A Touch of Spring (2 page)

Outside, the evening air was crisp and cold, after the heat of the hospital. Roz shivered and zipped up her ski jacket. Bloody avalanches and bloody Andy McTavish. How had he found her so quickly?

She couldn’t get out of Zermatt yet and she needed shelter. Roz patted the pockets of her jacket. Damn. No credit cards or wallet. A search of the smaller pocket revealed a ski pass and a handful of Swiss francs. Not enough to pay for a hotel, and she had no idea where she had been staying before the avalanche.

It would have to be the youth hostel. She could afford a bed in a dorm and if she was lucky she might be able to talk her way into a private room. She set off slowly. Leaning on her ski poles, she climbed the hill toward the hostel. Her head ached as she walked.

The lobby of the large chalet was bright and cheerful, but the earnest student behind the desk was adamant that she had no single rooms available. All she could offer Roz was a bunk in a four bed dorm with a shared bathroom. Roz shrugged and handed over the notes. She used her change to get a bottle of water from the vending machine. The pain in her head throbbed in time to the music playing in the coffee bar. She was too exhausted to think. She needed her pain meds and sleep.

Two sets of bunk beds lined the walls of the narrow room. Out of habit, she checked the bedding and was relieved it was clean. She stripped off, and stowed her clothes and boots beneath the bed. Swallowing the pills she had taken from the hospital, Roz cocooned herself in the duvet and drifted off to sleep with memories of Andy McTavish kissing her.

Kissing her. God, could that man kiss. His mouth was a weapon, sexy and lethal. What would he have done if the nurse hadn’t arrived? Fevered visions of Andy slipping his hand beneath her robe, drifted through her imagination. He stroked her breasts with those clever fingers and pinched her aching nipples until she gasped.

The hospital room drifted away and Roz was floating in a delicious fantasy of Andy carrying her up the stairs of an ancient castle and kicking the door closed behind him. There was a fireplace in the turret room and she could almost feel the warmth of it. Andy’s laughter as he sent them both tumbling onto the antique bed. Andy leaning over her, winding a handful of her hair in his fist to hold her in place while he took her mouth in a possessive kiss. .

Oh yes
. She didn’t usually let guys be in charge but this was so good. Roz squirmed beneath his touch. Breathless little whimpers filled the room as she arched against him mindlessly, brushing her breasts against his chest. Helpless with pleasure, she luxuriated in the barrage of sensation. Andy kissing her. Andy nibbling her neck, pausing to graze her nipples with his teeth on his journey south. .

The first long, slow lick made her gasp. It was too much but at the same time, not enough. She tangled her fingers in his hair as he licked again, deeper this time, lingering on her clit. She cried as the first waves of orgasm spread out like ripples on a pond. His clever mouth and probing tongue continued to pleasure her even as she struggled to process the sensations. A second wave, stronger than the first. obliterated every thought. There was nothing but him.

“Andy,” she cried out. She wanted him inside her.

Laughing, he crawled up her body, and nudged her thighs apart with his knee. Hand clamping around the base of his cock, he rubbed the tip against her core. The hard set of his jaw, the heat in his eyes, made her arch against him.

“Now.”

“Whatever pleases my lady,” he said and thrust home.

Roz awoke with a jerk, struggling to remember where she was. The dream had been so real. She stared at the wooden slats of the bunk above her. The small dorm was fully occupied now. A soft snore from across the room made her want to giggle. From castle to hostel in the space of a second - what a come down. How could she have imagined her and Andy McTavish together? It couldn’t happen, not in a million years.

She burrowed back under the duvet and closed her eyes.

Morning came, bringing daylight and noise. Her head thudded so hard she felt nauseous. Roz pulled the covers up over her face, but the yelling of the two Irish kids in the corridor told her it was time to get up. She dragged herself out of bed, downed another pain pill and staggered down the corridor to the showers. She had to hold herself up against the wall. The hot water revived her a bit but having to get dressed in the same sweaty clothes again ruined the effect.

She had to find out what she was doing in Zermatt and then get out of town before Andy McTavish caught up with her. After that erotic dream last night, she wouldn’t be able to meet his eye.

She rooted through her pockets again, hoping to find a few more coins or, better still, a couple of hundred franc notes. No such luck. But in the small sleeve pocket of her jacket which held her lift-pass, she found a key card.

Roz turned it over. Zermatterhof Hotel.

She caught her breath. She could never have afforded to say there, so this was proof, she had stolen the Van Gogh from the hotel. But where was the painting now? The room card had no number on it. Of course not, that would be too easy.

During the night the snow had stopped falling, and Zermatt was an artist’s dream, steep snow-covered roofs shadowing the streets, the spire of the Catholic Church spearing the sky and the Matterhorn rising in the background. The snow was at least six feet deep, but with typical Swiss efficiency, all the road signs had been uncovered so no one could claim ignorance of speed limits. Did speeding skiers get a ticket, she wondered?

She couldn’t even afford breakfast in the hostel, so Roz clipped up her ski boots, wondering where she had learned that. She had no memory of learning to ski, but she knew what to do. The hard plastic boots had slippery soles and she needed her poles to help her get safely down the hill towards the town.

A horse-drawn carriage appeared, hooves muffled by the snow and only the jangle of the harness and the giggling of the Japanese tourists in the carriage warning her of its approach. Every step she took jarred her head and Roz would have loved a lift, but she had no money.

First order of business, getting cash.

In the main town, a small electric delivery van had pulled up at the bottom of a steep lane-way. There was a discreet jewellery shop six steps up it. The driver got out of the van and glared at the steps.

Roz stepped forward. “Frau –” She squinted at the sign over the shop. “Muller sent me to collect that from you.”

He handed over the box with relief, and she scribbled an illegible signature on the delivery docket. Roz headed up the snow-covered steps to the shop. A fortune in watches was displayed in the window and her eyes widened at the prices.

“Delivery for Frau Hilde Muller,” she called out as she entered the shop. Roz frowned as she scribbled on her copy of the delivery docket. “I’m afraid there is fifty francs owing on this. Delivery charge.”

The assistant in the shop, a handsome blond who couldn’t have been more than twenty, looked panicked. “She is not here.” He opened the cash register and handed Roz a fifty. “I’m so sorry.”

Damn it. Now she felt guilty. That boy was as cute as a kitten. But she took the money and put it in her pocket. At least she could afford breakfast.

One quick stop at McDonalds for food and Roz began to feel a little better. Now for the Zermatterhof Hotel.

The exterior was imposing enough, huge and covered with twinkling fairy lights. She had to psych herself up to climb the steps to the grand foyer of the hotel. How much did it cost to stay here, she wondered, and felt dizzy. It wasn’t just the warmth of the log fire after the cold outside. It was the sight of the blank area on the wooden-panelled wall surrounded by police tape.

Yes, this was all too familiar.

She sank into a leather upholstered chair and wondered what to do next.

“Frau Campbell.”

Roz ignored the polite call, until it was repeated by the receptionist. “Frau Campbell. Your room is ready.”

Roz blinked. “What?” Who was did the receptionist think she was? And who was Frau Campbell?

“Your shower has been repaired. Is it satisfactory?”

Was she still dreaming? Roz coughed, and recovered herself. “Why don’t you show me?”

The receptionist smiled. “Of course, Frau Campbell. I would be happy to.” She led the way towards the old-fashioned lift with Roz following like a stray cat.

Holy crap! It wasn’t just a room, it was a whole suite, with its own log fire, a huge fur rug on the floor, a view of the Matterhorn and a bed big enough for six people. The receptionist ignored the luxurious furniture to lead the way to the bathroom, all white marble and opulence. One of the shower heads over the round tub looked a little shinier than the others. “I’m not sure how it broke,” the receptionist apologized, “But it’s no problem, all fixed.”

She excused herself, leaving Roz alone in the suite.

Roz dashed around it, searching rapidly. It was obvious a couple shared this suite, there were both male and female clothes stacked neatly in the antique mahogany drawers. Roz felt a flash of envy for the woman, whoever she was. The clothes were a little understated for her taste, but the quality was superb and they even looked as if they would fit her.

There was a small safe in the wardrobe, but it was locked and she had no idea what the combination was.

Damn it, in the warmth of the room, she could smell her own sweat and the stinky clothes she had been wearing since yesterday. The suite was silent and she had it to herself. She’d never get a better chance.

Roz stripped off and turned on the shower. God, that felt good and the vanilla scented shower gel was heavenly. Even her persistent headache was less annoying in the warmth. When she reluctantly turned off the shower, she wrapped herself in fluffy towels and went to have another look at the safe. Still nothing. If the painting was in it, she had no idea how to get it out.

Exhaustion caught up with her. She knew that she should get out of here, but the huge bed was calling. She lay down, and the white duvet puffed up around her, hiding her from the room. It was like diving into a pile of whipped cream, she decided.

She would rest for a few minutes before she forced herself back into her dirty clothes.

The insistent mouth against her ankle made her tingle in all the right places. Another sex dream. It must be the blow to the head that was making her dreams so vivid. Still, it almost made up for the headaches. Roz wiggled further into the duvet and parted her legs to allow her dream lover access to her inner thighs.

She was sex starved, she decided. Note to self; when this was over, she needed to get laid. She couldn’t remember the last time she had taken a lover. A real one. Not the kind who wanted to be flogged or locked in cages or treated like puppies. She wanted a man.

The mouth became more insistent, a bite here, a flick of the tongue there, and OMG was he going to…? Oh yes, he was. It felt so good. So exactly right, as if he could read her mind. He should patent what he was doing.

He parted her robe and she luxuriated in the touch of his hands as they paid particular attention to her breasts, pinching one nipple while he teased the other with his tongue. She gave a happy little murmur.

The nip of his teeth brought her fully awake and her eyes flew open. Andy McTavish. Again.

Flecks of snow decorated the soft, dark strands of his hair. His sensual mouth was stern. “You deserved that for worrying me,” he said. “I’ve been out all night looking for you.”

Roz pulled the edges of her robe together. “Well, you’ve found me. Now, if you don’t mind giving me some privacy, I need to get dressed.”

His expression hardened. “As a matter of fact I do mind. You’re in my bed, and I believe that’s my robe you’re wearing.”

Of all the hotels in Zermatt, how the hell had she managed to end up in his room? Out of the corner of her eye, Roz glimpsed her ski clothes scattered on the floor. There was no way she could run away from this one. Striving for dignity, she edged off the bed. “If you were a gentleman, you’d turn around.”

“If you were a lady, I might.”

He caught the direction of her gaze and moved to intercept her. “What’s up with you, Roz? You’ve been acting strange since the avalanche. Maybe you need to go back to the hospital?”

And run in to Gorev again? Roz was in enough trouble without meeting the Russian again. She had to find out where she’d hidden the painting and get out of Zermatt for good.

“No hospital,” she said as she reached for a sock. Where the hell had she left her panties?

Andy snatched it from her hand “Now I know there’s something wrong. You have a wardrobe full of clothes and you’re putting on damp socks?”

Taking her by the wrist, he pulled her to the wardrobe and opened the door. The clothes she had lusted after earlier greeted her. She could never afford clothes like this. Boots, yes – they were necessary for her job when she worked at the clubs. And gloves, well, they were something she adored, but these clothes? She stroked a soft woollen tunic wistfully. The rich autumn colours would be fabulous with her hair. Someone had a lot of taste and money.

A spike of pain hit and she closed her eyes. Damn headache hadn’t gone away. She needed more meds. Roz didn’t realize she was swaying dizzily until she collapsed against a hard, muscled chest.

“I’ve got you,” Andy said as he wrapped his arms around her.

She relaxed into his embrace. He smelled so good, spice and wood and a hint of something citrusy. If they weren’t on opposite sides of the law, she would have been tempted. But Andy McTavish was a no-go area. He should have a big neon sign over his head flashing Danger! Danger! Roz lifted her head reluctantly.

His dark eyes were filled with concern and a hint of something else. “I think you should lie down.”

“That would be such a bad idea.” She didn’t realize she had spoken the words aloud until he laughed.

“That’s my girl.” He dropped a light kiss on her forehead. “Let’s get you dressed then.”

He riffled through the wardrobe, pulling out the woollen tunic and a pair of slim fitting pants. Whistling, he opened a lingerie-filled drawer and put a matching set of bra and panties on to the pile and topped it with a pair of angora socks.

Roz laughed when she saw the cat’s face embroidered on them. They looked like something a toddler would chose, but she loved them.

“You can get dressed in the bathroom if you want. Housekeeping will take care of your dirty clothes. And when you’re ready, we’ll have a little chat.”

Roz closed the bathroom door on his concern. Clever Andy. They were four stories up and the window wouldn’t open wide enough to fit a child through. And he had kept her boots.

She was going nowhere for a while.

She dressed quickly, surprised that the clothes fit her so perfectly, right down to the undies. Opening the bathroom cabinet, she searched for something to untangle her still-damp hair. Roz caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. Beneath the mass of hair, she had a fine collection of bruises. She covered the darkening skin with arnica cream, hoping that it would help. She couldn’t avoid Andy’s ‘little chat’ any longer. It was time to face the music.

The wonderful smell of coffee greeted her and - was that a plate of crepes? Her mouth watered. Apart from McDonalds, she couldn’t remember when she had last eaten and this was exactly what the doctor ordered. Munching happily, Roz cleared the plate in record time and was sipping her second cup of coffee before she realizes that Andy was smiling.

“Something funny?”

“I’m glad to see the bang on the head hasn’t affected your appetite.”

It was time to get down to business. “Nothing affects my appetite. But crepes with maple syrup happen to be my favourite.”

Andy leaned forward. “I know. In fact, I know all about you. Your Dad is Peter Spring, you have a sister Sinead, and your grandmother lives in Castletownberehaven in Ireland.”

A series of images flashed  through her head - her Dad, wearing a prison uniform, the sister she hadn’t seen for years and her grandmother who didn’t give a damn whether she was dead or alive. “So? You’re an investigator. It wouldn’t have been difficult to find out about my family.”

A smile quirked his mouth, giving him a rakish air. “You wear size six shoes. You’re a glove addict and you own at least two dozen pairs of boots.”

That bit was probably true, if only she could remember where she’d left them. “So, you checked out the size on my ski boots while I was in the bathroom. Clever you.”

“You love parkour and you’ve worked as a stunt woman in several movies,” he continued.

“Yeah. I worked at a lot of things.”

Some that she wasn’t particularly proud of. Roz shut the door on those memories. Swindling the blond kid in the jewellery store earlier hadn’t been fun. He would probably get into trouble and that bothered her.

“Please go on. This is such fun.”

Andy ignored her sarcasm. “Let me see. You wear a 36C bra. You think your ass is too big and you have a scar on your thigh from the time you dived into a hedge when you were twelve.”

Andy sat back, looking pleased with himself.

“The first two could fit half the female population of London. The scar you saw earlier. Good guess with the hedge, but try telling me something you can’t find out on Google.” But his knowledge of the scar rattled her. Her Dad would have killed her if he’d caught her jumping off a balcony to get away from a mark.

Andy’s dark eyes glinted at the challenge. He wasn’t giving up. “You have a delightfully sensitive spot behind your right knee that makes you squirm when I lick it. You have a heart-shaped freckle above your ass which is pretty cute. And you melt if I pull your hair while I’m kissing you.”

Roz couldn’t stop the blush that flooded her cheeks. Holy freakin’ cow. She swallowed hard. The beauty mark Andy could have discovered from photographs, but she had told no one about her knee, and as for the hair thing… It was as if this man had been raiding her fantasy drawer.

It’s a trick, she told herself. She knew his reputation. Andy McTavish was a man whore. When he wasn’t saving the world, he was seducing women for a living. He couldn’t know those things about her. It was pure guess work.

He was trying to make her believe that he knew her and there was no way that she could ever forget sleeping with him. Roz decided to brazen it out. “You can’t possibly know any of those things.”

“Oh I can.” Andy nodded in the direction of the bed. “Would you like to prove me wrong?”

He was serious. Andy McTavish actually expected her to go to bed with him to settle a bet? A part of her was tempted. He had occupied far too much of her dreams since the avalanche and it couldn’t hurt to…

Bad girl, Roz
. No playing when you’re on a job. Roz pushed her plate away and stood up. She had to get out of this room and as far away from Andy McTavish as possible before she did something she would regret. Besides, what would happen if Frau Campbell came back and found them making out in her bed?

And how could she have forgotten Frau Campbell? The woman at reception thought she looked like her. Andy McTavish was here with another woman and he actually expected her to hop into the sack with him. The devious, unfaithful, womanizing bastard. She would show him.

“Why not?” Roz purred, in her best sex kitten imitation. “But first, why don’t I change into something pretty?”

She opened the wardrobe and scanned the contents. There were some silk scarves and neck ties that she could use to tie him to the bed. She could ‘borrow’ his wallet and get the hell out of Zermatt before she ran into anyone else from her past.

Roz pulled open the lingerie drawer and was immediately filled with envy at the sight of the wisps of silk and lace that greeted her. Was that a corset? Her jealousy for the missing Frau Campbell went up a couple of notches. She dug deeper. Her hand fastened on something hard and she pulled it out. The studded handle was part of a red and black deerskin flogger. That would do nicely. What other toys had the kinky Frau packed for her weekend?

“Looking for this?” Andy’s voice came from behind her and she turned.

He had stripped off his shirt to reveal a six pack that would make a cover model jealous. His skin was tanned and a light dusting of hair covered his chest, trailed down his abdomen before disappearing in a V into his jeans. He held a riding crop which he tapped lightly against the palm of his other hand. The sound of leather striking flesh made her nipples harden, something that Andy was immediately aware of, given the way his eyes had zeroed in on her chest.

“My face is up here,” she snapped.

“Why so it is.” Andy laughed as he tapped the crop against his palm. “Are you ready to play?”

Roz itched to hit him with the flogger, but he looked far too comfortable with that crop in his hand.

Andy wasn’t like her usual clients who craved an assignation with a dominatrix. They wanted to be tied up and flogged, or locked in a cage or occasionally treated like puppies.

Andy was a much more challenging prospect. She would relish bringing him to his knees. “Bring it on, Irish. Let’s see how good you are.”

Without taking his eyes from her face, Andy backed away, toward the open area near the fireplace. Several candle stubs sat on the mantel. An image flashed into her head of two naked bodies writhing on the fur by the light of the fire. What would it be like, she wondered, to lie on the rug with him and …

“Ouch,” Roz yelled as a blow from the crop landed on her thigh. “You bastard, I wasn’t ready.”

Andy laughed and danced away. In a move Roz had learned at a medieval fencing class for stunt women, she stepped forward and lashed out with the flogger. The leather strands struck his chest and a red flush bloomed on his skin. She stepped away quickly before he could retaliate.

“That was uncalled for,” Andy said, but the mirth in his eyes told her he had barely felt the blow.

For long minutes, they circled each other, each searching for a chink in the other’s defences. Andy landed the next blow and Roz yelped at the sting on her hip. He wasn’t holding back. Neither would she.

Blow and counter-blow followed. Side step, twist and turn, the sound of shallow breathing, the scent of leather mingled with the moisturizer she had used earlier. Neither of them could gain the upper hand. He was good, she admitted. It was almost as if they had fought this way before.

Roz lunged, flicking her wrist with precision, landing three blows in quick succession. “Like that?” she teased. “You’d make a very pretty sub. Pity I don’t have time to train you.”

“In no universe is that ever going to happen.” Andy’s mouth firmed at the challenge and the speed of his next move surprised the hell out of her.

Roz spun, trying to avoid his attack and received two blows on the ass. His teasing laughter hurt more than the crop.

No more Ms Nice Girl
. Andy McTavish was going down. Taking him unawares, she feinted, and then dived and rolled. Coming to her feet, she attacked again, this time aiming for his weapon.

The leather strands tangled around the crop and she jerked it from his hand. It sailed across the room, landing on the far side of the bed. Now she had him. Roz closed in, peppering his chest with tiny flicks of the leather strands. His jaw tightened with each blow but Andy didn’t back away. Why was he just standing there? Why wouldn’t he submit to her? She had won, hadn’t she?

His arm shot out and he refused to flinch as the strands of the flogger encircled his forearm. With a twist of his wrist, he grabbed the leather and jerked the bunched strips of deerskin. Roz held on tightly as he pulled her towards him. The rasping sounds of their breath mingled in the room. With a final tug, Andy jerked the flogger from her grasp and tossed it over his shoulder.

“I’m going to test one of my theories,” he said as his arms closed around her and he grasped a handful of her hair in his fist. Pulling gently, Andy forced her to meet his gaze. Hot, predatory and intent, he didn’t bother to disguise how much he wanted her. The match might be over, but the game was still in play.

The smell of sweat on his skin was dizzying. Roz forget that she was supposed to win, forgot everything but the heat in his eyes and the feel of his powerful arms around her. Her breasts were crushed against his chest.

Andy’s mouth found hers in a searching, probing kiss that was an exercise in pure domination. He held nothing back. Adjusting his grip on her hair, he tilted her head to get access to her throat. Roz shivered when his teeth grazed her skin. It was too good and she couldn’t fathom why it felt so familiar.

Roz sagged against him, surrendering to the onslaught of pleasure. His tongue circled hers in a lovers’ duel and she kissed him hungrily. His hot, opened-mouthed voracious kisses left her mindless. She felt that he knew her soul. How could it be so good with him? Andy’s hand in her hair, the touch of his skin, the scent of him could only have one ending.