Too Damn Rich (44 page)

I wish I knew the specifics of what he's
trying to say, she thought. But she didn't want to pry. I must be
patient. He'll tell me about it when he's ready.

Sensing her fear, he let go of her hand. "I'm
sorry, Kenzie. I do not mean to be an alarmist."

She nodded.

"I will explain, and then you shall
understand. I think I owe you that much."

He paused, forehead creased, and pinched the
bridge of his nose.

"You realize, of course, that I was not
always as cynical and cautious as I am now. There was a time I was
carefree. When, with all the fervor of youth, I truly believed we
can master our own destinies."

As she listened, Kenzie picked up her glass
and sipped a little wine. The sounds of the restaurant made a
comforting, privacy-veiling murmur in the background.

"I studied political science at Oxford," he
told her, "and then at Yale. Upon my graduation, my father called
in favors, and I was assigned to the Finnish embassy in Paris. Not
in an entry-level position, mind you—I worked closely with our
ambassador. Soon I was on intimate terms with his family. Under
those circumstances, I suppose falling in love with his daughter
was inevitable. Her name was Helena. After a brief courtship, we
were engaged to be married."

An irrational tweak of jealousy plucked at
Kenzie. "Was she beautiful?"

"Helena?" He shut his eyes, and sighing, he
nodded slowly. "Oh yes. She was ... extraordinarily beautiful."

"Then what—?"

"Destiny!" he said bitterly.

His eyes snapped open and the curtain of his
guard lifted. On the table, his fingers curled, closing into such a
tight, trembling fist that the knuckles turned white.

"God, how I—" He stopped in midsentence and
bit his lip, momentarily incapable of continuing.

There was no mistaking his misery. For all
his self-assurance and manly strength, he could no longer hide the
deep and suppurating wound at the core of his being. A moistness
came into his eyes, and Kenzie knew he was on the verge of tears.
Then he quickly looked away, but not before she recognized
something else in his face—

—something besides pain.

With a shock, she realized what it was: a
simmering, dangerously subdued menace which emanated from the
furnace of a potent and unas- suaged rage.

What kind of trauma could he have suffered to
cause a reaction like this?

Reaching across the table, she gently,
soothingly, cupped both hands around his twitching fist. Under her
ministrations, the trembling lessened, then eventually stilled.

"Hans," she said huskily, "please. Don't
torture yourself like this. It's really not necessary."

He turned his face to her, his features grim.
"It is—it is necessary," he said tightly. "You have a right to
know!"

She held his gaze. "I'll leave that up to
you. But I don't want to pry—"

He nodded and cleared his throat, a
splintery, cracking sound like that of a sailboat's hull strained
by enormous pressure.

"It was violence—stupid random violence!" he
said bitterly. "Seven years, three months, and twelve days ago. The
day of our wedding! And all because Helena and my parents were in
the wrong place, at the wrong time!"

"Oh, Hans!" Kenzie whispered.

"It happened, as if things like this just
happen—"

His voice cracked, and he shook his head
savagely, a wet sob bursting forth, jolting Kenzie. Hannes pushed a
hand through his hair, then hunched over the table and lowered his
head, as if inspecting the white service plate for flaws.

"They—Christ, they were on their way to the
church ... only stopped at the bank for an heirloom we kept in the
vault, a necklace which brides in my family traditionally
wore—"

A muscular tic made his cheeks flutter, and
he swallowed noisily.

"A necklace, Kenzie! Can you imagine? They
died because of a ... a trinket!"

"My God! But how—?"

Hannes's murmur was so soft as to be barely
audible.

"Robbers—gunmen ..."

She had to lean forward and strain to
hear.

"... returning from the vault. Father,
Mother, and Helena stumbled upon the thieves, surprised them—"

Kenzie's horror grew as the story
unfolded.

"All three of them, shot dead in cold blood.
Father ... Mother ... Helena—"

Their names exploded from his lips, and he
gripped the edge of the table with both slender, knobby-knuckled
hands.

"What kind of sentences—"

"None!" he whispered. "It remains unsolved to
this day."

Kenzie shuddered in disbelief. The notion
that people could murder one's nearest and dearest, and get away
with it, was beyond her comprehension.

She thought: From childhood, we're programmed
to believe that criminals are caught and punished, just like in the
movies or on television. But real life isn't like that. Real life
is ugly and brutal and unfair.

Hannes raised his eyes slowly, and she could
see the held-back tears glittering in the corners.

He said, "It is worse, Kenzie ... far worse
than anything you can imagine."

"But how ... how did you ever cope ... ?"

"The only way possible," he sighed, shrugging
his shoulders. "I became obsessed with finding the killers.
Bringing them to justice kept me going."

And he added softly, "It still does."

"Even after all these years."

"Yes," he nodded. "Especially after all these
years."

Then his gaze cleared, became focused.

"And there you have it, Kenzie. The reason I
devoted my life to law enforcement. Though admittedly—" He smiled
wryly. "—I imagined myself tracking down killers, not specializing
in art theft."

"So how did that come about?"

"My superiors decided it for me. At any rate,
it turned out for the best. I seem to have a special aptitude for
it."

A mask seemed to drop over his features,
obliterating them of emotion.

"But enough of this," he said gruffly, waving
the subject aside. "I didn't invite you to dinner to burden you
with my demons. Now then. Shall we order?"

Kenzie picked up her menu and scanned it.

It was useless. The words blurred. Food was
the last thing on her mind. All her powers of concentration were
centered upon Hannes.

If he hadn't told me, I'd never have known
the suffering he's gone through, she thought soberly. Too, she knew
it couldn't have been easy for him to share his misery. He's the
type who normally keeps his emotions bottled up.

Not surprisingly, the knowledge that beneath
his charming, secure exterior lay a core of sensitive vulnerability
made him more attractive than ever.

"Do you know what you want to eat?" he
asked.

Kenzie smiled vaguely; she chose the easy way
out.

"Why don't you choose for both of us?" she
suggested, putting her menu aside.

She eyed him appraisingly as he ordered Luma
verde salads and grilled and roasted vegetable platters.

A man both macho and sensitive. Now there was
a rarity.

She felt a rush of warm satisfaction. She
knew exactly how she wanted this evening to end.

And, judging from his sudden grin, so did
he.

Finally, the Wall Street warrior was home.
Late, lumbering, wheezy, and crabby.

Dina wasn't fazed. She accorded him a hero's
welcome right inside the front door. Pressed herself tightly
against him. Nibbled on his ear. Purred, "Sweetie, I thought you'd
never get home!"

Her affection was instantly suspect.
"Awright, Dina," Robert rasped. "Whaddya want now?"

Dina pulled back and batted pale, innocent
lashes. "Why, nothing, sweetie!" She had lying through her teeth
down to a science.

"Ha!" He didn't believe a word and treaded
heavily on down the hall.

"Rooooo-beeeeert ..."

Now what? he grouched. Heaving a sigh, he
stopped, turned around, and did a double take.

Small wonder.

Dina, who suffered his cigars in aggrieved
silence, had produced one of his Flor de F. Farach Extras and was
slowly, deliberately, passing it under her nose and rattling it
against her ear before snipping off one end.

As he watched, she sucked obscenely on the
other end, all the while salaciously closing the distance between
them.

Her efforts had the desired effect. Robert A.
Goldsmith sported an instant boner.

God damn', he thought. What is it about a
woman with a cigar? There was definitely something priapic about
it. Yes, indeed. Still ...

"Dina? You flippin' out, or what? I thought
ya hated—"

She popped the cigar in his mouth.

That silenced him, and she struck a wooden
match and held it to the cigar end.

Saurian eyes squinting with suspicion, and
knowing full well he was being manipulated, Robert nevertheless
puffed away like a gulping fish. Soon he was churning up affluent
clouds of expensive blue smoke.

The hand-rolled tobacco went smoothly on the
palate. Lulled him into a deceptive sense of well-being.

Her hands were clasped girlishly behind her
back and she was twisting her torso from left to right and right to
left.

"Daddy!" she squealed. "Baby's got a surprise
for you! A big surprise!"

Wincing, he glanced furtively around.

It was all Dina could do to keep from
bursting out laughing. Really! Did Robert think she was brainless
enough to perform in front of the help?

Give me a break! she thought, and said:
"Don't worry, Daddy. Baby gave everyone the night off!"

"Oh yeah?" he growled. "Then what're we gonna
eat? Huh? I'm starved."

"Baby's gonna bring Daddy food in bed. Just
go upstairs, Daddy. Please?"

He hesitated. Gave her an unblinking,
appraising stare. Wished, not for the first time, that he could
read her mind. At least that way he'd know what she was after.

Whatever it was, it had to be something
major. She wouldn't have gone through the trouble of banishing the
staff otherwise.

"Please, Daddy?" Dina tilted her head and
pouted. "Pretty please? Baby'll be right up. I promise."

Robert puffed away with deceptive
nonchalance. Then he gave an inward shrug and thought: Why the hell
not? It wasn't as if it had to cost him anything. He turned and
lumbered down the corridor; trudged slowly up the curved marble
staircase.

Dina waited until he got upstairs, listening
to his heavy echoing gait and wheezy expelled breaths. Only once
she heard his bedroom door shut did she go on up, glancing at the
giant Old Masters hanging on the yellow marble stairwell as she
passed them—lusciously clothed Renaissance princelings and elegant
noblewomen. Yet further validation of her own power, position, and
taste.

On the second floor, she stopped in the
service kitchenette. Took a precooked platter out of the
refrigerator. Popped it in the microwave.

Then, repairing to her suite, she headed
straight for her dressing room, where she opened the closet in
which she kept her stash of erotic costumes.

No teddies, girdles, garters, micro nighties,
or crotchless panties were on the agenda tonight. No, sir. Nothing
that ordinary would do. With a clenched face, she contemplated the
outfit she'd selected. If this is what it takes, she told herself
grimly, so be it.

Without further ado, she shed her designer
clothes, left them scattered on the floor for Darlene to pick up in
the morning, and squeezed into the teensy costume.

Two minutes at her vanity table and one wig
later, she inspected herself in the floor-length mirrors.

"Heidi Heidi Heidi ho," she said.

At which point she went to fetch Robert's
nuked dinner.

It went without saying who would be
dessert.

Outside Luma, Hannes flagged down a cruising
cab. Without consulting Kenzie he gave the driver his address.

Kenzie didn't object, just made happy little
noises and snuggled against him on the backseat.

In short order they were in his high-rise
bedroom, bodies locked in carnal passion.

Hannes was nothing if not inventive. Besides
being a skilled lover, he enjoyed giving pleasure as much as taking
it, something Kenzie could appreciate. Able to count her sexual
partners (including Charley and Hannes) on two hands, she had
learned the hard way how truly special such attentiveness was. All
too often, men were only after one thing. Their own
gratification.

This did not apply to Hannes. He knew it took
two to tango, and went out of his way to accommodate a lady.

Tonight he was in exceptional form.

Laid out on the bed, she felt him surrounding
her completely, a great masculine force, arms and legs slithering,
intertwining hers like serpents: powerful, sinuous, sensuous. His
fingers fluttered along her naked flesh and his tongue flicked,
snakelike, into every crevasse, and over each curvaceous mound and
hollow, causing her skin to ripple with delicious shivers.

It was like being caught up in a riptide, in
the throes of forces beyond her control, forces she felt absolutely
no desire to control, so great was the rush of exhilaration.

He lifted his eyes and gazed at her, his
breaths warm puffs against her fiery flesh.

"Are you familiar with the Kama Sutra,
Kenzie?" he whispered.

She shook her head. "No," she whispered.

He said: " 'Kama' is what one learns from the
Kama Sutra, which literally means 'Science of Love.' It is a love
manual written by the Hindu sage, Vatsyayana, some two thousand
years ago.

"The word 'kama' means to enjoy oneself using
all five senses. Seeing. Hearing. Smelling." He put his nose in the
cleft of her breasts and inhaled deeply. "Feeling." He smoothed
clever fingers along her inner thighs.

She raised herself on her elbows and gazed
raptly down at him.