In Monaco, the staff at the Monte Carlo were walking on eggshells. Their gregarious Mr. Lund had been as dark and threatening as a storm cloud ever since the tragedy with Renault. The whole casino was buzzing with it behind his back, falling uncomfortably silent when he came stalking into their midst with anger flashing like lightning in his eyes.
He had never been so miserable, Duke thought. Despite Sean's assurances to him, Anna had not come 'round. After her night alone in his bungalow, she had left just as she'd planned to-had gone without another word to him, without even saying goodbye. And he'd heard nothing from her since. He'd rung her cell phone; she hadn't answered. He'd left voice messages that she hadn't returned. It was suddenly as if she'd never existed-as if their weeks together had never happened. Or as if they'd been a dream-one of those wonderful dreams that Daniel Lund had had and never remembered.
Which was ironic, Duke thought bitterly, because now he couldn't sleep. And he couldn't eat. His damned headache would be preferable to this-the physical pain might prevent him from thinking about Her, from remembering, from yearning for Her. But he had no such convenient distraction. The bullet wound to his arm and his lacerated hand were healing nicely, Dr. Molineau had observed. And Duke needed no doctorly nagging to exercise the hand-he clenched and unclenched his fist, unconsciously, perpetually, all day, driven by a fury that made him want to punch something.
One day a respite presented herself, in the fetching form of an occasional lover in town on a junket. A Dutch journalist with legs a kilometer long, curves to rival a Formula One circuit, eyes as blue and round as delft saucers, and a chic bob of blonde hair, she was eager to reacquaint herself with her Scottish schatje.
"You'll buy me a drink tonight?" Geba suggested, greeting Duke with a kiss on the cheek and straightening his tie.
"A drink? Yes. Why not." He forced a smile. This woman was the polar opposite of Her, and heaven knows he'd found Geba to be a distracting diversion in the past. Perhaps this was just what he needed: A tall, cool draught of Geba to flush Anna out of his system and cure the hellish hangover She'd left him with.
In the bar that evening, he remembered why he'd enjoyed Geba's company. She had a quick self-deprecating wit, making him forget himself with a madcap story of nearly tumbling into the Prinsengracht canal while struggling to wheel her bicycle off one of Amsterdam's ferries. "You look like you've had an accident yourself," she observed, stroking his scarred right hand.
"Yes. Also involving a boat, funnily enough." He gave her a tight smile. "It's a long story-not nearly as entertaining as yours. I won't bore you with it."
She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. "I've never known you to be a bore, Daniel," she assured him. "It's so very good to see you again." She glanced at his empty champagne glass, the fourth one he'd drained during their brief time in the bar, and realized that if she wanted to be truly entertained by him, she'd better make her move. "I've had a long day," she purred, sliding off her bar stool. "Would you mind seeing me to my room?"
"I'd be honored, Geba."
At the hotel room door, she asked him in, and as the door closed behind them, she pressed herself against him and kissed him longingly. He returned the kiss gamely, slipping his tongue into her inviting mouth and stroking her sumptuous curves. He felt a growing sense of dread. This undeniably comely woman left him cold. She tasted wrong, she smelled wrong, she felt all wrong under his hands.
His lack of ardor was apparent so, attributing it to the alcohol, Geba raised the stakes, stepping back, unzipping her dress, and letting it fall to the floor at her feet. She reached for his hand and placed it on her full, round breast that was nearly spilling out of a satin demi bra. He obliged her by teasing her supple flesh in just the way he knew she liked, and she rubbed up against him as she undressed him.
He kissed her again, aggressively, trying to force a response from his sluggish member. Geba was hot and wet, grinding herself against his thigh, but the only sensation he could feel was a rapidly increasing anger.
That fucking Woman, he fumed. Anna Devane-that capricious bitch. She had ruined him. She'd appeared in his life unbidden, uninvited; She'd made him feel more joy, greater pleasure, deeper contentment than he'd even known was possible; and now She'd left him, abandoned him to a superficial simulation of an existence. He thought of Her provoking him, manipulating him, after he'd first learned about the betrayal She'd perpetrated with Scorpio. The way She'd played him, cajoled him into wanting Her…
She slid her arms beneath his shoulders and kissed him deeply. Still angered but wanting her in spite of himself, he ran a hand up her back and over the nape of her neck. He entwined his fingers in her hair, then twisted his hand, wrapping a thick coil around his wrist, and pulled her head back, exposing her neck, which he kissed-and then bit. Anna gasped with as much pleasure as pain. With his free hand, he spun her around to face away from him. He wrapped his arm tightly around her waist, crushing her against him.
He murmured fiercely against her ear: "You're not thinking of him now, Anna? You never thought of him in our bed? You won't think of him again?"
Anna, breathless and desperate, employed his old tactic of using seduction to try to heal the rift. "Don't. Stop. Just shut up. Just fuck me, Duke."
Her profanity had the desired effect: He flung her forward onto the bed, and as she looked back over her shoulder at him, he grabbed her hips, harshly, pulled her to him, and pushed up her skirt.
He saw that the crotch of her panties was soaked through with her juices, and he unceremoniously pulled the undergarment down to her knees. She was somehow hot and ready, and he rubbed his fingers back and forth over her swollen clit none too gently, and then plunged them deep inside of her. "Who made you so wet, Anna? You haven't answered my question... Were you thinking of Scorpio? Planning to rendezvous at his office while you thought I was busy lunching with Robin?"
"God, no," she protested. "Duke...I was longing for you." He worked his fingers in and out of her, pressing hard against her body's most secret receptive spot with every advance, and she pushed back against him, urging him on and farther forward. "All morning, at Wyndham's. I was wanting you. I was thinking about this..."
Unbuckling his belt and lowering his zipper with his other hand, to release his throbbing erection, he warned, "You're sure you want this, Anna?" He had no intention of being gentle with her; he did not feel tender toward her. If she wanted him to fuck her, he would do just that. He would treat her as the lying whore he feared she was. At least an honest whore, he thought bitterly, would've given herself fairly, to the highest bidder. But, no, he knew that Scorpio and Hayward and whoever else-all of them put together could never value her as highly as he did.
"Please..." Anna begged, on a sob.
He gripped her once more, hooking his fingers over the ridges of her hipbones, and rammed his cock into her. Her body, on her hands and knees, lurched forward with the impact. He began to push roughly into her, over and over, driving harder and deeper. She had hurt him inside, he raged, and in return he would fuck his pain and hurt deep into her-he would make her take it.
But, damn her, she felt so good and looked so beautiful, with her hair hanging in her face and her teeth gritted as she bore his vicious thrusts in silence, accepting his anger with no more than an occasional gasp. Until finally, she screamed, "Duke!"-and whether she'd shrieked with greater pleasure or pain he couldn't tell and didn't care.
He pulled out of her and spent himself on her sweet ass, groaning her name.
"Who the fuck is Anna?" Geba spat, incensed, on her knees on the floor in front of him, his cum dripping from her generous breasts.