for show. Damn him for that. He lifted her over to the daybed and set her down, gently, earnestly, and with just a hint of the devil in his eyes. And then, sitting next to her, he kissed her.
This was a different level of kiss entirely, and it blew Susannah apart at the seams. Here she was, ready to keep her boundaries and hold her own against this con man and then— this ? Now she was struggling just to remember her own name. His lips were soft on hers, his arms surrounding her, his tongue searching within her. She fought to remember the intel, the information, to keep him from getting to her core. But with each moment that passed she felt as if he were delving deeper inside her, to her heart, her soul, her being. She was so unsettled that she stopped him and pulled back. And that’s when she saw the look of confusion and sadness in his eyes. “Chas . . .” she asked, searchingly, thrown off for real now, “is everything all right?”
He swallowed, and his eyes seemed to cloud over. “I want to give you something. Something that’s important to me. May I?”
“Of course.”
He reached beneath the collar of his shirt and pulled out a leather cord that held a silver charm on it, a Celtic design of interlocking strands. Was it a sword? Perhaps a symbol from a coat of arms? And then she remembered his unusual candelabra in his bedroom. “Is it a tree?”
“It is, indeed. A tree of life. It was my mother’s, actually. And it has been in my family for generations.”
“My god, Chas,” Susannah gasped. She was truly surprised by his actions. Was this just another game to him? But she couldn’t figure out the angle he was playing. “Why would you want to give it to me ?”
“Honestly, Susannah,” he said awkwardly, “you mean more to me than any woman I’ve ever met. You mean the very world to me. And each moment I spend with you, well—I only want to spend more. Will you accept this?”
There was a long pause. Susannah was truly confused now, and deeply pissed because of it. She was going to have to ask him for the truth, the real truth, or she was never going to make it through the night. She reached next to her, grabbed the glass of pink champagne, and chugged it. Wiping off her mouth with the back of her hand, she hiccuped, letting off steam, and spoke sharply. “Before I do, would you mind telling me about the tall blonde you’re fucking? And does she get a family tree too?” Then she hiccuped again, louder this time, and waited for his response.
‡‡‡
LISA BEE SAT in Le Bar, the lounge of the Hotel George V, sipping her fourth pastis. Of Scottish stock, she could drink the world under the table, with the exception of her own family. The Goudreaus regularly held drinking tournaments in which she and her brothers downed shots of Crown Royal for nothing more than a tattered plaid flask bearing the family crest. But it was more than that. She loved proving to her brothers that she could hold her own. As the youngest of five, and the only girl, she learned from an early age how to clean her plate quickly, how to throw a great sucker punch, and how to drink like a Scotsman.
She, Jackson, and the Boss were all connected by headset, and in addition, she was working steadily on her laptop, which had surveillance of the penthouse from every angle. Jackson had done a fine job outfitting the place: he had eyes and ears all over the joint, and her screen was filled with images. Just after Chas gave Susannah “the family tree,” Lisa Bee snorted and said aloud (in a heightened version of her N’awlins twang), “ Laissez le bon temps rouler , baby.” Then she took a deep drink and said, “Fuck this . I’m gonna need some bourbon.”
“As you wish, madame,” said a sultry voice, and she turned to find Jackson holding two shot glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, his favorite. He always traveled with a private stash.
“Aw, hell.” Lisa Bee chortled, secretly thrilled to have Jackson by
This was a different level of kiss entirely, and it blew Susannah apart at the seams. Here she was, ready to keep her boundaries and hold her own against this con man and then— this ? Now she was struggling just to remember her own name. His lips were soft on hers, his arms surrounding her, his tongue searching within her. She fought to remember the intel, the information, to keep him from getting to her core. But with each moment that passed she felt as if he were delving deeper inside her, to her heart, her soul, her being. She was so unsettled that she stopped him and pulled back. And that’s when she saw the look of confusion and sadness in his eyes. “Chas . . .” she asked, searchingly, thrown off for real now, “is everything all right?”
He swallowed, and his eyes seemed to cloud over. “I want to give you something. Something that’s important to me. May I?”
“Of course.”
He reached beneath the collar of his shirt and pulled out a leather cord that held a silver charm on it, a Celtic design of interlocking strands. Was it a sword? Perhaps a symbol from a coat of arms? And then she remembered his unusual candelabra in his bedroom. “Is it a tree?”
“It is, indeed. A tree of life. It was my mother’s, actually. And it has been in my family for generations.”
“My god, Chas,” Susannah gasped. She was truly surprised by his actions. Was this just another game to him? But she couldn’t figure out the angle he was playing. “Why would you want to give it to me ?”
“Honestly, Susannah,” he said awkwardly, “you mean more to me than any woman I’ve ever met. You mean the very world to me. And each moment I spend with you, well—I only want to spend more. Will you accept this?”
There was a long pause. Susannah was truly confused now, and deeply pissed because of it. She was going to have to ask him for the truth, the real truth, or she was never going to make it through the night. She reached next to her, grabbed the glass of pink champagne, and chugged it. Wiping off her mouth with the back of her hand, she hiccuped, letting off steam, and spoke sharply. “Before I do, would you mind telling me about the tall blonde you’re fucking? And does she get a family tree too?” Then she hiccuped again, louder this time, and waited for his response.
‡‡‡
LISA BEE SAT in Le Bar, the lounge of the Hotel George V, sipping her fourth pastis. Of Scottish stock, she could drink the world under the table, with the exception of her own family. The Goudreaus regularly held drinking tournaments in which she and her brothers downed shots of Crown Royal for nothing more than a tattered plaid flask bearing the family crest. But it was more than that. She loved proving to her brothers that she could hold her own. As the youngest of five, and the only girl, she learned from an early age how to clean her plate quickly, how to throw a great sucker punch, and how to drink like a Scotsman.
She, Jackson, and the Boss were all connected by headset, and in addition, she was working steadily on her laptop, which had surveillance of the penthouse from every angle. Jackson had done a fine job outfitting the place: he had eyes and ears all over the joint, and her screen was filled with images. Just after Chas gave Susannah “the family tree,” Lisa Bee snorted and said aloud (in a heightened version of her N’awlins twang), “ Laissez le bon temps rouler , baby.” Then she took a deep drink and said, “Fuck this . I’m gonna need some bourbon.”
“As you wish, madame,” said a sultry voice, and she turned to find Jackson holding two shot glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, his favorite. He always traveled with a private stash.
“Aw, hell.” Lisa Bee chortled, secretly thrilled to have Jackson by
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