Lure of the Wicked Part 7

Why hadn't the Mission warned her the bishop's own f.u.c.king grandmother was here? Why the f.u.c.k hadn't she recognized her?

Except she'd never met the woman, and pictures just didn't match up to lobster red skin, stringy white hair, and blue lips.

"Whatever." Jordana rolled her eyes, flicking wet fingers across the pool. "She probably went home and sobbed into her million-dollar wardrobe. I heard that she was ready to shut this whole place down, which would p.i.s.s me off. I mean, I just met Phinny."

Naomi didn't have the patience for this s.h.i.t. "Shame," she said dryly. "Well, nice chatting with you." She pulled her legs from the warm water, awkwardly getting to her feet on the marble ledge.

"Sure!" Jordana waved her newly polished nails. "Hey, maybe later we can go shopping together. I'd love to show you my favorite stores. There's this salon, I bet it'd do wonders for your hair."

More clothes. Another haircut. More money. Naomi's smile stretched her cheeks into aching points as she retreated.

Behind her, the flamboyant woman's failure of a whisper sighed out a long, verbal shrug. "I don't care how much money she has. Did you see her face?"

Enough time, and Jordana's would have matched it.

At the desk, she retrieved her clothes from the efficient Agatha, smiled stiffly through a reminder that her ma.s.sage appointment would begin precisely at one, and barely managed to get to the elevator before she couldn't take it anymore.

She needed out. Somewhere, anywhere. She was smoothed and buffed and polished and depilated.

She looked like a G.o.dd.a.m.n marble statue. Like some rich, pampered- s.h.i.t. Like every other G.o.dd.a.m.ned perfect woman in that f.u.c.king beauty spa.

f.u.c.k her team's sense of humor. f.u.c.k the so-called relaxation she was scheduled to sit through, and s.h.i.tf.u.c.k to the man named Joel with the magic hands.

The last thing she needed-wanted-was to be alone inside her own head.

Chapter Six.

"Two of the suites have checked out." Lillian's voice in Phin's ear registered stalwart resignation as he made his way through the halls. "Alexandra and her retinue, of course, with her regrets."

"I imagine she went home to be tended by her own doctors," Phin murmured, bypa.s.sing two of the staff's personal athletic trainers with an easy smile and nod.

Nothing to see here.

He shifted the comm to his other ear as Lillian continued, "And the sweet doctor from New England."

d.a.m.n. He'd been hoping for a good word from the man whose words carried a lot of weight on his side of the coast. Pausing in the hallway, Phin pinched the bridge of his nose. "How did he seem when he left?"

"Quiet. He expressed no displeasure, praised the staff's precision and care. However, he checked out a full four days early. I think we can extrapolate from there." In the background, he could hear the muted click and tap of her keyboard. He could easily picture her in the small, beautifully furnished office tucked just beside his, posture ramrod-straight and hair elegantly upswept off her shoulders.

Like a picture-perfect secretary of ages past.

Phin squeezed his eyes shut behind his fingers. "Okay," he said again. "All right, it's not a complete loss. Was Alexandra all right?"

"Your mother took excellent care of her, like she always does."

"Is she okay?"

Lillian sighed, briefly. "Tired, but she's out and about now. What about the accused witches you ferried out last night?"

"Seen out safely, thank G.o.d. Joel and the team returned home by midnight with nothing out of the ordinary to report."

"The backup driver was found, then," Lillian surmised in her simple, factual way "Excellent. Now, what about the sauna?"

Phin turned, checked down both ends of the hallway before allowing himself to slump back against the wall. He could still hear the grim technician's report, echoing like a death knell in his head. "Sabotage seems the likeliest cause."

The sound of keys stilled. "Excuse me?"

"The technicians ran a full diagnostic. They were up all night."

"Which means," surmised his mother, who knew him all too well, "that you were, too. I trust you've managed a nap?"

Phin grimaced. "I'm fine. The sauna, however, is not. We've put up a barricade to make sure no one else goes in, but I suspect guests will be avoiding all of the hot rooms for a while."

"Tell me about this sabotage."

"The short version? Someone crossed the wiring to short-circuit the lock for the disinfectant mode." His head echoed like a hollow drum as he let it drop to the wall. "It didn't hold under the humid conditions, which was the only thing that probably saved Alexandra's life. Another few minutes-"

Lillian hummed a low note of dismissal. "Another few minutes wouldn't have been the end of it, but that's neither here nor there. The important thing here is finding this saboteur."

He dropped his hand from his eyes, staring blankly at the bank of gla.s.s windows that separated the main gym from the surrounding workout rooms. "That's the catch, isn't it? Firstly, who would want to do something like this?"

"An enemy?"

"Whose?" Phin murmured. "It would need someone with the know-how." A sudden flash of turquoise caught his attention, and he tilted his head. He straightened from the wall supporting his weary weight when the vivid color beckoned again.

"Have you crossed the technicians? Maintenance?" Lillian hesitated. "What of the temporaries you brought in through the bas.e.m.e.nt?"

"Mmm." Footsteps soundless on the carpet, Phin slowly meandered toward the gla.s.s bay. "All of our technicians have been with us for over a year. If it was one of them, which I doubt, it had to be a crime in the making for a very long time. And why now? Alexandra is a frequent guest."

"And the others?"

Phin frowned. His fingertips settled over the cool windowpane, his gaze homing in on Naomi Ishikawa. She was hard to miss.

Impossible to ignore.

"I don't think so," he said, distracted by the way her cropped turquoise top hugged her chest like a second skin. It left her back bare from neck to shoulder blades, let him see the smooth flex and ripple of taut, toned muscle as she worked over a body-sized punching bag.

"Why?"

"Take my word for it. Mother, I'll call you back." Without waiting for her reply, Phin disconnected the unit.

He couldn't look away. There was something addictive about Naomi, something inherently fascinating. The way her taped fists slammed into the rough material of the swinging bag, the way she moved like a dancer one minute and a lethal fury of limbs the next. Her ponytail bounced and swayed with every jab, every hook and cross.

Phin grinned as she spun on the ball of one foot and slammed the smooth, bare expanse of her shin into the bag. The impact cracked like a gunshot.

The woman worked over a bag like she'd caught it insulting her mother. It was one h.e.l.l of an exercise regime.

Phin unfolded the digital screen on his comm unit and tapped in a quick series of commands. Within seconds, Naomi's designated schedule filled the readout. His smile widened.

She'd turned down Joel for a bone-rattling beat-down.

Either she was a sucker for punishment, or she was- Something else entirely.

Like a saboteur? Phin's smile faded as he snapped the unit closed. Impossible. She'd been with him when the screaming started.

But before? She'd said she was exploring.

He shook his head. Paranoia wasn't a flavor that suited his palate, and a check on the internal security feed would verify her whereabouts easily enough. Hers and all the other guests'. If all of them proved to have time-stamped alibis, he'd have to start looking at staff.

Another thunderous crack ripped through the gym, its impact m.u.f.fled by the gla.s.s. She danced back, shaking out one reddened, tape-wrapped foot, and smoothly shifted her weight.

Fascinating.

Tucking the comm into his inner jacket pocket, he turned and circled the bay of windows. She was so engrossed in murdering the innocent workout bag that she didn't see him approach. Didn't hear his initial, subtle cough.

Shoulders moving, liquid control, she drove fast, sharp fists into the bag. Her trim waist slid in fluid lines he a.s.sumed meant that she dodged imaginary punches from her imaginary a.s.sailant. Thigh muscles flexing, she propelled one knee into the bag. They stretched and flexed again as two more hard, jarring knee thrusts followed it.

She was h.e.l.l on mostly bare feet.

Swinging wildly, the ends of her ponytail lashed at her sweaty shoulders like black silk. It clung to her skin. To silver glinting at the base of her neck.

Phin's mouth went suddenly dry.

A barbell; two small, delicate beads. They gleamed like stars centered at the gentle flare where her neck met her shoulders, winked wickedly, maddeningly.

A piercing. A hidden, secret jewel he never would have expected. Not from the stunning heiress with the j.a.panese name. Not from any woman he'd ever known.

l.u.s.t curled like a live wire in his gut, tightened an already attentive erection to a violent, painful squeeze. Phin must have made some move, some raw, strangled sound, because she turned.

Her cheeks glowed pink with exertion, eyes bright. Breathing hard, she took much longer than Phin liked before she dropped her guarded hands and eased her stance into something less vigilant.

Only somewhat less threatening.

But he couldn't see the d.a.m.n barbell anymore. Sc.r.a.ping the melted fragments of his mind back together, Phin followed the direction of her eyes. Helpfully he picked up the green water bottle she'd left on a bench beside him.

"Having a good workout?" Phin handed it over, bottom first.

She filled her mouth with the cool liquid, drank greedily, her throat working as he watched. He wanted to run his tongue down every inch of that sweaty curve where her shoulder met her neck. Jesus. Trouble.

"Yeah," she finally said. Wiping at her mouth with the back of her arm, she added huskily, "Nice equipment."

"Thanks." He managed calm, even as a slow flush climbed up his neck. She wasn't talking about him. At least he didn't think so. She meant the gym equipment, not the dangerously sensitive pulse knocking around in his crotch.

But not thinking about it wasn't working. Not while she stood there. Watched him.

h.e.l.l, breathed.

The top, he decided, didn't do her figure any justice. Made for sports, it pressed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s nearly flat, banded her tightly in a way he knew was necessary for the kind of workout she liked.

But it was hardly fair.

His gaze trailed over that taut, turquoise curve, slid over the sweaty gleam of her neck. Her reddened cheeks. It centered on her nose, and the slash across it that looked somehow less aggressively uneven. Smoother.

Familiar.

A corner of his mouth kicked up. "You've met my mother."

"What?" When he gestured to his nose in mirrored indication, Naomi winced. She raised her fingers, but didn't touch the slash. "She put something on it. It feels better."

Yes, that was Gemma all over. Unable to help herself. Phin's smile widened. "It looks better, too. You're supposed to be finishing up a ma.s.sage right now, aren't you?"

Her eyes narrowed. "So the schedule tells me." Naomi turned, seized the still-swinging bag with both hands.

Smooth. Too smooth. Phin hoped she didn't catch his small, rough sound of amus.e.m.e.nt. Of hunger. "Do you have something against ma.s.sage?"

"Is that going to be a problem?" The cool pitch of her too-casual voice warned him off.

That glinting silver jewelry at the back of her neck made him want to beat on his chest and throw her over his shoulder. He rubbed at his forehead, black edges of humor creeping in through a haze of l.u.s.t. "Not at all."

"You're not going to run back to my people and tell them?"

He met her appraisal directly and matched the sharp ends of her mockery with a forthright, easy smile. "You're the one staying here, Naomi, not them. It's your money and your call."

Her lower lip worked, pulling to the side in a way that made Phin wonder if she had a habit of biting the inside of her lip. Telling. She had a lot of tells, he realized.

A lot of signals.

All designed to drive him crazy.

"Hmm." It wasn't a thank-you, but he'd take it. Watching him, wary, she raised the underside of her taped forearm to her mouth and caught at the layers with her teeth.

The flash of white, of damp pink as her lip caught on the edge of pale tape, was s.e.xier than a sweat-soaked, punch-happy, troublemaking heiress had any right to be.

"Here," he said gruffly, closing the distance between them with a few short strides. He wrapped his fingers around her sweaty wrist, gently angling her arm around so he could find the edges of the tape.

It put him too close to her. Too close to the adrenaline-fueled fragrance of her damp skin, to the smell of the soap she'd used in her hair, like spring rain and lavender.

Too close to her upturned eyes staring into his.

The sticky tape caught at his fingertips, resisted. Tore. As he unwound it, layer by layer, something in her stance changed. Shifted. He looked up, met her eyes as she stepped closer, fully into his s.p.a.ce. Bare, taped feet to his polished shoes. Sleek, muscled thigh to his slacks.

Chest to chest.