True Bliss (33 page)

He was still slim, still tall and straight, and too fucking sure of himself. Morris Winters's face bore subtle signs of aging, but his arrogance and preoccupation with himself had served him well. Undoubtedly he slept the peaceful sleep of the selfish, and that sleep had kept his skin smooth.

Maryan felt him watch her while she toured his study in what, fifty years earlier, had been a summerhouse in the grounds of the Winters's luxurious Laurelhurst home. She felt him assess her—physically and mentally. Morris Winters was a man who took careful stock of any enemy before he struck.

Only this time the positions were reversed. This time she would do the striking and he would bleed. He'd bleed to death unless he gave her what she wanted.

"What would make you come here like this?" he asked in the deceptively soft voice she'd never forget. "What would make you take such a risk?"

"You should have spoken to me when I called your office the other day."

"You shouldn't have called at all. We have no business together."

Maryan slipped off the short jacket that matched her chartreuse halter dress and let it trail. "This room hasn't changed."

"Everything's changed."

"Not really. You haven't, and I haven't. We both still know what we want."

"It's two in the morning. I want to get back to sleep."

Maryan approached him. "You woke up easily enough. But then, you always did, didn't you?" He'd put on a navy-blue silk robe over matching silk pajamas. The robe pocket bore his monogram and she'd bet the pajamas did, too. "Didn't you change the signal over the years? Or have all your women rung your private line from a pay phone and hung up—the way I did? Who did you expect to find waiting for you out here?"

"You were never my woman."

"Never?"

He looked at her with a loathing that excited her. Angry men made great lovers.

"I didn't take any chances, Morris. Somehow I guessed you hadn't started spending your nights tucked up with your little Kitten."

"Say what you came to say and get out."

Maryan took the stopper out of the neck of a crystal decanter and poured Scotch. Not her favorite, but all he'd ever kept in his private sanctuary. She held the decanter up to him. Morris shook his head. Maryan poured him a glass anyway.

"It's not going to be so easy this time." She grimaced at the taste of the whiskey. "Here, you're going to need it." He took the glass she gave him but didn't drink.

Everything in Morris Winters's lakeside home reeked of money. Not that she'd seen inside the main house—she didn't need to. From the authentic Chagall over the study fireplace, to the collection of Renaissance and Baroque glass ranged in a floor-to-ceiling display case—to antique maps visible through the top of a leather-covered chart table, this room shouted, with elegant subtlety, that Morris Winters was a man of considerable means.

"We have to act. You know that, don't you?"

Morris looked into his whiskey.

"Neither of us can afford to risk them coming together again now."

"She won't have him. Not after what he did."

Mary an laughed without mirth. "She's already had him, Morris, love. She's probably having him again as we speak."

He winced.

"They're together at his house."

"Tramp," Morris muttered. He swallowed half the whiskey in his glass.

"My brother says he's going to marry that tramp."

"He can't!"

"Ah." Maryan draped her jacket over the chart table. "Got your attention at last."

"He's not going to get in my way," Morris said. His mouth was a taut white line. "You're going to make sure he doesn't."

"Am I?"

"I know about you, Maryan. I've always known."

He wasn't supposed to threaten her. "The way I see it, it'll only be one short step from the news that your daughter's marrying Sebastian Plato to a lot of questions about why she hates you enough to sleep with a man who stands for everything you pretend to detest."

"Fix it," he said. He set his bared teeth together. "I don't care what you do, but make sure it doesn't happen."

"Not this time," she told him softly. "You were right when you said we're not the same—not in some ways. I'm not a desperate kid anymore."

"You're a desperate woman."

"Almost as desperate as you."

He grew restless and paced. "She was always a liability."

"Things worked out before. We can make them work out again."

"It's too dangerous now. Too dangerous for me to get involved."

Maryan laughed. She poured herself more whiskey. "It's too dangerous for you not to get involved. Old man Moore came to the offices this afternoon."

"Moore?" Morris's face paled to match his lips. A sheen of sweat showed on his brow. "I warned you years ago that he could be trouble."

"And you were right." She didn't feel as casual as she sounded.

"What does he want."

"What he always wanted."

"Pay him."

"Sebastian won't give him any more money."

Morris downed the rest of his drink. "I said, you pay him."

"You're the one who'll pay," she told him calmly. "Until we figure out a permanent fix."

He turned his back on her.

Maryan kicked orTher shoes. "Morris," she said, very quietly. "We're going to be partners again. Why not enjoy it?"

He looked over his shoulder at her. "No one's going to get in my way."

"No one," she agreed.

"You know what I like."

"How could I forget?"

"You didn't like it before."

"I was too young, too scared. I'm not scared anymore, Mor-ns.

"Show me your tits."

"Make me."

"I don't have to. Do it."

He advanced and she reached behind her neck to undo the buttons that secured the halter. She held it in place and smiled at him.

Morris didn't smile. He went to a paneled wall and pressed a spot that clicked before an entire section swung inward and slid aside to reveal a shallow recess hung with paraphernalia that made Maryan's heart trip with excitement.

Tapping at the draped windows made them both jump.

"What the fuck is that?" Morris hissed. "Is this a setup?"

She shook her head. "Ignore it."

The tapping sounded again. "Maryan," a familiar voice called urgently. "I know you're in there with Winters. Tell him to let me in."

"Who is it?" Morris asked.

"Zoya. She's the woman who—"

"I know who Zoya is. What's she doing here?"

Ron must have told the bitch where Maryan was going. "Let her in."

Morris swallowed audibly. "What are you trying to do to me?"

"It'll be okay," she told him. "She's got as much riding on all of this as we do."

"There isn't any we," he said. He parted the drapes an inch and peered out. "Fuck!"

Maryan thought of the two nights she and Ron had spent with Zoya, of the way the woman had manipulated her, and Ron. "She's okay. Let her in." If there was one thing Zoya did really well it was scare the shit out of any man who got in her way.

After another hesitation, Morris unlocked one of the French doors and stood back to allow Zoya to pass. He promptly locked the door again and replaced the drapes carefully.

"I was worried about you, sweetheart," Zoya said to Maryan. "You've got to tell me when you plan to go out in the middle of the night. You need me to protect you."

Maryan's stomach flipped. Zoya patted Morris's face in passing and came to kiss Maryan. She kissed her open-mouthed, her tongue snaking deep into her mouth.

And Maryan's eyes closed. Her breasts throbbed and she was instantly wet. She heard Morris laugh but didn't care.

"I hate to break up this touching scene," he said. "Maryan tells me we share some interests."

Zoya drew away from Maryan and looked at him. "Maybe

we do." Her eyes flickered over the recess behind the paneling. "Maybe we do. Looks as if I've interrupted a reconciliation."

"Morris and I are old friends," Maryan said, her excitement all but choking her now. "We go way back. Way, way back."

"So Ron told me. We talked and decided you might need me to make sure Mr. Winters here fully understands our commitment to the cause—his and ours."

Maryan saw how Morris stared at Zoya. He passed his tongue over his lips. Zoya had the same effect on all men—they all wanted her.

"Don't let me stop you," Zoya said. Dressed in black, a loose silk tank top and long skirt unbuttoned from hem to thigh, she sat in a straight-backed chair and crossed her legs. The skirt fell open, revealing that she'd been too warm, or too hot to wear panties. She clasped her hands behind her neck. The only thing covering her pointed breasts was one thin piece of silk.

With obvious reluctance, Morris looked at Maryan again. "I think your lady friend wants what I want."

Slowly, she began to take her hands from her neck.

"She's got great boobs," Zoya said. "And right now she's got the biggest wide on. I can vouch for that. We know these things about each other, don't we sweetheart?"

Maryan felt suddenly awkward. It was one thing to play along with Ronnie. She could control him. Ronnie might not think she knew he was a switch hitter, but she hadn't bought his story about wanting out of the homo scene completely. Morris Winters was another matter. Maryan didn't know how Zoya's act would affect what had to be accomplished here.

"Show Morris your big brown eyes," Zoya almost crooned. "Come on, uncover 'em, Maryan. The man's waiting."

Maryan let the top of her dress fall and warmed with pleasure at Morris's rapid intake of breath. She stroked her own naked flesh and watched him watching her.

"I do believe the man's Magnum is loaded and ready to go."

Morris ignored Zoya. He pushed Maryan's hands aside and squeezed her breasts until she whimpered. He used his hold on

her breasts to push her against the recessed wall. One by one he raised her hands above her head and fastened them in manacles. Swiftly, he pulled off her dress and panties, spread her legs and secured her ankles.

He stood back.

Maryan stared at him. She strained against her bonds. "Get out, Zoya." Agitation mounted until her skin crawled. "Send her away, Morris. She won't be any trouble."

He offered Zoya a hand and she took it, let him pull her to her feet. With his spare hand, he delved beneath her skirt. She undid the belt on his robe.

Maryan squirmed and moaned.

"Sebastian and Bliss can't be allowed to get together," Zoya said. Her black hair streamed over her shoulders. "Ron and I have figured out a way to make sure it doesn't happen." She released Morris for long enough to pull the tank top over her head.

"Oh, God, yes," Morris whispered. "Oh, yes, baby."

They didn't bother to dispense with more clothes. Morris went after Zoya's pointy breasts like a man on forced withdrawal from a very old habit. He worked between her legs until she screamed with pleasure.

"Morris!" Maryan tugged at the manacles until her skin burned. "Stop it! Do you hear me?"

"Whoa, look at this maypole, sister?" Zoya released Morris's prick and whooped when she sprang to loop her legs around his waist and impale herself on him.

A few wild bucks and shouts, and Zoya's feet slid slowly back to the floor. She and Morris clung together, panting.

Maryan felt the stirrings of fear.

"Poor Maryan," Zoya said, her voice husky. "And she's being so good. She needs a reward."

"She'll get one," Morris said, but his exhaustion showed in the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "And we'll work together to get what we want."

"Together," Zoya said. She left Morris to pour a drink. She pushed him into the chair she'd vacated and gave him the glass.

He slumped.

"Your turn," Zoya said. She came close to Mary an and brushed their breasts together.

Maryan grew hot. She couldn't look at Morris, but she heard him chuckle.

"What would you like, sweetie?" Zoya asked, sinking to her knees. "Ask and it'll be yours."

"Nothing," Maryan said. "Let me out of these things. They hurt."

"Give her a mustache ride," Morris suggested, breaking into loud laughter. "Give big-tittie Maryan a mustache ride."

Zoya joined in his laughter and draped a length of her hair over her upper lip before she buried her face in Maryan's crotch.

Writhing in an attempt to free herself only brought the waves of Maryan's climax faster. She cried out and slammed her butt helplessly against the wall. Then it was over. Zoya took off her skirt, spread it on the floor and stretched out, stark naked and sickeningly beautiful, on top of it.

"Bravo," Morris said.

"Hmm," Zoya sighed, and stretched luxuriously. "Ah yes. Everything's going to be all right. Know why?"

Morris closed his eyes and drank, and said, "why?" as he wiped his mouth with the back of a hand.

"Best reasons in the world," Zoya told him. "We've got everything to win or lose—and we don't trust each other."

Twenty-three

Bobby Crow rushed up the drive to meet them. His arms flailed in windmill circles until he hurled himself at Sebastian. "Nan said you'd stolen Bliss and locked her up," he said. "I knew you wouldn't do that."

Bliss made owl eyes at Sebastian. "You were right, Bobby. Sebastian wouldn't do that."

"But you've been gone since yesterday," Bobby announced, looking thoroughly satisfied when Sebastian swung him onto his shoulders. "I said you'd probably gone away to get hitched."

Sebastian and Bliss laughed and Sebastian said, "Where did you get a word like that?"

"They say it on TV all the time," Bobby said, bouncing contentedly as they went into the lodge. "And Auntie Fab says she never wants to get hitched. I wish my mom and dad were hitched."

Sebastian rubbed the boy's legs. "Your mom and dad got you. They couldn't have wished for anything better."

How could she ever have thought this man was other than a wonderful human being? Bliss smoothed his back above the waist of his jeans and followed along toward the hubbub emanating from the kitchens.

Sebastian stood aside to let Bliss go in first. She mouthed, "Thanks a lot," and prepared to face her fate.