“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