AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Corbett dropped off his effervescent young spy and got straight on the road back to San Antonio. There was, he grinned to himself, alotto report.
Downtown San Antonio
Wednesday afternoon
It had turnedinto a perfect fall afternoon, Vincent noted contentedly as he eased himself out of the pool. Marcella handed him his Egyptian cotton towel, then his unforgivably loud Hawaiian shirt and beach shorts. Twenty-three, unashamedly sexy and wonderfully attentive, she smiled by her boss’ side as he took in the fabulous views of downtown amid the healthful glow of a good, long swim. An angular city, San Antonio’s pale, sun-bleached architecture shone intensely from up here, its towers as familiar to him as the warmth of the sun on his neck, as comforting as Marcella’s tender, bare ass under his fondling hand.
“Right, my dear,” he said, enjoying her shy smile, her perfectly smooth skin... and the aroused gasp, the bitten lower lip as his fingers found their favorite place. “That’s more than enough goddamned fitness for one day. A Montecristo, if you’d be so kind,” he requested politely. “Number Two,” Vincent added, slowly withdrawing his hand and, for clarity, holding up a pair of deliciously wet fingers.
“Si, SeñorHeston,” Marcella said softly, slipping her panties back into place with the half-feigned shame of the innocent — although, as Heston’s assistant and ‘masseuse,’ she was anything but — and returning a little propriety to her posture. With fabulous wealth, Vincent Heston remarked often to himself, came some treasurable perks; leasing the top three floors of this building gave Vincent valuable privacy, affording him this extravagant pool as playground, fitness center and outdoor conference room for his — and Marcella’s — exclusive use.
There were less ostentatious benefits, like these fine, Cuban cigars... and his little Marcella, shapely and discrete, a feast for the senses and a salve for an often overworked mind. Vincent reclined in a deck chair and blew smoke rings at the azure sky; Marcella slid into his lap and, opening herself for her generous, doting boss, welcomed his two fingers inside her once more.
She had just come, noisily and wetly, when the intercom buzzer sounded. “Darling, would you? I’m very busy,” he grinned, motioning to the cigar. The Number Two really was superior, he judged after a decade’s experience, smoother and more pleasingly spicy.
“SeñorHeston, Mr. Curt is here.”
Vincent rose and chuckled. “Beneath me, for sure. Beneath you, even. But how will the chariot of success proceed without my giving instructions to its horses?” Marcella frowned slightly and buzzed the gate open. “This will be business, my angel,” Vincent said with something approaching kindness. “We’ll continuethis,” he slipped his hand between her legs once more and flicked her swollen clit, “immediatelyafter, have no fear.”
“Si,SeñorHeston. Will be special, like this morning?” she asked lustfully.
Vincent made a show of considering this as though it were a billion-dollar deal. “I think, my dear, that can be arranged. So, don’t forget the lube.” He spanked her perfect ass, within which his climax had been so memorably ‘special’ earlier, and washed up before Curt’s lumbering arrival.
“Jesus, man.” Vincent regarded the big enforcer, who looked incongruously formal in suit and tie, with alarmed eyes. “I’m in fuckin’beach shortsand I’m moments from jumping in there, just to cool off.”
Curt stood, glancing left and right, perplexed. “Marcella said you like your employees to wear suits.”
Vincent let out a raucous belly laugh. “Not suits... Uniforms!” He was nearly helpless. “And that only goes forher, numbnuts. You wouldn’tbelieveher French maid routine. It’soutrageous. Anyway,” he said, getting his breath back and reaching for his cigar, “‘What news on the Rialto?’”
“Where’s that, boss?” Curt had a great deal of affection for this powerful and genuine man, but grew a little weary of being made to feel like a second-rate mind.
“Merchant of Venice. A story of debt and revenge. Ratherà propos, wouldn’t you say?”
Curt lost his jacket and pressed on regardless. “Hank Samuelson,” he began.
“Ah, yes. The rabbit in the headlights.” Vincent slid back into his deck chair. “What of him?”
“I tracked him to Pendale and tossed his motel room, but there wasn’t a dime there, nor any real intel.”
“’Alas! I blame you not, for you are mortal.’” He paused. “As the bard would say.”
Curt cleared his throat awkwardly. “He spent the night in an RV park in the boonies, then drove back into town and met up with his sister.”
“Raven, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Twenty-four, kinda cute, works at the bakery in Pendale. And there’s this guy who’s always with her.”
Vincent snorted. “That’s often the way, dear Curt, with desirable women.”
“No, boss, I mean...always, like he’s her protection detail.”
“Wait, you’re telling me they hired private security already?”
Curt shook his head. “I figure he’s just a boyfriend. Looks pretty serious.”
Vincent rose from the deck chair with almost pained reluctance, as if unwilling to sweat the small stuff on such a beautiful day. “Curt, let me ask you this. Areyoupretty serious?”
The bigger man straightened his back. “You bet, boss.”
