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Chapter 4

That night, they hosted a party at the enormous old villa. Or rather, Red did. How he threw together such an event at the drop of a hat, she had no idea. It was a veritable who's who of the wealthy and well-connected.

Could this night possibly get any worse? Liz wondered.

Red's 'hot and cold' act was driving her mad. MAD! But at least, as far as she could tell, his mystery bimbo wasn't there.

After having so many glasses of wine, she was finally able to admit to herself that she wanted him. She wanted all of him, but truly having his heart wasn't a short-term possibility.

His body, on the other hand... now that, that just might be an option. But how?

She thought about the moment that pushed her over the edge and dragged her into this god-forsaken rabbit hole. It was when she saw him - when she saw ALL of him.

What would he do if he saw her? Would that be enough? Would he attempt to intervene and assist, or would he simply run away? Maybe he'd do as she had, enjoy the show and then retreat. If the images of her body would haunt him as his still haunted her, then she could settle for that...

Maybe. For now.

From the most manipulative machinations of her mind, a conniving plan was born.

She waited until Red had everyone engrossed in a story, when she could be certain that no one was watching her, and then she ripped a button off of the cuff of her cashmere cardigan. "Oh, darn it!"

All eyes turned to her. "My button just snagged on my watch." She held it out for inspection.

"Hang onto it, sweetheart. I can have it fixed for you tomorrow," Red offered.

She shook her head. "Thanks. I'm just afraid that I'll lose it before then."

"There's a sewing kit in my leather carry-on bag, third shelf, in the master bathroom. I can fix it for you now, if you'd prefer, but it won't be as pretty."

Only Red would offer to sew a button while hosting a criminal-flooded soiree, but he'd only do it for her.

"Oh, you do?" She shook her head and chuckled. "Of course you do. I can just sew it back on by myself, then. Thank you."

She'd seen the sewing kit in action before. Red didn't keep it on hand for mending clothes, but instead for mending lacerations from bullet grazes and other similar injuries.

She quickly made her way up the stairs, down the hall, through the master bedroom, and into the attached bathroom. Rather than simply taking the sewing kit into her room, she took his entire bag, which contained all of his toiletries - things he'd need before turning in for the night.

The button ruse turned out to be more difficult for her over-sauced hands than she'd expected, but she still managed to reattach the button and return to the group in what she hoped was a timely manner. She pointed to it triumphantly. "Success!"

She'd left his bag in her bedroom, of course.

Trap set.

She couldn't shake the possibility that Red would notice her acting strangely, all jumpy and nervous, so she continued to drink. Besides that, being drunk was the perfect excuse for not returning his bag.

As the party began to wind down, she entered the next phase of her plan, get a little too touchy and flirty.

"I just had the most random thought," she said, intentionally wistful, and just warm enough.

"Oh?"

"The tango milonga. Riveting as your orated instructions were, I never actually learned to do it. It would be fun to watch those dancers again."

He canted his head and chuckled. "I wasn't teaching you the tango. I was teaching the art of negotiation."

"Fine, but that doesn't really change the fact that I don't know how to tango and that I'd like to watch the dancers again."

"You also can't really learn by watching. You've gotta do it to feel it."

She sighed. "That's too bad..."

As they fell into silence, she looked down and fingered the button she'd stitched, pretending to inspect the quality of her handiwork. She could hear the gears churning in his head as he worked up the nerve to make his next move.

"Shall I teach you?"

"Hmmm..." She pretended to mull it over. "Just don't be mad if I step on your feet."

He reached out one hand and gently palmed the nape of her neck, igniting a wave of shivers that she failed to conceal. "Then I will, but not until you're sober enough. You don't really have the balance to safely pull off the moves right now."

Oh hell.

"So... another time, then, 'cause I won't be sober again tonight..."

"Seems so."

"Well, I guess I'm going to bed, but it's okay.." She stepped closer to him and straightened his tie, trying her damnedest to look breezy and nonchalant about it. "I'm sure you'll be able to find yourself a more suitable partner for now."

"Lizzie, nobody's dancing..."

"Hm, well," At that, she made her exit, tossing a quick, "Goodnight," over her shoulder.

Hopefully the unplanned snark wouldn't impede the next phase of her plan.

-...-...-...-

As he finally ushered the last of his guests from the home, Red couldn't have been more relieved. He could appreciate having the company of friends, but these exhausting people weren't his friends. They were sources, contacts, and allies. The relationships between everyone in that room were founded on and fed by a web of reciprocating services and benefits. Gatherings such as this were their preferred means of networking - in person, with plenty of alcohol and private security.

He wasn't sure if Lizzie understood that. At times, she seemed to be enjoying herself, or at least as content in pretending as he was; but in others, a certain edge crept into her tone. It was cold, and accompanied by smiles that didn't quite meet her eyes.

They weren't exactly on good terms, anyway, and given her track record, he should probably consider himself lucky that she didn't cause a scene.

Is anything more depressing than the silence and wreckage left in a party's wake? The villa's shiny, opulent features suddenly seemed garish and tacky. Stray wine glasses, champagne flutes, and tumblers littered every flat surface. The half-eaten trays of hors d'oeuvres looked better suited for dogs to eat than people.

He made these observations in passing, on his way back to his room, glad to know that by the time he'd be up the next day, it would all be cleaned up and back to normal again.

His wealth provided the means to clean the mess as easily as it had created it.

For now, a super-hot shower would be enough to ease at least some of his tension. He groaned quietly at the thought of the high-pressure water beating down on his shoulders. Heaven. He trudged upstairs and made quick work of shedding every last piece of clothing, and then stopped in his tracks as soon as he opened the bathroom door.

His bag.

His twelve thousand-dollar Hermès overnight bag was no longer nestled on a shelf beside the door.

Lizzie!

Damnit, she didn't put it back. Should he really have to explain the basic courtesy involved in borrowing other people's things?

Well, he can be discourteous too. It's too bad that she's probably passed out already. He wouldn't mind shutting her down by wordlessly grabbing his bag and holding it up in the air when she moans about him not knocking again.

Red wrapped a towel around his waist and padded over to her bedroom. As satisfying as it would have been to shut down another lecture about not knocking, he opted to move quietly, so as not to wake her.

After slowly twisting the knob, he heard a gasp from the other side of the door. Was she having a bad dream? Did he wake her up? He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, but the room was too dark for him to see, at first. His eyes swept over the floor in search of his bag. Moonlight shining through the window helped, but only a little.

The sound of rustling blankets and another gasp from the bed grabbed his attention, so he made his way over to her, concerned, ready to wake her from a nightmare.

He'd already forgotten about his bag by the time she came into focus.

And then nothing.
His mind blanked, disbelieving. HIS LIZZIE!

Her tank top was pulled down, under her breasts, lifting them up and pushing them out. Her left hand was clutching at her right breast, but her other hand... GOD... it was under the blanket, unseen, but definitely between her legs.

And he shouldn't be there.
He should have knocked.
... but she couldn't see him from behind that crazy panda sleep mask. If she lifted it, he'd have no excuse for being there, hovering over her, wearing only a towel while she pleasured herself.

Getting out of there wasn't even an option. He couldn't have moved if he tried. Couldn't even breathe.

The way her lips were parted, letting out the tiniest, sweetest little gasps, he would have killed to see her eyes. Were they squeezed shut under the mask, or open and rolling backwards, into her head?

Holding him in equal enthrallment was the mystery hidden beneath the blanket. He wondered about her technique. How many fingers were slipped inside of her? One? Two? GOD, three? Perhaps none.

Both his fingers and his cock twitched against the urge to rip off the blanket and plow into her - plow into her hard enough to split her in half.

Then she was going faster, moaning louder, and Red just couldn't take it. He loosened his towel just enough to slip his hand beneath it, wrapping his fingers around his erection as if he were muzzling a rabid dog.

One stroke. Just one.
That was all he'd allow himself for now, but as soon as he's back in his room, all bets are off.

"Oh my god, Red!"

He stumbled backwards, panic-stricken, eyes wide. How could he explain himself? She'd never forgive him.

It took several seconds for him to realize that she hadn't stopped, hadn't seen him at all, in fact.

But she was coming. She was coming and calling out his name.

He'll never know exactly how he managed to tear himself away and slip through the door unseen, but he did. From the safety of the hallway, with her door closed behind him, Red leaned against it, trying to catch his breath.

Fuck, the bag.

Fortunately, she didn't seem to have heard the door when he went back in for the final time. He found his bag on the floor, partially hidden by her sweater. Nearby, he noticed her bra, panties, and shoes. All of it was just haphazardly scattered around. He was lucky that he didn't trip.

Back in his room, he saw a figure huddled beneath the covers on his bed. He took action immediately, slipping the desk drawer open and firmly grabbing his thirty-eight Smith & Wesson. Anyone who could get through his guards would need to be questioned before they're killed, if possible. "Who the hell are you?" he growled.

A head poked out from beneath the blanket. "Just me, Raymond. Why so dramatic?"

"Jesus Christ, Madeline." He shook his head, more relieved than annoyed, and then ambled back to the desk to return the gun. "How did you get in here?"

"Dembe let me in. You would have too, if you knew what I'm wearing. Why didn't you invite me to your little soiree? Is it another woman? That young one again. What did you say her name was?"

"Nicole," he replied flatly.

"With your many assignations, I'm surprised that she's stuck around for so long..."

Red had no desire to continue this conversation, so he redirected her attention by dropping his towel to the floor. His erection jumped up to audibly smack against his lower belly. "So, are you going to show me what you are wearing, Maddie, or what you're not?"

Her eyebrows raised, challenging. "Why don't you come here and find out?"

Certainly.

A quick dive beneath the covers revealed black thigh-high stockings clipped to a garter belt, with a matching corset. Her body, which had once seemed exceptionally-shaped, now looked lumpy and tired, and he knew that it wasn't her fault. It hadn't changed at all.

His own eyes had changed. Watching Lizzie bring herself off, even if only from the waist up, had completely ruined everyone and everything else for him. No one would ever come close, but that didn't matter. The sounds and images of her were burned into his memory, hot enough to leave permanent scars. He could call upon them at any time, or any place.

Starting now.

He'd be lucky to last thirty seconds. Madeline would probably feel anything but lucky. (Not his problem though. No one invited her.)

"Tell me you were wearing something over this when Dembe let you in."

"Long cream trenchcoat, buttoned low."

He should probably be bothered by Dembe being so easily coerced, because it's very unlike him. In the very least, he should have asked Red before letting her inside. But on this occasion, well, it's a good thing that Dembe didn't go looking for him. That would have ended quite poorly.

Without further ado, he rolled Madeline from her back, to her stomach, and scooped an arm around her waist to pull her up onto her hands and knees.

Gruff. Silent.

"So... you aren't even going to kiss me first? That's not very gentleman-like."

"Oh please," He quickly thrust into her and slowly pulled back. "You and I both know that this - " He slammed back in, "Is the real reason that you came."

He brought both hands to her hips, trying to impart a bit of support for his increasingly-rapid thrusts. "And it's also," he added, "The reason that I'm about to come too."

With his eyes tightly shut, he could hear only Lizzie's moans - could feel only her walls squeezing around him, extracting everything that he had to give.

He always gives her everything.