The Deception Page 2

  Savannah O’Neill did her best to ignore the man in the front row who watched her with a flinty-eyed gaze. It wasn’t easy. He towered over the other men. With his sable hair, fine physique and aura of refined sophistication, he looked like James Bond.

  An image of her lying, cheating ex-fiancé flashed before her. She forced her gaze away, disgusted that one good-looking man—okay, one exceptionally good-looking man—had made her forget for even a moment her vow never to have her head turned by a male again.

  A sweaty hand connected with her almost-bare thigh, startling her from her thoughts. She deftly side-stepped the drunken patron. The sea of desire-hardened faces blurred in front of her. Panic threatened.

  What the hell had she gotten herself into this time?

  She concentrated with narrow-eyed determination on her goal—a story. And not just any story. After interviewing Malee, she had a sensational one. Max O’Connor, her editor, would be thrilled. It might even mean a raise in pay, which would be more than welcome. Her brother’s rehab bills were adding up.

  Not that Vince Maranoa would know anything about that. She flicked her gaze around the smoky room. A rough calculation of the net worth of the men in front of her was mind boggling. She recognized a television executive, a high-profile lawyer and a well-known heart surgeon.

  Without conscious thought, she sought out the man who’d fallen onto the stage. As her gaze connected with his for the second time that night, she felt lightheaded from the impact.

  Blue steel stared back at her. Her heart pounded again, this time with nervous excitement. His eyes dipped to her mouth and then moved lower. She drew in a quick breath. A cool smile of appreciation tugged at the corners of his sensuous mouth. Finally, his gaze returned to her face.

  She flushed under his appraisal, her face burning with embarrassment. He was staring at her like she was a delicious treat he was about to enjoy, nibble by nibble. And why wouldn’t he? The man thought she was a prostitute. She was just thankful there’d been no sign of Vince Maranoa. Avoiding the notorious brothel owner was at the top of her list.

  Savannah’s face was stiff from smiling. The unaccustomed odors that thickened the air made her head spin. Had Malee managed to escape?

  In desperation, she fought against a wave of dizziness, unable to believe the lengths she’d gone to for her story.

  The music finally came to an end. She stumbled toward the staircase and staggered past the groping hands of the men who lined the stage. She almost tripped in her borrowed platform heels.

  She shuddered with revulsion and genuine fear. A grip of steel tightened around her wrist. She squealed in panic. Spinning around, she came face to face with James Bond.

  She gasped. Her heart pounded. The heat of the room enclosed her in its suffocating grip. Seconds later, blackness descended…

  CHAPTER 2

  A dim circle of light penetrated Savannah’s closed eyelids. She struggled against an encroaching headache. Cracking open her eyes, she located the source of illumination. A lamp beside the bed where she lay had been switched on, bathing the room in a golden glow. Another quick peek confirmed she was in the room she’d recently vacated. She was relieved to note that Malee had disappeared, along with her suitcase.

  How had she gotten there? All she could remember was the blur of noise, grasping men and semi-naked women… And him.

  With a slight motion, she turned her head and realized the black wig had been lost somewhere along the way. Her hair spilled over the pillow in a tangled mess.

  She must have fainted. If only she could remember, but her mind stayed stubbornly blank—aside from remembering the handsome stranger. She had way too many thoughts about him and every one of them was unwelcome.

  She frowned in consternation. She’d rubbed shoulders with powerful men before. It wasn’t like being close to a man who exuded an unmistakeable air of authority should have been enough to weaken her knees and yet she couldn’t deny his effect on her…

  As if she’d conjured him up, the man in question materialized beside the bed. Half of his face was in shadow, but there was no mistaking his broad-shouldered form or the mesmerizing gleam in his cobalt eyes.

  She gasped, startled. “W-what are you doing here?” Wrenching herself into an upright position, she caught sight of her scanty attire and flushed with renewed embarrassment.

  Grappling awkwardly with the bedspread, she did her best to cover herself. It was one thing to dance among a group of girls all similarly clothed. It was another thing entirely to be sprawled on a bed in a brothel with a man who presumed she was available.

  “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you, sweetheart. I’ve already seen it, along with about seventy or eighty other men out there. Don’t you think it’s a little late for modesty?”

  His deep drawl sent a shiver of awareness down her spine. Her cheeks burned. He was right, of course. Thank goodness he didn’t know who she really was. She had to get out of there. Fast.

  Hoping to maintain the charade with a show of confidence, she threw off the covering and climbed off the bed.

  “Listen, I-I’m due back out on the floor in a little while and I-I have to freshen up. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to leave.” She marched to the door, ready to usher him out. His eyes narrowed—from suspicion or annoyance, she couldn’t tell.

  “Don’t bother, Red. I locked it when I brought you in. I would have thought you were used to clients doing that.”

  Savannah gritted her teeth. She stared at the door and refused to answer him. The less he knew about her, the better. She’d bluff it and get rid of him so she could make good her escape.

  Knowing she had no choice, she turned to face him.

  He leaned against the dresser as if he belonged there. His legs were crossed at the ankles and a smile tugged at his lips. He looked like he’d stepped out of the pages of GQ magazine.

  A shaft of light caught on the door key he twirled between his fingers. She cursed under her breath. This was going to be harder than she thought. Her mind worked furiously. She inched toward the chair where she’d draped the clothing she’d arrived in. It felt like a lifetime ago. He pushed away from the dresser and came toward her.

  “Why don’t you sit down so we can have a chat? I’ve wanted to…” He paused, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Chat…from the moment I saw you.”

  He sauntered closer. So close, he could probably see the pulse that pounded in the side of her neck. Savannah’s alarm ratcheted up another notch. She looked longingly at her clothes, still out of reach. Swallowing a sigh, her gaze returned to his. She found him frowning at her.

  “Surely you’ve known worse clients than me? I can assure you, I shower every day and I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I’m passably attractive.”

  He was certainly right about the latter. In other circumstances, his sinfully good looks could be enough to tempt her to break her vow of eternal singledom, but charming or not, she had to get her clothes and get out of there before things got out of hand. Already the situation was slipping out of her control.

  “Look, um, I think it might be best if we call it a night. I’m sure you can find another girl to…ah…”

  He moved even closer and it took all her courage to hold her ground. “As I said, I’m a little busy right now,” she added in a rush and gave in to the urge to move away from him.

  “For Christ’s sake, woman, relax. I’m not going to force myself upon you. You’re not that irresistible.” He brushed past her. In two long strides, he’d made it to the chair. Throwing himself into its cushioned depths, he dragged a hand through his thick hair.

  Savannah couldn’t prevent a groan of disbelief. Her clothes were now trapped beneath his butt. Mistaking her panicked reaction for loathing, he cursed long and loudly.

  “For fuck’s sake, lady. If I repulse you that much, I’ll give you my word. I promise I won’t touch you. I told you before I don’t force myself upon women, even ones that can be
bought and paid for. I only want to talk.”

  She remained silent, watching him, wondering if she could trust him. As if he could read her thoughts, his glare eased and his face smoothed into an almost amiable expression. A smile widened his mouth.

  “So, how long have you known Vince?” he asked, his tone now conversational.

  Her heart skipped a beat, but she hid it behind a wall of bravado. “Vince who?”

  “Vince Maranoa. Don’t tell me you don’t know the man who pays your wages? How long have you worked here?”

  “Oh, you mean that Vince. I-I guess I’ve known him long enough. How about you? How long have you known him?”

  Her question caught him by surprise. His eyes widened and a kaleidoscope of emotions passed over his expressive face. Anger, frustration, pain—even bitterness—before he managed to suppress them. He barked a laugh, his eyes now cold. “Vince and I go a long way back.”

  Savannah stared at him. Her mind raced.

  What was going on? Was James Bond involved with Maranoa’s drug ring? But, if so, why would he find that association painful? She blinked and tried to clear her head. Had it been pain she’d seen?

  By his own admission, he knew Maranoa well. The man could be a valuable source of information, especially if he thought she was a woman in Maranoa’s employ. He’d said he wouldn’t touch her. If she kept her head about her and borrowed some courage, she could use his misunderstanding to her advantage. That raise could be coming her way yet.

  Savannah sauntered over, closing the gap between them. Coming to a stop between his thighs, she drew in a surreptitious breath and did her best to slow her pulse.

  “Sounds like you’ve known Vince for much longer than I have.” She fluttered her eyelids at him and scraped a languid fingernail down his shadowed cheek, hardly able to believe her daring. “Tell me, are you the man we have to thank for keeping Vince in drugs?”

  Surprise flashed across his face. Judging from the quality of his clothes, he probably wasn’t used to being questioned by a prostitute—or anyone, for that matter. Then again, she couldn’t imagine he’d advertise the fact he was in the drug trade.

  A lazy smile played around his mouth.“I bet you enjoy getting high. Tell me, what’s your poison? Pills? Coke? Ice? Or maybe it’s good old-fashioned weed that gets you going? Vince must have a pretty decent supply stored here if he manages to keep all of you satisfied. What happens when he runs out? Have you ever escorted him on a buying trip?”

  His persistent questions, as ludicrous as they were, hammered into her already-foggy brain and she wondered dazedly how he’d so easily turned the tables. She was the one asking the questions, wasn’t she? So much for her prowess as an investigative journalist. Did she learn nothing during her years walking the halls of Parliament House?

  “Cat got your tongue, Red?” His eyes taunted her. “Perhaps I could help you find it again?”

  Savannah’s heart thudded, this time in nervous anticipation. He unfolded his long, lean body from the chair and stretched to his full height, the wicked glint in his cool blue eyes pinning her where she stood.

  Breaking the spellbinding contact, she wrenched her gaze away and stared blindly toward the curtain that covered the window on the other side of the room. Her mind spun.

  What the hell was she thinking? She was way out of her league. It was time to leave. At least now she could make a grab for her clothes.

  She took a step away from him. He moved closer. Too close. She could almost feel the heat of him through his shirt. Expensive cologne teased her nostrils. Her pulse skittered. His gaze wandered over her again, leaving a trail of fire.

  Renewed panic surged through her. Her information-gathering would have to wait. Getting out of there unscathed had just become her top priority. She only hoped Malee had left the back door unlocked, as she’d promised.

  Despite the fact armed security guards regularly traversed the perimeter of the building, the girl had come through on her earlier promise to get Savannah into the place. She only hoped she was as reliable when it came to getting her out. She refused to dwell on the fact that, if things had gone to plan, Malee would now be long gone and that meant Savannah’s departure or otherwise from the brothel would be the last thing on the girl’s mind.

  The man who stood much too close for comfort smiled at her with a lazy confidence. Her gaze was drawn once again to his lips—full, yet masculine. Despite the seriousness of her situation, desire sparked along her nerve endings.

  As if sensing her response, he drew her hard against him. She tensed and silently cursed her wayward libido. Before she knew what was happening, his mouth found hers. They both gasped at the impact. Trying to ignore the waves of pleasure that coursed through her, she braced her hands against his chest and pushed him away.

  “You promised! You promised you wouldn’t touch me!”

  He shrugged. “So, I lied.” With practiced ease, he slid the strap of her bodysuit down her arm and freed one of her breasts, cupping it in a strong, warm hand. Despite the danger of her situation, desire shivered through her.

  With one quick movement, he lifted her in his arms and tossed her onto the bed. Seconds later, he joined her. Seizing both of her hands in his, he pinned them above her head. His mouth hovered inches away from hers. He gazed into her eyes, his expression unreadable.

  “How about we forget about our questions for a while and get to know each other a little better?” he murmured. His lips found hers again.

  Everywhere his mouth touched, left her wanting more. She moved against him, aware only of a need to get closer and satisfy the liquid fire that had ignited inside her.

  “I knew I could get you to relax, Red.” An entirely masculine laugh tickled her ear.

  His words penetrated her passion-dulled mind. Savannah gasped in outrage, her anger directed not only at his arrogance, but at herself for so completely forgetting her precarious situation.

  Knowing she’d never best him by force, with concentrated effort, she relaxed in his arms, grateful when his hold loosened. She looked up at him through lowered lashes and teased her fingers along his strong jawline. Her voice dropped to a husky whisper.

  “You’re sure good at making a lady forget where she is, all right.”

  At his answering chuckle, she twisted sharply beneath him. Bringing her knee up, she caught him squarely in the groin.

  “Fuck!” He yelped in pain and surprise. His arms dropped away, giving her the crucial seconds she needed.

  Scrambling off the bed, she wrenched up the straps of her bodysuit and stumbled to the chair. Making a grab for her clothes, she bundled them under her arm and ran toward the door. Suddenly remembering it was locked, she pulled up short.

  Shit.

  Slowly, she turned around to face him. James Bond leaned forward on the bed, pain, shock and confusion clouding his handsome features. “What the hell…?”

  Savannah didn’t dare waste another second. She raced across the room to the single window. Wrenching open the heavy velvet drapes, she sagged in disbelief at the sight of the thick steel bars that blocked the opening.

  Stifling a groan, she sent a desperate glance around the room and spied the key on the nightstand. Relief surged through her, but she ignored it; she wasn’t safe yet. Resisting the urge to look at the man on the bed, she dashed over to the nightstand and palmed the key. The heat of anger from his gaze only feet away singed her.

  She tightened her hold on the bundle of clothing and strode to the door. With a deep breath, she managed to steady her hand long enough to fit the key into the lock. Seconds later, she swung it open.

  Unable to help herself, she threw a glance over her shoulder. She gasped at the emotion that burned in the stranger’s eyes: anger, confusion, uncertainty and the tiniest hint of admiration flitted across his face. He rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up. Adrenaline surged through her.

  Not willing to risk being detained by him further, she checked that the corridor was clear
of guards. She slipped out of the room, all the while praying silently that Malee had left the back door unlocked.

  CHAPTER 3

  Monday morning

  Will parked his unmarked police vehicle in its usual spot and proceeded into the station. The strident calls of a newspaper boy slowly penetrated the tangle of thoughts that vied for his attention. Though it hadn’t been long since the sun had poked its face over the horizon, it already promised to be another fine summer day.

  He nodded a greeting to the cleaner who stood with a mop and bucket in the foyer and then picked up a copy of the Daily Mirror from a pile that lay on the front counter. It was still too early for the administrative staff and Will was grateful for the solitude. Taking the stairs two at a time, he pushed open the door to the squad room that housed the detectives. With a murmured greeting to the officers who were winding down after their nightshift, he made his way over to his desk.

  It looked the way it always did, spilling over with paperwork and files. A tattered copy of the New South Wales Crimes Act 1900 stood at one end. Yellow post-it notes were stuck to his computer monitor, detailing reminders of things to be done. Some of the notes had turned up at the corners.

  After making his usual brew of straight black coffee in the tea room, he carried his mug back to his desk and sat down. The vinyl chair squeaked in protest. Ignoring it, he reached for the newspaper.

  The phone on his desk rang, the noise of it loud in the quiet office. He silenced the racket by answering it.

  “Yep?”

  “What’s up, Will? You sound like shit.”

  “Gee, thanks, mate. I’m so glad you called.”

  Andy Warwick laughed. “Let me guess, big weekend? Who was it this time? Susie? Or maybe it was Candi? Oh, I know. Maxine.” His voice was full of innuendo.

  Will took the teasing from his best friend in stride and grinned into the phone. “Jealousy’s a curse, mate. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”