Icebreaker (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Read online

  He didn’t relent on her nipples, but as he bit and sucked, he worked harder on her clit, circling and rubbing, harder than she would have thought she could bear, yet all evidence was to the contrary. When he finally, teasingly, dipped a finger between her pussy lips, she was soaked, and the pleasure of his touch so exquisite she would have in that moment promised to be his sex slave forever.

  But it seemed Steve was determined to make her wait, and learn a little at least it seemed. He pulled back and sat up, parting her legs and kneeling between them. Rather than piercing her, though, he knelt down and ran his tongue over her clit. She could feel his stubble against her most sensitive parts and the roughness aroused her further.

  “Oh yes,” she moaned.

  Steve licked and then rubbed her clit with his chin, his tongue moving right down her slit, pulling her butt up so he could get right to her asshole. Her juices seemed to hit a new level as he sank his mouth over her cunt, sucking and thrusting his tongue inside.

  “More,” she managed to gasp, but it was his cock she wanted and she was sure he knew it. He teased her more, though, sitting back to take her in. Not able to wait, she struggled to sit up, arms around his neck and pulling him down onto her, thrusting her hips into him as she did. He hesitated, but then he, too, was lost in a wave of desire, as his cock found her pussy and he thrust hard and deep.

  Sienna’s muscles clamped hard around him, as if she was afraid he might tease her some more. The feeling of him inside her sent tiny shudders through her. At first she thought she might come, but he pulled back ever so slightly, nibbling her ear and kissing her, tongue pushing inside her mouth. She felt totally as one with him, and the internal shivering took on a life of its own, waving through her body, extending when he, too, began to release and their pleasure became mutual.

  Chapter Five

  Well, that went well. Not.

  Sienna was wide awake and the bedside clock said five a.m. She’d missed the last bus so had had to stay. Steve was asleep next to her and looking drop-dead gorgeous. She’d just had the best sex she’d ever had and he wanted to tie her up and for her to be his sub. Great. Completely in hand. There was just the little matter of how she was meant to be investigating him, the file she had to see, that he was probably a crook, that so was Connell, and, for that matter, where did Elle fit into all of this? Damn tendinitis. She could have been doing a nice office job.

  Carefully removing Steve’s arm that was draped over her, she eased herself out of bed, shivering. The fire was dead and it had to have been well below zero. Grabbing a robe from the back of the door, she pulled it around her and tiptoed out in search of a bathroom. If asked, she’d say she didn’t want to use the en-suite for fear of waking him.

  In the office she went straight to the file. Elle O’Grady. She hadn’t imagined it. In the lamplight she quickly opened it. There were about a dozen pages.

  The first was on letterhead, from a Kim Story, Private Investigator. Report attached. Someone investigated Elle?

  The attached report made staggering reading. More, it was unbelievable. Was this the same Elle O’Grady who had smoked behind the sheds with her at fifteen? Cried on her shoulder at thirteen when her father had yet again forgotten her birthday? The same Elle O’Grady who had nearly drowned in the pond at their final year muck up? After she’d filled it with soap suds?

  Kim Story’s Elle O’Grady read like Mata Hari.

  2012 March. Three weeks in Beirut. Saw Kronin brothers, unsure connection. Almost certainly drug related. They use mechanic shop as cover and she had three different bikes out on three consecutive days.

  Sienna didn’t even know Elle could ride a motorbike. If she was anything like the way she drove a car, it was amazing she and those around her were still alive.

  2012 April. Zagreb. Large cash deposits sent to offshore account following meeting with Trypovic.

  Each entry was more unbelievable than the next. Sienna wouldn’t have trusted Elle with more than five dollars after she had loaned her three hundred and never saw a cent of it again. Had she been that stupid? To know someone most of her life and actually not know them at all? She’d always just put the Georges down to being bad taste, a penchant for power and them being at the low end she could access. But this? This suggested that Elle was not just a passive observer.

  Which led to the obvious question. Where was Elle now, and why had she wanted Sienna to come to Hotham in her place?

  * * * *

  Connell banged on Elle’s door at eight a.m. When he got no answer, he cautiously used his master key. Room empty, bed made. Why did he just know that Elle O’Grady wouldn’t make her own bed? Which meant she hadn’t come back to the room. Shit. Where was she?

  “Looking for me?”

  Connell swung around to see Sienna was standing in the doorway looking unimpressed.

  “Yes,” said Connell, mouth dry. “When you didn’t turn up last night and…”

  “I left a note, so it wasn’t like I had gone missing.”

  “Stranger things have happened,” said Connell, recovering. “People get lost in the snow all the time. Happy to see you didn’t.”

  “Quite.”

  “So tonight?”

  “Right now,” said Sienna, “I need a shower. Alone, if you don’t mind.”

  Connell was unceremoniously bundled out of the room and the door slammed behind him.

  He walked back to his office, deep in thought. What was the worst that could have happened? If she really was as good as he’d had been led to believe—and she’d certainly given him the slip effectively—then she’d be after what? The only files that were in any way incriminating were in a safe, and she couldn’t be a safe cracker, too, surely? Other than Steve, no one on the mountain knew anything. No one except…shit. The mayor.

  * * * *

  Sienna stayed under the shower for a full fifteen minutes. It didn’t help. She needed coffee but wasn’t going anywhere near Steve’s breakfast café or Snow City, and instant coffee wasn’t going to cut it. She rugged up as it was snowing again and headed off to somewhere innocuous. Unfortunately, their coffee was tasteless. But after her third, her brain started to move into first gear.

  What did she know?

  Steve thought Elle O’Grady was dangerous. But he knew her as Sienna Martin.

  Connell was trying to distract her, or rather Elle—but from what? And for whom? Didn’t he work for DJ, who Elle, aka Mata Hari, did also?

  Drugs and money laundering. Yet Elle had only mentioned vague things about a nightclub. Okay, that did exist, but so what?

  It came back to Elle again. She really couldn’t, in her heart, believe her flaky friend would have deliberately put her in harm’s way. Maybe Elle wasn’t flaky after all, but she still wouldn’t have put her at risk. Which meant this really was about nightclub owners being territorial. Trouble was, Steve had done some reconnaissance and come up with extra shit. Why it was filed under Elle and not DJ she wasn’t sure, but that had to be the connection. But as she hadn’t told Steve she was Elle, this didn’t matter anyway.

  Which only left Connell.

  And the drugs and money laundering. But that wasn’t her problem, was it?

  “Lost in thoughts or love?”

  Sienna looked up, startled. She breathed easy. Jean-Claude.

  “Bit of both,” she said as a memory of last night passed through her mind.

  “Fabulous,” said Jean-Claude, sitting down next to her. “Have you by some chance seen two terrible sticky-fingered children dressed in rosé?”

  Sienna grinned. “Bad luck. Over there.”

  Jean-Claude groaned and bounced off, embracing the mother like they were long-lost friends.

  Back to work. Connell and DJ and Elle. And a bit of Steve maybe, too.

  * * * *

  “Mayor Jenkins,” said Connell with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

  “Yes?”

  “Any chance of a coffee?”

  Silence.
“I’ve got a hangover, mate.”

  “Big night?” Connell’s stomach was sinking.

  “Something like that.”

  Connell took a gamble. He needed to know. “Wouldn’t have involved a hot brunette in a white number, would it?”

  The silence this time seemed to be more ominous. “Fuck,” said Harry as he hung up.

  Connell stared at the phone. Just what in the hell had happened between Elle and the mayor?

  * * * *

  “Elle?” Sienna’s sixth attempt at ringing her friend finally got a response. It was midday, but in New Zealand it was mid-afternoon. If that was where she was, of course.

  “Hi, hon, how’s it going?”

  Elle had started addressing her as “‘hon” after George One. For the first time it was irritating Sienna. Seriously irritating her.

  “Interesting,” she replied. “I have a few questions.”

  “Sure,” said Elle. “But I’ll have to rush in five.”

  “Photo shoot?”

  “No, not right now. Makeup, drinks. Snow is amazing.”

  Sienna had checked it out. Snow was supposedly good in Queenstown, but that didn’t mean Elle was there.

  “Is it DJ who’s paying?”

  Silence. “I’ll make sure you’re paid, promise, honest to God.”

  Which told her what? Not much. DJ was somewhere in the mix, but she didn’t want to talk about him?

  “Just what am I meant to turn up on Prescott, Elle? It kind of looks straightforward to me.”

  “Great,” said Elle enthusiastically. “But any leverage would be good. You know, screwing the mayor’s wife or something.”

  This really wasn’t heading where she wanted to go and she knew Elle well enough to know the meter was ticking.

  “So can you tell me,” said Sienna, “what you were doing in Beirut and Zagreb last year?”

  There should have been silence, a hesitation. Some sign of guilt. That there wasn’t−“Hon, I was having a ball!”−had Sienna thinking even harder and going in circles.

  * * * *

  Connell was not taking no for an answer. Though Sienna thought she was now most likely just working for her own satisfaction and curiosity, Connell was going to have more answers at this time than Steve. And she couldn’t deny she found him attractive, though where this sat in light of the night with Steve was too difficult to contemplate.

  He picked her up on a snowmobile, which, after the helicopter, had to be the most interesting form of transport a date had ever used. Not that this was a date, of course.

  “So how has your morning been?”

  My girlfriend is a spy I can’t trust, I woke up next to someone I’m either in love with or are going to rat on, no idea who is paying me and I don’t trust your motives even though every time you look at me I want to jump you.

  “Great,” said Sienna. “Where are we going?”

  “Lunch with the big players, I’ll take you around the mountain skiing this afternoon, dinner at Snow Leopard and then a party at Snow City Elite.”

  It was as Sienna expected. He was trying not to give her a second spare.

  What it seemed like he hadn’t counted on was Sam from last night being there. When Connell ushered into the huge room at the top of Snow City, Sam spotted her immediately and went pale. Sienna had to force herself not to giggle, and figured he looked too embarrassed to admit where they had met, so she would be safe. But it was Connell’s expression that had her stumped. His clear attempt to steer her as far away from Sam meant she now knew she had to speak to last night’s High Tower’s guest.

  It took her until dessert, which was luckily a buffet and she jumped up as soon as Sam started to pile slabs of cream and meringue pavlova as well as cheesecake onto his plate. Connell was right behind her.

  “Hi,” said Sienna brightly. “We haven’t met, I don’t think.” She put a small scoop of fruit salad on her plate. Elle’s hot-pink cat-suit wasn’t going to allow for much more.

  Sam looked slightly relieved. “Ah yes, um…”

  “Elle,” said Connell smoothly, “this is Harry Jenkins, our mayor.” He was looking at her as he spoke. “Harry, this is Elle O’Grady.”

  Connell missed not-Sam-but-Harry’s expression. Sienna didn’t. It was like a light bulb went on. What the hell did that mean?

  * * * *

  Sienna was unable to learn anything more, but over the rest of the lunch Harry treated her like she was a keg of dynamite.

  When I see you, Elle O’Grady, if someone else hasn’t killed you first, I will.

  Connell had her back on the snowmobile and into skis before she knew it and took her down the Sun Valley run, which she had done once with Jean-Claude. Connell stopped halfway waiting for her, at the turn off to a black-diamond run.

  “Up for this?”

  Sienna looked down a narrow run that seemed littered with trees that may as well have had signs saying “Hit me.” She shook her head. “I’m happily a blue run girl, I think, at this stage.”

  There were more than enough blue runs to keep her happy. Connell sashayed ahead, clearly an excellent skier who was babysitting her. But why? She finally decided to tell him she was exhausted and needed a rest before dinner. He looked relieved, and took her back to her room before returning undoubtedly to work. Sienna waited for him to be out of sight and then went to the lounge and tucked herself away with a computer.

  Connell Crane, unlike the other two men she had researched, was all over the internet, personally and professionally. He’d been in the 2006 Winter Olympics downhill slalom and won a semi-final when he had lost grip and gone crashing down the mountain. He had ended up wrapped around a tree, ending not just his race hopes but any possibility of future racing. He’d been in hospital for months, and when he came out, he had gone to work with DJ.

  And he was single, hot, and why did she keep fantasizing about having him on one side of her and Steve on the other?

  * * * *

  Connell picked her up again on the snowmobile.

  “Quick diversion before dinner,” he said.

  The diversion entailed a night ski, in a dress, in her case, down the Big D, the only consolation being a large mug of mulled wine at the bottom. To Sienna’s surprise, it was a lot of fun. Connell had a group of friends who were funny and positive, the girls equally as badly dressed for the task at hand as her, and when they all inevitably fell headfirst into dark piles of snow and bumped into each other, snow either working its way into crevices or else pushed, the cold and wet didn’t seem to matter. They were laughing too hard and the hot wine seemed to solve any temperature issues.

  They were then late for dinner as one of Connell’s friends had “borrowed” some beer trays and they all took one and proceeded to scoot down the next slope using them as toboggans. It was surely more good luck than good management that they all missed the trees, given the trays were totally uncontrollable and Sienna ended up backward more than once.

  She was soaked, but then so was everyone else. The guys gallantly gave up fireside space so the girls could dry off. The tight red dress, wet, wasn’t leaving much to the imagination. Sienna was painfully aware that Connell couldn’t take his eyes off her. He was so much more her type than Steve, and yet…

  By the time dinner had been eaten, everyone had dried off and she was mellow from at least one too many Harvey Wallbangers—there had been a jug—and she found herself on the back of the snowmobile holding onto Connell tightly as he went far too fast, and they both enjoyed it far too much.

  The night club, after the previous night, was tame. Or rather, ordinary. Loud music, noisy, and too hot. Sienna saw Troy in the distance and ignored him. She had one dance with Jean-Claude before giving him back to Errol and then went back in search of Connell, who had had to take a phone call. He seemed to have vanished. Reminding herself there were still unanswered questions, she wandered out of the club and toward his office. Sure enough Connell was on the telephone there. She made sure she
kept out of sight, but as the building was mostly deserted at this end, the acoustics were working in her favor.

  “No, nothing…No, you know Steve. He’s into that sort of thing…No. Who? You mean the chick in the basement? Yeah, I’m looking after her…Yeah, whatever.”

  She heard the phone being slammed down. Suddenly feeling dead sober her enthusiasm for clubbing had died. She slipped back into the shadows as Connell left, locking the door behind him. She counted three minutes and then making sure no one was around, pulled out the key she’d taken from his drawer and let herself in.

  * * * *

  The first thing she did was pick up the phone and check the last caller. This sadly yielded no results as the call had gone through Snow City’s switchboard.

  These filing cabinets, unlike Steve’s, had no indexes and had things stuffed in everywhere at all angles. Even if she had all night, she might get nowhere.

  Diary—none. She had seen him with an iPhone, presumably he used that. Back up on the computer? Turning her attention to it, she found that Connell was still logged on. She copied DJ’s phone number, just in case. He had an annoying system of initials. There was a TJ as well so she copied that, too.

  The computer diary hadn’t been backed up in months, so forget that. She did a quick search—PI advanced class—for hidden files and came up with one that might have been interesting if she could work out what the numbers were for. A search for Beirut, Lebanon, and drugs came up empty, but then she figured it would. The recycle bin had been completely cleared, which, in telling her nothing specific, told her a lot. But the deleted e-mails were a little more illuminating. One anyway.

  If she finds out about what we know it could blow everything wide open.

  The response from Steve Prescott was, We can deal with it.