All or Nothing. Catherine Mann
“The Alpha Brotherhood.” They could damn well conquer anything.
Now, they shared a deeper bond in their work for Salvatore. For obvious reasons, they still couldn’t talk freely out in public. But a vaulted security room in his casino offered a place of protected privacy so they could let their guards down.
The remains of their lunch lay scattered on the table. Normally he would have enjoyed the hell out of this. Not today. His thoughts stayed too firmly on Jayne, and his hand gravitated toward her image on the screen.
Donavan tipped back his chair, spinning his signature fedora on one finger. “Hey, Conrad, I picked up some great Cuban smokes last week, but I wouldn’t want to start Malcolm whining that his allergies are acting up.”
Douglas scratched at the hole in the knees of his jeans. “I do not whine.”
“Okay—” Donavan held up his hands “—if that’s the story you want to go with, fine, I’m game.”
“I am seriously going to kick the crap out of you—” Douglas had picked fights from day one “—just for fun.”
“Bring it.”
“I would, but I don’t want to risk straining my vocal cords and disappoint the groupies.” Douglas grinned just like he was posing for the cover of one of his CDs. “But then, you’ve been benched by marriage so you wouldn’t understand.”
Some things never changed. They could have all been in their barracks, seventeen years ago. Except today Conrad didn’t feel much like joining in. His eyes stayed locked on the screen showing security feed from his place.
Or more precisely, his eyes stayed locked on Jayne at the indoor pool with Donavan’s wife. He couldn’t take his eyes off the image of her relaxed and happy. Jayne wore clothes instead of a swimsuit, not that it mattered when he could only think of her wearing nothing at all. She was basking in the sun through the solarium windows.
Donavan sailed his hat across the room, Frisbee style, nailing Conrad in the shoulder. “Are you doing okay, brother?”
Conrad plucked the hat from the floor and tossed it on the table alongside his half-eaten bowl of ratatouille. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, I don’t know …” Malcolm lowered his chair legs to the ground again. “Maybe because your ex-wife is in town and you haven’t stopped looking at her on that video monitor since we got in here.”
“She’s not my ex-wife yet.” He resisted the urge to snap and further put a damper on their lunch. “Anybody up for a quick game of cards?”
Donavan winced. “So you can clean me out again?”
Malcolm hauled his chair back to the table. “Now who’s whining?”
Pulling his eyes if not his attention off Jayne, Conrad swept aside the dishes and reached for a deck of cards.
Between their freelance work for Interpol and their regular day jobs, there was little time left to hang out like they’d done during the old days. Damn unlucky for him one of those few occasions happened to be now, when they were all around to witness the final implosion of his marriage.
And what if he didn’t get one last night with Jayne? What if he had to spend the rest of his life with this hunger gnawing at his gut every time a blonde woman walked by? Except no woman, regardless of her hair color, affected him the way Jayne did.
No matter what he told his brothers, he was not okay. But damn it, he would be tonight after the concert when he lay Jayne back on that sofa and made her his again.
Jayne hadn’t been on a date in three years, not even to McDonald’s with a friend. How ironic that her first post-separation outing with a man would be with her own estranged husband. And he’d taken her to a black-tie charity concert on the Côte d’Azur—the French Riviera.
Although she had to admit, his idea of finding a peaceful middle ground had merit—even if he’d all but blackmailed her to gain her cooperation.
At least seated in the historic opera house she could lose herself in the crowd, simply sit beside Conrad and enjoy the music, without worrying about temptation or messy conversations. Malcolm Douglas sang a revamp of some 1940s tune, accompanying his vocals on the grand piano. His smooth baritone voice washed over her as effortlessly as the glide of Conrad’s fingers on her shoulder. So what if her husband had draped his arm along the back of her seat? No big deal.
In fact, she’d been surprised at how little pressure he’d put on her throughout the day, especially after their intense discussions, their potent attraction, the night before. Waking up alone was one thing. But then to have him spend the entire day away from her …
His amenability was good. Wasn’t it?
That niggling question had grown during the rest of the afternoon without him. Lunchtime passed and she started to question if she’d heard his offer of a date correctly. Except Hillary had mentioned it, as well. Then the staff brought a selection of evening wear in her size. She’d chosen a silver gown with bared shoulders, the mild winter only requiring a black satin wrap.
By the time Conrad arrived at their suite to pick her up, her nerves had been strung so tightly, she was ready to jump out of her skin. The sight of him in a tuxedo, broad shoulders filling out the coat to mouthwatering perfection, had just been downright unfair. All the way to the limo, she’d thought he would make his move, only to find Troy and Hillary Donavan waiting in the limousine, ready to go out to dinner with them before the concert. But then hadn’t Hillary said Troy and Conrad were having some kind of reunion?
The evening had been perfect.
And perfectly frustrating.
Conrad’s thumb grazed the sensitive crook of her neck, along the throb of her pulse. Did he know her heart beat faster for him? Her breath hitched in her throat.
Hillary leaned toward her and whispered, “Are you all right?”
Wincing, Jayne resisted the urge to shove Conrad’s arm away. “I’m fine, just savoring.”
Savoring the feel of Conrad’s hand on her bare skin.
Damn it.
He shifted in his seat, his fingers stroking along the top of her arm and sending shivers along her spine. She struggled not to squirm in her seat and draw Hillary’s attention again. But that was getting tougher and tougher to manage by the second. He had to know what he was doing.
Still, if he’d been trying to seduce her, he could have been a lot more overt, starting with ditching the other couple. Her mind filled with vivid memories of the time he’d reserved a private opera box for a performance of La Bohème and made love to her with his hand under her dress.
Only one of the many times he’d diverted an argument with sex.
Yet now, he turned her down. Why?
The lights came up for intermission, and Conrad’s arm slid away as he applauded. She bit her lip to keep from groaning.
He stood then angled back down to her. “Do you and Hillary mind keeping each other company while Troy and I talk shop? He’s developing some new software to prevent against hackers at the casino.”
“Of course I don’t mind.” She’d given up the right to object when she’d walked out on him three years ago. Soon, their breakup would be official and legal.
“Thanks,” he said, cupping her face in a warm palm for an instant before straightening. At the last second, he glanced back over his shoulder. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you look even more beautiful than the night we saw La Bohème.”
Her mouth fell open.
The reference to that incredible night had been no accident. Conrad had known exactly what he was doing. No doubt, her savvy husband had planned his every move all day with the express purpose of turning her inside out. The only question that remained?