Black Ice - Anne Stuart [30]
And before he drove away, she thought she heard him laugh.
7
Bastien didn’t like to be wrong about things. He’d been observing human nature, sussing out people for longer than he could remember, and his instincts were usually infallible. And now he was beginning to have second thoughts about Chloe Underwood.
Logic dictated that she was a dangerous operative. It would be absurd to think that there was any other possibility. And she was either very, very good or very, very bad. He just couldn’t figure out which.
She came down late to dinner, no surprise, and he kept out of her way. She was acutely aware of him—anyone with half a brain would have noticed, and there was no one in the room who was mentally deficient. She sat quietly, ate little and looked everywhere but in his direction. Under different circumstances he might have found it amusing. But right then nothing was particularly funny.
She didn’t look quite as polished as when she’d first arrived. Her dark hair was curly from the rain, her makeup more minimal, her mouth red and slightly swollen. He hadn’t kissed her that hard, had he? Maybe he had, but she’d kissed him back with equal enthusiasm, until the fucking headlights had interrupted them.
He could have found out a great deal once he got inside her. He still could.
Monique von Rutter had honed in on Chloe with the instincts of a great white shark, just looking for a limb to tear off. Bastien watched in silence as she focused in on her, chatting with Chloe in the most charming of voices that would have fooled no one but a complete innocent. Chloe was looking at her warily, answering Monique’s provocative questions in monosyllables, and she didn’t touch her wine. Too bad—he’d been counting on alcohol making his task easier.
But then, he wasn’t the kind of man who looked for the easiest way out.
“I find French men utterly tedious, don’t you, Miss Underwood?” Monique was saying. “They’re more interested in their own performance than in a woman’s pleasure. And vain! Take Bastien, for example. Only a very shallow creature would dress that well.”
Chloe’s eyes darted in his direction, then focused back on her barely touched plate, and she didn’t answer. Not much fun for Monique, Bastien thought lazily, twirling his wineglass in one hand. Maybe he should help her out.
“But you’re missing the point, Baroness,” he drawled. “A man who is fixated on his sexual performance is devoted to pleasing his lover. If he were more interested in his own pleasure it would be one thing, but if his pride insists that he be a great lover then that can only be to a woman’s benefit, is that not so?”
There was a faint stain of color on Chloe’s cheeks as she stared into her plate, a stain that everyone around the table noted.
But Monique was in full flower. “Unless, of course, the woman realizes she’s nothing more than a prop for her lover’s vanity. That her pleasure is simply a reflection of his prowess, not real desire on his part.”
Bastien shrugged. “What does it matter? As long as she is pleased.”
“And you are so good at pleasing women,” Monique cooed. And then added with a touch too much haste, “Or so I’ve been told.”
Bastien was no longer amused. Everyone at the table knew he’d been fucking her, including her voyeuristic husband. Including innocent Miss Chloe. They were all scheduled to leave in less than forty-eight hours, and as far as he could tell very little had been accomplished. They had gotten no closer to choosing a new leader, and Christos had yet to arrive. But then, he had probably sent Chloe on ahead to do the groundwork. The rest of them were fools not to realize how tenuous the situation was. And how unlikely their substitute translator was.
The cartel, whose success depended on strict secrecy, had the dangerous presence of an unknown in their midst, and Monique’s jealous little games weren’t helping matters. She needed someone else to focus on, to leave him and Chloe alone, but there was no one else available. Hakim preferred young boys, Madame Lambert was fastidious, Ricetti gay and Otomi a devoted