Who Killed Jimbo Jameson? (19 page)

My face was burning. “And how do I get some Jameson's? I can get very thirsty, you know.”

He laughed. “I'm still homeless, so I keep a suite here, detective. Would you like to ask me some more questions upstairs? We could … interrogate … each other. I promise I'll give you my full cooperation.”

I felt the world come to a screeching halt. In every woman's life there comes a time when you have to say to hell with it and grab an opportunity, and this was it. I finished my drink, closed my briefcase, and stood up. “In that case, I need you to come with me, Mr Jameson. Now.”

My face flaming with a combination of alcohol, excitement and anticipation, I led the way to the lift. Jace pushed the button for the twenty-ninth floor, and leant back against the wall, his eyes on mine. We didn't talk. I couldn't, and he didn't need to.

He opened the door to the suite, and pulled me inside. I dropped my briefcase and grabbed his belt, yanking him to me. His mouth claimed mine, and his tongue pushed against mine, tasting of good whiskey and promising sex.

He pressed me against the door, holding me at arm's length while he stroked my neck, moving down to the buttons on my shirt. Deftly, he undid the buttons with one hand and pushed my shirt off my shoulders. I was so glad that I'd worn new undies. His tongue licked my face as I fumbled with his belt and I felt his hands moving over my body, removing my shirt and skirt. Gasping for breath, I finally undid that blasted belt and started on the buttons on his jeans. Why, oh why, do men buy those ridiculous pants with buttoned flies? I managed to get his jeans past his hips, and observed an erection that was well and truly under construction. He grinned at me and kicked off his shoes, then stepped out of his jeans. No socks.

“Ah, that's much better.” He cupped my chin and kissed me lightly, his tongue tracing the corner of my lips.

“Before we go any further, can I ask you a personal question, detective?” he breathed into my ear.

“What? Now?” He wanted to talk. Now?

“Have you always been a woman?”

”Ever since I can remember.”

chapter thirty one.

He picked me up and carried me to the king-sized bed that dominated the room. Soundlessly, he undid the front fastening of my bra and sat back on his heels to look at me, his erection in great danger of ripping through the confinement of his tighty-whities. His eyes were almost black as he slid my knickers past my ankles and he smiled as his hands grabbed my legs and pulled me towards the centre of the bed. He picked up my left foot and pulled each toe, massaged my instep, ran his thumb along the sole of my foot, before moving his thumb up my calf to my knee. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the sensations sparking through my body – where did he learn this? – as he carefully placed my left ankle next to his hip and started on my right foot.

“Don't touch yourself. Don't touch me. Keep your eyes closed. Just feel.” His voice was husky, breathy as he massaged my right foot, ankle, leg, and thigh. Heading north.

“What happened here?” He traced the scars. “Did someone do this to you?”

“Bluebottle sting.”

“Painful?”

“Very.”

“I'll be gentle.”

“Don't.”

He placed my right leg carefully on the bed, and lowered his body onto me, covering me completely. Oh so slowly, he took my hands and stretched my arms over my head, pinning me to the bed. His lips brushed my eyelids in turn, the tip of his tongue traced my cheekbones and moved down my neck to my breasts. He released my hands and moved his hands firmly to my breasts. He licked my nipple, then blew on it and my body responded with another flood between my legs. His fingers pulled on my already very erect nipple and I moaned and hooked my left foot around his neck, pulling him towards me.

“Oh, no. Not yet. What's your hurry, detective?” His mouth nuzzled my breast and tongued while his hand moved to my navel. Holding me down with one leg he moved off me, his eyes blazing as he tracked towards my thigh and I writhed under his touch. His finger traced around my mound, making small incursions towards Ground Zero but never quite getting there. My
body arched in anticipation. I was so wet. “Do you like that, detective?” I moaned. “Or what about this?” One finger slipped into my unbelievably wet slit, then another. He stroked me so gently, teasing me, moving further into me. He finally claimed my clit with his thumb and I felt myself stiffening in the buildup to my climax. “Oh, no you don't. Not yet. Not yet.” I whimpered as he released the pressure and I opened my eyes.

He was on one elbow, leaning over me as he reached under a pillow. I grabbed his Calvins and pulled them down, releasing one of the best erections I have ever seen or dreamed of. He moved his leg between mine, and I heard the welcome crackle of a condom wrapper being torn.

“I do believe you're ready for me now, detective.” I could feel him positioning himself, so I reached down to help. He pushed hard into me and I gasped. “Do you like that, detective? Do you like it when I do this?” He slammed into me. “Look how your tits wobble when I do this.” Bang. “They're real, thank god.” and he went hard into me again. I think my brain was wobbling, too, but I didn't care, because as far as getting-to-know-you fucks go, this one was going to be a doozie.

I pushed back as hard as I could, matching his rhythm. There was nothing gentle about Jace's fucking and I didn't want him to be gentle. He was a talented fuck. Innovative. Christ that man could use his body and he knew exactly what he was doing to me. Twice, he brought me to the point of release, and twice he took it away from me. I was almost in tears when he finally groaned and pounded his body into mine. I stiffened and cried out as relief radiated through me, and I felt him shudder in the very core of my body.

“Now, that feels much better, doesn't it?” He rolled off me and stroked my hair, which was probably a fright. “I've been thinking about doing that to you since yesterday. Actually, I've been thinking about doing a lot more things than that since yesterday.” He slid off the bed and walked over to the kitchen, giving me a chance to put his things into perspective. Oh yum. He was tanned, tall and completely comfortable in his body, which was mighty impressive on all counts. Especially his thighs. He took a bottle of Veuve Cliquot from the refrigerator and reached up to pick glasses from the cupboard, giving me an excellent view of his muscular back and taut butt. He poured two glasses and handed one to me, then picked up the phone.

“Can you please send up two bottles of Veuve Vintage whatever, and two buckets of ice. I'd also like two hamburgers with the works and angel fries and some chocolate ice-cream and a
punnet of strawberries. As quickly as you can, please, darlin'.”

Draining his glass in one go, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinned at me, and bounced back onto the bed. I spilled my champagne, which was a terrible waste because I was thirsty.

“Lie back, babe. And open your mouth.” My heart rate went through the roof as he pushed me onto my back and began to pour champagne into my mouth. Slowly, carefully, he concentrated on controlling the flow of bubbles and I concentrated on swallowing. My nose tickled, and I started to choke. He laughed, and trailed the cold fluid over my breasts before bending over to lick me dry. He handed me another glass – only half full this time – and drank from the bottle, dribbling bubbles down his chin. “Now, isn't this nice?” he grinned.

He lowered himself to lie next to me, his hand lazily stroking my exhausted body. “Have we broken any detective's rules?”

I laughed, and shook my head. “No, you're not a suspect, so there's no conflict here.”

“So we haven't done anything illegal yet, have we?” He whispered into my ear. I shook my head. “Well, can we?”

We were playing lazy love games when the door buzzed and he leapt to open it. How do men do that, I wondered. Naked. He was absolutely unabashed, which was more than the room service lady could say. She wheeled in her trolley, not knowing where to look, and I drew the sheet over my head and stuffed my fist in my mouth so that I wouldn't giggle. He whistled as he rolled the trolley over to the bed and I realised that I was starving.

“Dinner time!” He ripped the bed sheet off me, slapped me on the bum and plumped up the pillows.

“You know, those stripes are growing on me.”

We sat in bed, up to our ears in hamburgers, feeding each other the most decadent hot chips dusted in parmesan cheese. The icy beer complemented the burgers. I was licking my fingers when my phone rang and dragged me back to reality.

“Hi Mad, where are you?” It was Jack. Bugger. I'd completely forgotten about him.

“Hey you. I'm still in the city, grabbing a burger.” I put a finger to my lips and shook my head at Jace. “Where are you?”

“The waves are pumping, and it's going to be even bigger tomorrow morning, so I thought
I'd crash here and get an early start. You OK?”

“No problem. To tell the truth, I'm absolutely stuffed and feel like an early night. Just give me a buzz when you get back because I'm not sure where I'll be tomorrow.” Well, I was telling the technical truth. “This is a lousy connection, and I can hardly hear you,” I lied. “Enjoy the surf. Gotta go.”

Jace reached across to take my phone from me. “Now, where were we, detective? I know where you're going to be tomorrow, because I know where you're going to be tonight. You're mine tonight. All mine. All night. We're locked in this room and you're not getting away.”

I am such a slut.

Taking my greasy hand, he led me to the white marble bathroom and pulled me into the shower, turning on both shower heads. He soaped up a soft white face towel and turned me towards the wall, pressing his body against my back as he leisurely soaped my breasts, his hands sliding across my skin. His hands moved to my belly, then he worked towards my thighs, lighting the fires again. Oh so good. I could feel his erection against my hip. I slipped around in the water and took the soap from his hands and went to my knees. I slid my hands up the back of his thighs, and grabbed his butt with both soapy hands and worked my way to the front. Warm, slippery, hard. So hard. His squeaky clean cock was all mine, but he had other ideas. “No, not yet,” he growled. He picked me up and wrapped me carefully in the huge white fluffy towel, patting me dry gently and thoroughly. Then he sat me down on the bathroom stool and carefully combed the knots out of my wet hair. This was an act so intimate that I could barely breathe and all I could do was close my eyes yet again and surrender to the moment.

He nuzzled my ear, blowing into it gently and licking the lobes. “Can I ask you another personal question, Detective Griffiths?”

“Anything, you can ask me anything.” And I'll agree to it.

“What's your name?”

chapter thirty two.

I woke up slowly, not knowing where I was and why my legs were wrapped around a naked man. I held my breath, remembering what we had done and hoping we could do it again before I had to leave this pleasure zone. The moon was reflected in the harbour and it gleamed on his tanned bare shoulders. I moved slightly, and he turned to me without waking, his face burrowing into my breasts. He opened his eyes, smiled, and pulled me to his body. We were both half asleep, but bits of us were soon wide awake. He ripped open another foil packet. “Thank god I've got shares in Ansell,” he quipped as he slid into me again.

The sun was streaming into the room when I woke again, and Jace was sitting on the lounge chair, hair wet, wrapped in a bathrobe.

“Good morning, sleepyhead. I like an early morning swim, but I really like watching you sleep, too.” He walked over to me and handed me a glass of juice. “Orange juice? I've ordered some breakfast but I wasn't sure what you like, so I got everything.” He tossed me a white robe and gestured towards the dining table, which was set up for a hungry football team. “Now, eat something and then we will have to talk.”

I took the glass and drank thirstily. Pulling on the robe, I picked up a strawberry and smiled. “Anything you say, Mr Jameson.”

He handed me a short black and I added a splash of milk. The caffeine kicked in and I started on some eggs Benedict. Delicious. “I like to watch you eat. You eat like you fuck, Maddie. You really go for it.” Oh yeah.

“Well, a girl has appetites.” I licked some egg yolk off the fork and grinned at him.

“Can I ask who you were supposed to meet last night? Is there a Mr Griffiths? Is there a boyfriend? Was last night a beginning or is this morning the end of us?”

Us? I loaded up my fork with egg and smoked salmon, and chewed carefully to give me time to think before I answered.

“No, Mr Griffiths was my father, and he died of embarrassment three years ago. I'm not sure about a boyfriend. I think he's more like a Ken doll with working attachments. Not much of a conversationalist but fun to play with. I live in Paddington. By myself since my bird died.” I took another sip of coffee. “And I need more time to categorise last night and this morning. I
think I need time to think.”

He stood up and walked over to the window.

“I'm leaving for Hong Kong this afternoon, so you can have some time to think about me. I'm not my father. He was undisciplined. I'm not.” One look at that amazing body told me that, and I noted that he was eating Bircher muesli and fruit. “He was unprincipled. I'm not. My weaknesses are adrenaline and winning. I love beautiful women, thoroughbred horses and Impressionist art. I hate spiders. Actually, I'm shit-scared of spiders, which is why I run the Inca Trail instead of walking it and prefer to sleep as far from ground level that I can. I have the Flick Man on speed dial. I've never married, probably because my father made every mistake in the book and I learned from them, so I suppose you could say that I'm shit-scared of marriage, too. No kids that I know of. Not sure if I'm father material.” He looked straight at me. “My father didn't know how to love me, and I hated him for years for that. I used to think that he was to blame for everything bad that happened to me, from teenage pimples to my terrible singing voice, but luckily I met a really fabulous bird who taught me to dance and then dumped me so brutally that she drove me to a shrink for a couple of years. Which was the best thing I ever did. And then I pitied my father, because he missed out on so much. But he was buried yesterday and it's time for me to get on with being me. I didn't go to his wake because as far as I was concerned he was gone and there was nothing to celebrate about his life or his death. Yesterday was a day when I drew a line in my life. After-dad-time started then.