The Angels' Share (The Bourbon Kings #2) - J. R. Ward Page 0,41

be one around here …

As he pulled the top of the uniform wide and released the front clasp of her bra, her tight nipples were exposed and oh, yeah, they were perfect. And at the same time, he looked around her and opened the first of the drawers.

Good job, he thought as he found a three-pack of bright blue foiled Trojans.

Next thing he knew, he had the maid naked except for the thigh highs. She was magnificent, all real breasts and good hips, supple thighs and sweet flesh. He stayed clothed, and slipped one of those condoms on without losing a beat.

Tiphanii, with two i’s at the end, knew exactly how to wrap her legs around and lock her ankles behind his hips, and oh, yeah, the sound she made in his ear. Planting one palm next to the antique mirror on the wall and holding her waist with the other, he started thrusting. As she grabbed on to his shoulders, he closed his eyes.

It was so damned good. Even though this was anonymous, and obviously the result of his foreigner status making him seem exotic. Sometimes, though, you had to take advantage of what crossed your path.

She found her release before he did. Or at least she put a show on as if she did; he wasn’t sure and wasn’t bothered if it was an act.

His orgasm was for real, though, powerful and racking, a reminder that, at least for him, flesh and blood was better than the alternative every time.

When he was finished, Tiphanii snuggled up to his chest as he caught his breath.

“Mmm,” she whispered into his ear. “That was good.”

Yes, it was, he thought as he pulled out.

“Then let’s do it again,” he groaned as he picked her up and headed for the bed.

Downstairs in the parlor, Lane let Ricardo Monteverdi talk everything out even though Lane knew exactly how much was owed and how much of an emergency it was going to be for Monteverdi if those millions weren’t paid back.

A glass of Family Reserve helped pass the time—and cut the retinal burn from that photograph of Rosalinda’s son. The hair, the eyes, the shape of the face, the build of the body—

“And your brother was not helpful.”

Okay, so the speech was wrapping up. “Edward isn’t really involved in the family anymore.”

“And he calls himself a son—”

“Watch yourself,” Lane bit out. “Any insult against my brother is an offense to me.”

“Pride can be an expensive luxury.”

“So is professional integrity. Especially if it’s built on falsity.” Lane toasted the man with his bourbon. “But we digress. I haven’t been back here for two years, and there is a lot to wrestle with in light of my father’s unfortunate demise.”

There was a pause, during which Monteverdi was clearly calibrating his approach. When the man finally spoke again, his voice was both smooth and aggressive at the same time. “You must understand that this loan has to be paid back now.”

Funny, there had been two weeks only a week ago. Guess the Prospect Trust board had gotten wind of something, or somebody had caught the trail of the loan.

Lane had wondered how the guy had managed to make the deal without getting caught.

“The will is being probated,” Lane said, “and I don’t have access to any of the family accounts except for my own as I have no power of attorney for my mother, and my father named his personal attorney, Babcock Jefferson, as his executor. If you’re looking to be paid, you should be talking to Mr. Jefferson.”

When Monteverdi cleared his throat, Lane thought, Ahhhh, so the man had gone that route already and been shut down.

“I should think, Lane, that you’d prefer to take a more personal interest in this.”

“And why is that?”

“You have enough to keep out of the press as it is.”

“My father’s death is already on the news.”

“That is not to which I refer.”

Lane smiled and got up, heading back to the bar set-up on its brass cart. “Tell me something, how are you going to release the information that my family is broke and not send yourself up the river?” He glanced over his shoulder. “I mean, let’s get it all out in the open, shall we? You’re threatening me with some kind of reveal, and even if it’s an anonymous tip on your part, how exactly is that going to play out for you when your board learns about this loan you and my father thought up together? We’re not a