Page 4 of Passion's Wicked Torment

“I know how to handle myself,” she protested, still trying to maintain the sophisticated, knowledgeable image that was shredding at the seams under his perceptive gaze.

“Like hell you do. You’re asking for trouble. I’m trying to save you from it.”

“I ... I don’t need your help!” she declared angrily. Who was he to ruin her plan? She was having a hard enough time forcing herself to do this now. The last thing she needed was to have him make it harder by refusing to take her up on her offer, now that she had finally forced herself to make it.

“What do you want?” he asked. “What are you here for?”

“I want . . . you. That’s what I’m here for. I like my men hard and tough.”

“Babe, take a lesson in gambling from a pro. Don’t bluff when your opponent is likely to call you on it.” “Meaning?” she asked sarcastically.

He answered slowly, “Take down your dress.”

She hesitated. She tried not to show in her face the strong reluctance and the revulsion she felt in doing something that she had all her life been educated against. Slowly her hands went to the straps of her gown, and she pulled them down over her shoulders. She took her arms out of the straps, then pulled the cowl front top of the gown down to her waist.

She stood there, breathing heavily with nervousness and fear, her breasts under the lacy, pink half camisole rising and falling with her breathing. She caught herself looking down to avoid holding his eyes. She forced herself to return his stare.

“Now the slip.”

She hesitated again. Her heart was racing. Then, slowly, she pulled down the straps of her slip and dropped the camisole down to her waist, baring her shapely breasts. She had a strong urge to put her arms across her chest protectively, but she fought it down. She stood there, her arms down at her sides, fingers half clenched in nervous apprehension.

He stared at her breasts. He came up close. She prepared herself for his touch, bracing herself so she would not flinch. She was not prepared for the way his palms rose to her breasts, though, and remained near, an inch away, not quite touching, but so tantalizingly close. Her nipples became erect and began tingling. She blushed wildly, and her creamy white skin turned pink all the way down to her naked breasts.

Dallas Hunter bent forward and took her nipple between his lips, teasing it with his tongue while his hand slithered up her leg. She yelped in astonishment at the intense feeling of pleasure that flooded her, then pulled back, even though she had braced herself against doing so.

Hunter stood up straight and looked at her with a hint of triumph behind his impassive expression. “Pull up your dress and get out of here. You’re playing with fire. And you’ll get burned. Now do as I say and get out.”

The buzzer sounded on his desk top. He pressed the button. “Yeah?”

“Boss,” said a male voice, which came through metallic over the intercom. “Ironman is here. He just got in. Should I send him up?”

“You don’t ‘send’ Ironman anywhere,” said Hunter into the box. “You go down and greet him politely and then bring him up. Whoever taught you manners?” “Never learned any.”

“Roger that, you bozo. I’ll be down in a minute. Make him comfortable.” He released the button and turned back to Kristin. “Get dressed and get out of here,” he said. “Be gone by the time I get back. And if I ever catch you in my club again, I won’t be such a gentleman.”

Hunter walked across the room and through a door into what appeared to be a washroom. Through the doorway, Kristin saw him straightening his necktie in the mirror and adjusting his tuxedo. Then he came back into the room, glanced at her once more and left through the main door back into the casino, shutting the door—and the sudden sounds of gambling—after him.

She pulled her slip and gown back into place. She watched the door to make sure he would not be back. Then she quickly went to his desk and pulled at the drawers. There might be something in there she could use, something that might tell her where Chad was.

The drawers were locked. There was a low credenza near the desk, and she found that it was not locked. But inside there was nothing of any use to her. It contained gambling supplies, ledgers, a few bottles of whiskey and some odds and ends.

Oh darn! she thought, straightening up. She eyed the door. She did want to leave the casino. Her actions during these past few minutes had disgusted her, even though she had felt forced to do them. She’d been humiliated, having to bare her breasts before this callous stranger. This hoodlum. Having his lips upon her nipples and . . . and . . . !

She did not want to continue this charade any longer. She knew that she would continue it anyway, if there was a need for it, but at the moment it did not look as if it was necessary. She was not sure anymore that Hunter was responsible for Chad’s kidnapping, or even if he knew anything about it. Somehow he did not seem the type; her intuition told her this. It would be all right to change her plan, then, to find some other way of learning about Chad.

Just to be sure, before she made her way out of the room, she checked the top of Hunter’s desk. There were no notes or loose sheets of paper. There was a pad of white paper, but the only thing on that was some amateurish doodling and a few numbers. A desk calendar, containing various notations about things he had to do that day was in the center of the desk. Kristin flipped through the calendar pages quickly, going back day by day. The notations had to do with entries regarding things like whom he was to meet that day, various appointments, various evening engagements he had. She was giving up any hope of finding anything useful when suddenly she saw an entry that chilled her: Chad Fleming. Action required.

That was all it said. The date on the calendar page was the day Chad had been abducted. Kristin turned the calendar back to the current date and inspected the desk to make sure nothing was out of place. She looked longingly at the door that led to escape, to freedom from this horrid trap she had gotten herself into. But she tore her eyes away. She knew what she had to do.

CHAPTER 4

Ironman Mike Gianelli was the most notorious gang lord in Chicago. He had been the mastermind of the plan to apportion Chicago among the various warring gangs to avoid the intergang bloodshed that was hurting everyone in the underworld. Aside from occasional lapses, the plan had been a big success, and Ironman had become respected as one of the dominant powers among Chicago gangsters.

He was stocky and built hard, with no fat on him, just muscle. He had a scar on his right cheek from a bullet received during one of battles that had marked his rise to power many years ago. His voice was gruff, and he was puffing on a thick cigar as he said to Hunter while they walked through the casino, “We need an insider to carry this off, see? It ain’t going to work no good with us just barging into Rooney’s warehouse. We need an insider to let us in on the sly.”

“I understand all that,” Hunter said, his voice reflecting the fact that he harbored doubts. “I just don’t know where we’re going to get someone with the qualifications it takes to get inside for this sort of job. You don’t have anyone in your mob who can handle it. And I sure as hell don’t.”

“Well, what about you?”

“Don’t make me laugh. Rooney knows my face as well as he knows yours. Besides, I don’t look the part.” “No,” admitted Ironman, “that you sure don’t.”

They had just entered Hunter’s office and now took seats in the room. Hunter had his henchman Blackie with him, and Ironman had brought along two of his “associates.” They were discussing the coming job they planned to pull, when suddenly their conversation was interrupted by a sound coming from the washroom, the sound of someone showering.

“What the hell is that?” Ironman asked suspiciously. “I thought we were alone.”

Hunter grimaced and went into the bathroom. He came out a few seconds later, his fist clutching Kristin’s hair, jerking her out in front of him into the room. She had a bath towel wrapped around herself. Her arms and legs and shoulders were dripping wet.

“What are you doing here?”

Hunter growled at her. “Showering,” she answered curtly, not showing any fear.

“What do you think, taking a swim?”

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