He’d be better off stopping right now, but there was something about her that he couldn’t walk away from. If it meant going to Stockholm with her to keep her safe, he’d do it, he realized.

And if it meant giving in to both of their desires against his better judgment, he’d do that, too.

5

AT FIRST GLANCE, Stockholm seemed to be as much water as land, vivid bands of blue weaving their way among the confusion of islands that formed the city. Whereas most metropolitan areas boasted a single river winding through, in Stockholm water charmed the visitor at every turn, from broad passes to narrow inlets between the steep rock, or tree-lined edges of the islands. Bridges vaulted from shore to shore and boats and ferries sailed in between, seeming more a part of the city than the streets and cars.

As the taxi brought Bax and Joss into the heart of Stockholm, the modern utilitarian structures that had dominated the landscape at the fringes gave way to the aged, graceful buildings of the old city. They sat shoulder to shoulder on the waterfronts, their ornate and gabled facades tinted ocher and blush, tan and pale yellow. The old city was a pastel fantasy, reflected in the rippling waters of lake and sea.

“It’s lovely,” Joss murmured. “So much blue and so many trees. I had no idea.”

“You should see it farther east, in the archipelago,” Bax said. “It’s something else, just islands and water. That’s where our friend lives, on his own private island.”

“His own private fortress, more like.” Joss stared out the windows of the cab, eagerly taking in the sights of the city. “So you’ve been to Stockholm before, I take it?”

“Passed through a few times.”

“Often enough to know anyone useful?”

He gave her a pitying look. “Isn’t that why you hired me? As a matter of fact, I’ve already arranged a meeting.”

“I apologize for underestimating you,” Joss said, looking over to see him relaxed on the seat in his travel clothes. She should have known he’d be organized. There was nothing for getting to know another person like taking a long and complicated international flight together. Bax always had ticket and passport in hand, chose the right line, knew where their seats were. That wasn’t too much of a surprise to her. What had been a surprise was how quickly the hours together had gone, lightened up by his flashing humor and odd bits of knowledge.

She’d expected the trip to be illuminating on the subject of John Baxter. She hadn’t expected it to be fun.

The taxi swung around a U-turn and pulled to a stop in front of a rococo fantasy of a hotel. “The Royal Viking,” the cab driver announced. Windows topped with stylized lintels marched across the high, sheer front of the hotel. On the first floor, elaborate carvings decorated the rosy stone facade. Flags flew from the green copper roof, snapping in the breeze. Behind them, script letters spelled out Royal Viking against the sky.

At the foot of the hotel lay the waterfront, lined with the white tour boats and ferries.

The building had the same sort of presence as an aging prima ballerina, stylish and graceful, but mellowed. There were small signs, perhaps, of the passage of time, but the bones and muscles remained disciplined.

“The Royal Viking, huh? You’ve got expensive taste,” Bax commented as they got out.

“I figure if we want to get our friend’s attention, we’ve got to walk the walk, as well as talk the talk,” Joss said with a little smile, watching the blue-uniformed bellhop bring a wheeled luggage rack out to collect their bags. “If I’ve inherited some of Jerry’s stolen swag, I should already be living well off the more easily fenced items, right? Besides, if they think I’m not too smart, they’re likely to drop their guard.”

“To their peril.”

She smiled at him. “Exactly. By the way, the room’s under your name,” she said over her shoulder and walked through the doors into the hotel.

“What?” Bax stopped her, brows lowering.

“Well, we don’t want our friend to somehow find out that a Chastain is staying here, do we?” She didn’t see the point in mentioning the fact that she didn’t have a credit card to her name. That was the old, feckless Joss. The new Joss was getting her act in gear. Bax didn’t look convinced, though. She tried again. “Look, if we’re lovers, we’d be registered under your name, wouldn’t we? It makes sense. Breathe,” she patted his cheek. “We’ll pay you back at the end.”

“I’ll make sure of it. Any more surprises?”

“Only of the most enjoyable kind,” she murmured and continued through the doors.

Like the city outside, the lobby was a fantasy of gold and blue. Marble pillars with gold-leafed crowns soared to fifteen-foot ceilings ringed with crenellated moldings. Crystal chandeliers glimmered overhead. Underfoot, herringbone-patterned hardwood floors gleamed at the edges of royal blue carpet woven with twisting gold vines.

“Good evening,” said the smiling woman behind the polished mahogany counter.

“Hej,” Bax said, using the Swedish word for hello. He then astounded Joss by producing a stream of what sounded like Swedish. Once or twice, he searched for a word or the desk clerk frowned, but mostly they chattered along like magpies. Finally, he signed the registration card and received the key.

“Was that what I thought it was?” Joss asked as the bellhop collected their luggage and they headed toward the elevator. “Are you fluent in Swedish?”

“Not exactly. I’m fluent in Danish. I can get by in Swedish. Not all the words are the same, but the two are close enough that we can generally understand one another. I’m sure nearly everyone here speaks English—but I wanted to get the rust off.”