Power Play (18 page)

Sweat poured down me hotter than any desert air could produce. I cupped her breasts and bent her up, fastening her to my lap even as I thrust up into her. Her wet dark hair whipped into my face.

Our throats were too parched for words. She gasped. I could only grunt.

I bound her tight, and pounded her viciously into the air. Her strength broke, and she squirmed and squealed. I kiss her shoulder as she writhed on me.

The swell in my cock broke, and I bit her as I filled her up.

We had no words as we lay cuddled on the bed. I stroked her damp soaked form for a while. The day was ending on a well spent weekend. No doubt on that.

But the world had gone on outside - it was time to bring some reality back. I flicked on the news through half dimmed eyes.

Plenty of violence reported in the region, as usual. Then a bit of international news came on. Oil states watched Texas politics carefully.

Apparently, a candidate had dropped out of the Texas gubernatorial primary, leaving a clear winner. A short clip came on with a fat ruddy man, beaming and waving to a cheering crowd.

It was Roland Tarly. I knew him. And I knew far better the short greying woman in the lavender pantsuit standing at the side of the stage. I also knew the tall blond man, immaculately dressed, dutifully clapping away and bumping shoulders with the politician.

Kerry nestled into me. Suddenly, this project – this gnat on my shoulder – didn’t seem nearly long enough. Once it was over, I would still have to face my family.

Not just about the future of the company. Not just about my future. But about our future now - Kerry’s and mine. Call me crazy but I had no doubts that I wanted her in it. Thinking about the titles I’d made up for us this afternoon at the site still made me swell far beyond I should.

There were already so many things I wanted that I’d never get. Most were a waste of my time. But there were the things that I did not want to live without. Kerry and this project we were building together – that was real.

I wasn’t giving up a single inch on either.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Kerry

“Just tell us what you did, and we’ll make it easy for you,” the bald police officer said.

“Yeah,” the other officer said, playing up a Jersey accent as he thumbed the rim of his fedora. “You tell us everything and I’ll shoot you in the head right here. No legal fees necessary.”

The audience laughed on the cold concrete floor a few spaces back. Even I had to keep from breaking the scene from my seat behind the table.

“No, Jerry,” the bald cop smacked his partner’s fedora. “We don’t shoot people no more.”

I'd been busy the last few weeks flying back and forth from Abu Dhabi and rolling around with Deacon on the weekends. This was my first improv class in almost a month, but somehow the lines still came easy to me.

“What do you do then?” I asked, putting a tremble in my voice.

“I dunno,” the fedora cop glared angrily at his partner. “Didn’t get the memo, apparently.”

“The memo was sent out in police academy, you buffoon. We don’t execute perps.”

“Then what I am even doing here!”

The fedora cop made a show of trying to flip our flimsy table then started stalking around, mumbling to himself. The crowd was lit up with smiles. Even Antoine looked mildly amused.

If this scenario were playing out in that last class, the only thing on my mind would have been making that audience laugh for me instead.

But suddenly, it didn’t seem so awful to let these two lead me somewhere I didn’t plan on going. Maybe cause I’d been saying “yes, and” so much to Deacon these past few weeks. Control wasn’t lost and gained permanently. I could take charge whenever it was necessary.

And now I knew just what to do.

“Hey, man” I called out to the loose cannon in the fedora. “I understand exactly how you feel.”

“Oh yeah?” The guy glanced over with eyes full of pretty-impressive-looking hurt. “What can a perp possibly understand about the simple pleasure of blowing a guy’s head off?”

The audience offered just a titter for that one. I needed to set him up better.

“I had a partner just like yours,” I said, “Always scolding me for doing the wrong thing. Stop jaywalking, Lisa. Stop running through stop signs, Lisa. Stop forgetting your ski mask when we case out the bank, Lisa.”

That got an actual laugh from a couple people, but it was the fedora cop’s thoughtful nod that mattered.

“Those are all very serious misdemeanors you’ve admitted to,” the bald cop said.

The bald cop crouched in, but the fedora guy came hustling back.

“Forget that,” he said. “What’d you do with your partner?”

I leaned into him on one elbow, cupping a hand against the gaze of the bald cop. “Well, one day, he goes off on me for no damn reason, and I couldn’t take it. It was all something stupid like, ‘Why on earth would you kill that bank teller? She just gave us the money you asked for!’”

The bald cop slammed the table. “I heard that! Jerry, you hear that? She just confessed to the murder.”

His partner just ignored him. “So what did you do?” he asked.

The fedora guy was zoomed in on my face now, licking his lips. Ok, that was a bit much.

I ignored him and studied my nails with a faint smile. “What would you do?”

He gasped. “I’d blow his head off.”

The guy gave his bald partner a bug-eyed zombie look that had the crowd laughing on its own.

“Now wait, Jerry.”

The bald cop fumbled for his imaginary gun.Jerry already had his out and pointed though.

“She’s right. I can blow anybody’s head off. And no one can stop me.”

“That’s right, Jerry,” I said, pounding the table. “Do it!”

The fedora cop threw me a strange look. “Are you telling me what to do?”

“What, me? Nope.”

I whistled off carefree. The crowd roared again. This was going so much better than usual.

“Goodbye, Tom,” Jerry cocked his imaginary gun. “Any last words?”

The bald cop raised his hands. “That’s not my name.”

I cupped my mouth to block my smile. It was such a solid last line. The crowd was shaking with laughter now.

Jerry shot not-Tom in the head and he collapsed. I jangled the fake handcuffs on my arm.

“Set me free and I’ll help you blow off every head you want.”

“Now that sounds like a good deal,” Jerry said, unlocking me. “You and me, we’re special. Together, we’re destined for great things.”

I got up and hooked an arm around his meaty neck. It was time to end this.

“Now let’s jaywalk out here,” I said. I led him hopping to the edges of the little wooden stage.

The crowd whooped and whistled behind us. Ok, they did that for truly awful acts sometimes too, but it did go on a bit longer than usual.

I released my new partner in crime, and we bowed.

“Great job out there,” he whispered.

“No, that was all you,” I said.

“I think it was us.” He threw his arm around me again. “I think we might make good partners in real life too.”

He was a nice enough guy, but he was soft where Deacon was hard, small where Deacon was big. And just as possessive, it seemed. If I was going to belong to someone, then Deacon had no competitors.

I shrugged out of his grip. “It was fun, but I already have a boyfriend.”

“Figures.”

I cut back through the crowd towards Antoine and Mira.

Boyfriend, is that what Deacon was now? It’d been three weeks since the first weekend in Abu Dhabi. We’d never had a talk, but I didn’t doubt he’d claim the title. Which made me his girlfriend.

A possessive pronoun and then an improper noun. I was simply his.

Even in the chill concrete studio, I shivered a bit harder, not with fear, but the thrill the idea sent up me.

“Smashing performance, girl,” Antoine said, rubbing the back of my neck as I sat. “You’re not a twee little bird chirping on stage anymore.”

“What he said. Just make it a tad less theatrical for me,” Mira said. “I was kind of dreading coming here, but you actually got me to laugh!”

“Aw, thanks for not calling me terrible, guys. It really means a lot. And Mira, you really didn’t have to come.”

“It’s my only chance to see you these days.”

The next troupe went on stage, and I slipped into cupped whispers.

“I’ll be in town for the first half of the week,” I said. “The travel is starting to wind down.”

“Perfect,” Antoine said, quite loudly. “You can make up all the shots you owed me on my birthday after the show.”

A couple in front of us shushed him, but he just hissed back.

“Actually…” I said.

Mira groaned softly. “No no no. Don’t you say you have work.”

“Ok, but I’m thinking it right now.”

“She’s lying.” Antoine leaned in and sniffed me. “I smell untruths on her.”

Thank god I already had my acting face on. “Your nose must be plugged.”

“Kerry, come on.” Mira shook me by the forearm. “I owe you for the rent. Let me at least buy you a drink.”

Ugh, why did they make feel so guilty for getting to know a guy? I missed them too, but there just wasn't time left after Deacon and traveling.

In fact, I was starting to get sick of that. The only benefit of going overseas was that my mother's attempts to call me went straight to voicemail. Maybe she was serious about my father’s illness, but I could delete those without feeling too guilty.

“I’m sorry, guys,” I said. “I really am. Maybe tomorrow? And, Mira, I’d be so much happier if you invested that cocktail money in an IRA or something. It’ll really add up.”

“A what?”

Antoine rolled his eyes and edged himself to face the stage. “Let her go, Mirabelle. We can have plenty of fun you and I.”

“Fine,” Mira sighed. “But you know I'm Indian right? My name's not Mirabelle.”

“Don’t make me blow your head off.”

As I drove to midtown alone later, their voices rang through my head. It wasn’t right to neglect them so fully. It was like throwing all my chips in with Deacon. I trusted him now, but things could still go wrong, right?

The longer I stayed with Deacon, the more I saw how much of his business was out of anyone’s control. Add in his family, and his life wasn’t exactly about floating on a cloud either. The higher you went, the more that tried to pull you down, it seemed. It was a good lesson to learn.

Normally, we met in Deacon’s penthouse or an airport hotel if he was flying elsewhere. But he had given me a new address for the night. Prostitutes had more stable travel schedules than I did.

It wasn’t until my GPS led me onto the last street that I noticed that I was going back into River Oaks. He lived by the country club? Well, of course he would. This was the richest zip code in Texas. Even the Bushes had minor estates here. Rich people needed a place to store their country club clothes.

I got almost to the gleaming white country club at the far end before I saw Deacon’s number on an estate fence. It was a tall brick colonial, almost half as wide as the shopping mall in Abu Dhabi. The metal gate lay open, and I rolled around the curving driveway to the lit front entrance.

A servant – an honest to god old white British guy in a black coat and pants - opened the door for me and led me into the house.

The interior wasn’t made of crystal, like I imagined. The tall lobby had stairs leading up and hallways to the front and sides, same as any other massive Texan house. Everything just looked darker, richer and sturdier. Yeah, this place belonged to the Stones alright.

“Master Stone is awaiting you upstairs,” the servant said in a lilting English accent.

“Mr. Stone couldn’t wait actually.”

Deacon stood beaming past the railing on the second floor. He had on a dark grey polo that bulged at the shoulder and loose tan pants. His sharp, shadowed face and dark hair stood out even against the rich wooden walls. He was truly the lord of this house.

“Very good, Master Stone.” The servant dipped his head and disappeared down a hall.

I came up the stairs slowly, looking at each painting I passed, trying to suppress the shivers at moving closer and closer to my powerful boyfriend. He met me up top.

“Like what you see?” he said, spinning me to him by the waist.

“The house?” I asked, his pine scent already filling my nose.

He kissed me so hard, my brain blanked out a second.

“What else?” he said. “Your body’s made it clear how you feel about me.”

I took another look around, mostly for space to catch my breath. “It’s super nice. Elegant. Tasteful.”

“Damn, my mother might change her tune on you if she heard that appraisal.”

“It's probably haunted though right?”

“Stone ghosts are too lazy for haunting. Any strange squeals you hear at night are bound to be mice.”