Crazy Beautiful Forever (Dirty Twisted Love #3) (5 page)

S
he was stunning as a redhead
, but Clay wasn’t surprised.

He doubted there was anything hair color or makeup could do to make Harley less than lovely. Even wearing makeup that lengthened the appearance of her nose, darkened her eyes, and softened the sharp point of her chin—granting her a more generic, overdone kind of beauty—she was going to attract attention.

The thought ratcheted his anxiety up another notch as they left the crowded main highway, clogged with Swedes making their way into the country for their midsummer celebrations, and began the two-mile journey down the private road leading to Marlowe’s estate. Harley’s hair color was eye-catching and the cleavage-enhancing peasant dress she wore even more so, but something understated wouldn’t have worked for their cover. Larsen, a former underground boxer in his native Norway, was known for his flashy taste in women.

And so, early this morning, while Clay’s hair was being dyed brown, Harley had become a redhead.

When she’d walked into the kitchen of the safe house in Prague with shorter, chin-length red curls, a dark green Bohemian dress flaring around her thighs, and high-heeled sandals that made her legs look impossibly long, Clay’s heart had stopped. She was sexy as hell, but that wasn’t the reason he’d stared for several beats too long, unable to tear his eyes away.

The flirty dress was exactly like something the old Harley would have worn while she danced in and out of the waves at the ocean’s edge, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the wind was lifting her skirt, granting him peek-a-boo glimpses of her panties underneath.

But of course, she hadn’t been oblivious. She had always known exactly the way she affected him. Any skin she’d shown had been deliberate, bared in an effort to stoke his desire for her and use it to her own advantage.

How much things had changed between them—and how little she cared for his attention in any form—was driven home by the blanket she’d kept draped over her legs the entire ride from Stockholm. She’d insisted that she was cold, but it was seventy-three degrees and sunny, the nicest midsummer in years according to the man who’d pumped their gas on the way out of the city. Clay had offered to turn on the heat, but she’d insisted she was fine with the blanket and then proceeded not to say another word to him for the next two hours.

But maybe that was for the best. If he had to hear her pronounce him a hopeless case one more time, he was going to rip his ears off and toss them out onto the side of the road.

Clay slowed as the paved drive turned to gravel; Harley reached over, cracking her window.

“Nervous?” he asked, wondering at the sudden need for fresh air.

“No.” She brought her fingers, nails painted a lethal red, to trace the top of the window. “I just love the sound of wheels on gravel. Ever since I was a little girl.”

“I’ve heard of that,” Clay said, grateful to be exchanging civil words with her for the first time in the past twenty-four hours, especially considering they were going to have to pretend to be crazy about each other in a few minutes. “What’s it called? AMR?”

“ASMR,” she corrected. “Autonomous sensory meridian response, though I didn’t know that’s what it was called until a few years ago. Jasper gets it too, that tingly feeling up and down his spine with certain sounds. He loves getting his hair cut, he says it fills his head with happy bubbles.”

Clay smiled, but it hurt—his jaw, his chest, his heart. “We’re going to get him out, Harley.”

“Elsa,” she said, putting on the hint of a French accent. “Call me Elsa, Lars.”

Lars Larsen. It was a fucking ridiculous name and Clay felt like a fool in the tight black jeans that molded to his thighs and the blue button-down unbuttoned far enough to show tufts of his newly-dyed chest hair. But he certainly looked nothing like the man he’d seen in the mirror first thing this morning.

Hopefully, it would be enough to fool the men waiting at the guard shack just ahead.

Beside him, Harley tossed her blanket in the back and slouched sexily in the passenger seat. “Don’t worry, baby,” she said, reaching out to squeeze his thigh. “We’ll be there soon. I can’t wait to party with you.”

As they drifted to a stop near the guard shack, her hand slid up to caress his cock through his too tight pants before she settled back on her side of the car. The beefy man wearing a black tee shirt and an incongruous crown of daisies smirked as he leaned down to gaze in the open window, leaving little doubt he’d seen the crotch grab.

“Lars Larson,” Clay said with a shit-eating grin. “And guest.”

The beefcake lifted the tablet in his hand, typing in a few letters before he nodded. “Welcome, Mr. Larson. Mr. Reynolds welcomes you and Miss…”

“Elsa. So pleased to be here.” Harley leaned across the console to grin up at him, the action accentuating the deep V of her cleavage, ensuring the guard wasn’t looking anywhere close to her face when he said—

“Pleasure is all ours Miss Elsa. Let me grab your gift basket and yurt assignment and we’ll get you on your way. The music started a few hours ago, but you’ll be there in time for the raising of the Maypole if you hurry.”

“Amazing,” Harley said, her giggle setting her breasts to bouncing lightly. “I’ve always wanted to sleep in a yurt.”

“All your dreams are going to come true this weekend, baby.” Clay reached over, curling his fingers around Harley’s bare thigh and giving a squeeze, staking his claim. “I’m going to make sure of it.”

With one last glance at Harley’s tits, the guard departed, returning a few moments later with a large basket stuffed with food, wine, two thick cotton robes, and a box of condoms. Harley gathered the basket onto her lap, cooing in French as she rifled through the offerings.

“Have fun,” the guard said, lifting a hand as they pulled away from the shack.

“Oh, we will, asshole,” Harley muttered beneath her breath. She plucked the box of condoms from where they were nestled next to a jar of pickled herring. “Sagami? These don’t look Swedish.”

“They’re not, they’re from Japan.” Clay steered the car toward a grass field filled with luxury cars, vans, and a small charter bus angled into the shade beneath the trees. Beyond the field, in the distance, sat a massive, three-winged brick mansion with circus tents set up on the lawn. “Thinnest condoms in the world.”

Harley glanced over at him, lifting a brow. “Does that mean you might actually wear one?”

He pulled into an empty patch of grass at the end of a row, where a few other latecomers were swinging out of their cars and collecting their luggage. “I always wrap it before I tap it,” he said in his Lars accent, before adding more softly in his own voice, “except with you.”

“You say the most romantic things.” She leaned over, slanting her mouth across his.

The kiss was so unexpected that his lips fell open in surprise. Harley took advantage, stroking her tongue deep into his mouth as she climbed over the console. A moment later, her ass was in his lap and her cool hands were smoothing into the open neck of his shirt. His pulse sped and his cock thickened.

“Yes,” she murmured, twining her arms around his neck. “Kiss me like you fucking mean it.” She rocked against him, her tailbone pressing tight to his dick through his jeans.

With a groan, he fisted one hand in her hair, using his leverage to crush their lips together, ravaging her mouth as he slipped his hand up her thigh and beneath her skirt. He pulled aside her lace panties, plunging two fingers deep into where she was already so hot, so wet.

His cock swelled thicker and his balls began to ache. All he wanted to do was drop his fly, shift her on his lap, and get his cock inside her, to fuck away the pain and anger and show her he’d meant every apology he’d uttered yesterday.

“Okay, he’s gone,” Harley whispered, pulling away from the kiss, breath coming fast as she cast a glance over her shoulder. “I saw a guy I did a delivery with once. We only met the one time, but I figured better safe than sorry.”

“Good thinking,” he said, letting his fingers glide slowly in and out of her slick pussy.

She shifted her gaze, her lids dropping to half-mast as her eyes met his. “You can stop that now.”

“No, I can’t.” He brought his thumb to her clit, rubbing in circles as he continued to fuck her with his hand. “I don’t believe in starting things I’m not prepared to finish, and you look like you could use something to take the edge off.”

Her breath shuddered out. “Clay, I—”

“Lars. Only Lars from now on and no talking,” he whispered, nodding toward the top of her dress where a bow held the gathers in place around her breasts. “Loosen that tie. I want your tits in my mouth.”

“I don’t care what you want,” she said, but there was no heat in her tone and after a moment she brought a trembling hand to the braided bow and tugged it loose.

The weight of her breasts—braless, he’d known it the moment she stepped into the kitchen this morning—stretched out the gathers, sending her pale nipples slipping out the top of the bodice.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful. Lean back.” He bent over, dropping kisses over the curve of her breast, nibbling at the sinfully soft skin before drawing her nipple into his mouth and sucking her deep.

Her spine bowed and her breath rushed out on a ragged sigh. “Shit.”

“Relax,” he whispered against her damp skin, letting his tongue flick out over her nipple as his hand moved faster between her legs. “Let me get you off. I love the sounds you make when you come. I love watching your eyes when you’re about to lose control.”

She moaned and her fingers threaded into his hair, holding tight as he transferred his attention to her other breast, sucking and biting as his hand undulated, hitting her g-spot and then her clit and then her g-spot again. Soon his hand was coated with her juices and Harley was trembling in his arms.

He pulled back, heart lurching as he saw her lips part in a silent O. She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes closed as she unraveled, her pussy pulsing so powerfully he could feel her walls clutch at his fingers, but she didn’t make a sound.

She kept her silence and her eyes remained tightly closed, refusing to grant him the pleasure of an unguarded moment.

Gradually her breath began to slow and her tongue swept out to dampen her lips. When she opened her eyes again they were as cold as they had been since the day before, the day he’d betrayed her.

“Thanks, Lars. You were right, I did need that.” Her thighs shifted, forcing his hand from between her legs. “Now, let’s go drop off our shit and get down to business.”

“All right.” He watched her slide back into the passenger seat and adjust her dress, knowing this wasn’t the time for more apologies.

He wouldn’t have a chance of getting through to Harley until Jasper was safe. Hell, he didn’t deserve forgiveness or mercy until Jasper was safe. The unsatisfied lust pumping through his veins, making him feel like he’d been kicked in the balls, was the least of what he deserved.

Still, as they grabbed their things from the backseat and headed toward the sounds of a party clearly in full swing, he was careful to hold his bag in front of his hips.

Adolescent displays of affection might be acceptable in Europe, but he was pretty sure sporting a raging hard-on in skin-tight jeans was still the sort of thing that would attract the wrong kind of attention.

A
s they wove
their way through the beer tables, steering clear of the hot tubs steaming in the cool summer air and the teeming dance floor where midsummer revelers were thrashing to some German punk band on the far side of the lawn, Clay muttered beneath his breath.

“What’s that buttercup?” Harley threaded her arm through his and beamed up at him, determined that no one but Clay should get a good look at her face. The hair, makeup, and sunglasses would help, but she still felt exposed and terrified that someone would recognize her before she could find out where Marlowe was holding Jasper.

“I shouldn’t have worried about my hard-on showing through my jeans.” Clay shot a meaningful glance at the closest hot tub, where a curvy blonde with a bad boob job was practicing her operatic skills while two very furry bearded men both worked their dicks into her from behind.

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Harley turned away from the raunchy scene with an arched brow. “Do you think they’re sharing the same hole?”

“I have no idea,” Clay said, dismissively. “And I don’t care to learn. Does that make me a prude?”

She smirked. “No, but it makes you unsuited to this kind of party. From what I’ve heard things only get worse after sunset.” She veered to the left, toward the yurt village set up closer to the mansion.

Clay grunted. “I didn’t think the sun set here this time of year.”

“It does, but only for about two hours. When the sun goes down, everyone grabs masks and heads to the maze on the other side of the house. There, anything goes until sunrise.” Her upper lip curled. “It’s Marlowe’s favorite part of the party. Allegedly he and Liam led a gangbang at the fountain at the center of the maze a few years back. Six men with one Croatian prostitute. The girl ended up needing surgery to put her back together again.”

“Jesus,” Clay muttered.

“No,” Harley said with a sigh. “I don’t think he had anything to do with it.”

“Well if that’s Marlowe’s favorite part of the party, then that’s when we make our move,” Clay said, his voice hard. “We’ll break into the house while he’s abusing some poor girl and be out with Jasper before the sun comes up.”

“Marlowe won’t leave him unguarded,” she warned, not wanting him to think this was going to be easy. Nothing involving Marlowe was ever easy. “And the house is huge. Two hours might not be enough time if we don’t have some idea where he’s holding Jasper.”

“Don’t worry.” Clay placed a possessive hand on her hip as they passed two men in speedos headed toward the hot tubs, clearly not missing the appreciative look the taller one shot her way. “We’ll figure it out. It looks like everyone’s already pretty liquored up. Tongues should be loose. All we need to do is find someone who’s seen a kid around and get them talking.”

“But we can’t be too obvious,” she said. “These people are the kind who notice when they’re being pumped for information.”

“Give me some credit.” Clay’s fingers curled tighter around her hip, digging softly into her flesh, making her traitorous body start to hum all over again. “I know what I’m doing. Trust me, I’m not going to do anything to put Jasper in danger.”

Trust him. Yeah, right. Not as far as she could throw him.

Aloud, she said, “Just let me do the talking, okay? People expect women to be chatty and the men will be too busy staring at my tits to take anything I say seriously.”

Clay grunted, but he didn’t contradict her and if she wasn’t mistaken, his gaze shifted behind his reflective sunglasses, drifting down to her cleavage before sliding away. Her skin flushed, the memory of being sprawled across his lap as he sucked and bit at her nipples making her feel too warm.

Too warm, achy, and mad as hell.

She didn’t want to want him, but as they dropped their bags in their yurt, she couldn’t help but glance at the bed, a part of her wishing she had a good excuse to push him down on the fluffy mattress, slide his too tight jeans down around his thighs, and free his cock. A vivid mental image of Clay gripping her breasts roughly in his hands as she rode him hard, driving them both into another head-on collision with the passion that pulsed between them flashed behind her eyes. Swallowing hard, she pushed the image away and fled back through the heavy canvas flaps and out onto the grass.

Clay joined her a moment later, the smug look on his face hinting that he suspected why she’d practically sprinted from the tent.

“Let’s take a walk around the house,” she said, clenching her jaw, determined not to weaken again. “See if we can gather any information about where Marlowe might be keeping Jasper from the outside.”

“Sounds good.” He took her hand in his as they made their way out of the yurt village and toward a rose garden bursting with blooms.

As they walked, Harley scanned the mansion’s rows and rows of windows, praying for a glimpse of blond curls behind the glass, no matter how sick it made her to think of Jasper getting an eyeful of the more pornographic parts of the party on the lawn. Hopefully, Marlowe had him somewhere separate from the adult goings-on.

If he didn’t, she would have yet another reason to kill him.

She
would
kill him if she got the chance. She’d made the decision last night, while she lay sleepless on her twin mattress, thinking of all the things that could go wrong. Even if she rescued Jasper today, that wouldn’t be the end of it. Marlowe was like a horror movie monster; he just kept coming and coming until his victims lost the will to fight back and lay down to die.

No, this wouldn’t be over until Marlowe was dead or locked away. And considering how long the CIA had been building the case against him without amassing enough hard evidence to take him down, who knew when, or if, he would end up behind bars for good.

She couldn’t risk that. She couldn’t risk Jasper ever again.

“Look at me,” Clay said softly, tugging at her hand.

She turned, gazing up at him as he stopped behind a rose bush large enough to block the view of the mansion.

He cupped her face in his hands, leaning close as he whispered, “There’s something going on inside the house. I saw two couples go down a stairway near the greenhouse. They seemed laid back, relaxed, not like they were sneaking in somewhere they shouldn’t.”

Harley blinked. “I didn’t notice. I was looking at the windows on the second and third floors.”

“I told you another pair of eyes would be useful.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead that made her shiver, even though she knew it was just part of their cover, a way to make lingering in the rose garden look harmless. “I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t follow them. If it turns out to be an invite only thing, we explain that we saw the others going inside and were curious and then excuse ourselves. If not, we blend in with the crowd until we find a chance to slip away and search the rest of the house for Jasper.”

“And if we’re caught we say we were just looking for some privacy,” she added, wheels turning. “I’ll say I’ve always had a fantasy about being fucked in a fancy mansion or something.”

Clay nodded. “And if we see Marlowe, we get the hell out of there.”

Her breath rushed out. “It’s a risk, but I think it’s worth taking. From everything I’ve heard, Marlowe doesn’t join the festivities until the sun goes down. So whatever’s going on in there, he’s probably not involved.”

He recaptured her hand. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” She curled her fingers around his, grateful that she had a hand to hold, even if it was the hand of an enemy.

But Clay was definitely the lesser of two evils, a fact that was confirmed as they descended the flight of marble stairs beside the greenhouse and got a good look at the room Marlowe had prepared for his guests’ entertainment.

A cavernous fireplace dominated the entire left wall of what once must have served as the mansion’s kitchen. A caldron used to make soup or stew sat in the quiet hearth and antique skillets with handles longer than her forearm hung on the stone walls. But at this point, the cookware was purely decorative, the sooty black of the cast iron blending in perfectly with the bondage gear scattered throughout the space.

And not just any bondage gear. Harley had been to her share of sex clubs in her younger days when she was an up-and-coming artist determined to prove she was as bored and sophisticated as her latest billionaire boyfriend, but she’d never seen anything quite like this.

There were the standard chains on the walls, spanking benches, and swings with built-in restraints swinging lazily from the ceiling. But there were also machines that hummed, purred, and rumbled, filling the air with mechanical chaos louder than the moans of the men and women making use of them.

As she and Clay wandered the periphery of the large, open room, they passed a woman chained to the wall, whose lover was working her over with an electric saw that’s blade had been replaced by a metal rod with a silicone penis affixed to the end. By the time they skirted around a ménage featuring a robotic arm with a fist attachment and a table that bore an alarming resemblance to a medieval torture device—if the device had been equipped with electrified nipple clamps—Harley’s pulse was racing and sweat had broken out on her upper lip.

What the hell had they gotten themselves into? And how were they supposed to blend in to a scene like this?

“See anything that interests you?” Clay asked, sliding his sunglasses on top of his head as he leaned down to nuzzle her neck.

“Are you kidding?” she whispered back, careful to keep a sultry expression on her face. “What is all this shit?”

Clay fondled her bottom through her skirt. “Well, Elsa, sometimes when a power tool and a dildo love each other very much…”

She bit her lip and pressed closer to his chest, smothering the unexpected laughter that rose inside of her.

Damn him for making her laugh.

But then he had always made her laugh. It was one of the many reasons it had been so easy to fall in love with him.

“But we should choose something,” he said, his tone sobering. “We’re going to attract more attention as voyeurs than if we join in.”

Join in
. Shit.

But he was right. They were going to have to become part of the scene, at least for a little while. People would notice if they made their way straight to the stairs on the other side of the room and the stairs were guarded by a man in black leather pants leaning against the wall, looking unhappy to be the only one in the room wearing clothes.

They were going to have to find a way past the guard, and the best way to do that was to make sure they didn’t attract attention in the first place.

After a quick assessment of the available options, Harley took a deep breath and pointed toward a shadowy corner of the room. “There.”

Clay’s gaze shifted, his eyes darkening as they settled on her choice. “Perfect.”

Without another word, he took her hand and led the way, making it clear who would be playing the Dominant lover in their little charade. Harley had always hated these kinds of games before—power exchange wasn’t her thing—but as Clay stopped in front of the leather swing she’d chosen and ordered her to—

“Strip. Everything off but your sandals.”

—her blood rushed faster. By the time her dress and panties fell to the floor, she’d nearly forgotten that there were a few dozen strangers in the room. She couldn’t focus on anything but how damned sexy Clay looked as he peeled off his tee shirt and stepped out of his skin tight jeans, confirming her suspicion that he wasn’t wearing a thing underneath.

“Going commando?” she murmured, nipples drawing into tight points.

“No room for anything but me in those jeans.” Clay stepped closer until she could feel the heat of his erection warming her belly. He was already hard, leaving no doubt that he would have no trouble performing in this kind of setting. “Now sit down and spread your legs. I want to see how wet you are.”

He bent his head closer to hers, cupping her breasts in his hands and teasing her nipples as he whispered, “Because I know you’re wet. I saw the way you looked at that bed in our tent.”

Harley’s lids slid closed, hating that he was right and that a part of her was grateful for an excuse to fuck him one last time.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, pinching her nipples tighter, making her knees go weak. “Don’t feel guilty. Stress clearly has this effect on you.”

He was reading her mind again, but he was also slipping a hand between her legs, teasing his fingers over her clit, making it hard to form a coherent thought let alone a response.

“Sit down and spread your legs,” he said, in a tone that made it clear he expected to be obeyed. “This is the last time I ask nicely, Elsa.”

The use of the fake name cut through the last of Harley’s reservations, freeing her to play her part. For the next half hour—or however long it took for her and Clay to find a way up those stairs—she would be Elsa, Lars’s dirty, but obedient, girl.

And she had no doubt she would love every wicked, sinful minute of it.