Lucy Monroe - Satisfaction Guaranteed

“He’s wrong.”

“Yes, he is.”

The small party of business associates turned out to be ten business associates to Prescott, many of differing nationalities, and their dates. Prescott had a woman at his side, too, but she had the hard stare of a professional bodyguard rather than a lover. Maybe she was both, but the way she kept distance from Prescott and yet maintained a position between him and the other guests said not.

She moved with the sinuous grace of an expert in martial arts, but Ethan would lay odds she was packing as well. She did not come off as the type of woman to rely solely on her prowess at hand-to-hand combat for protection. The security guard who normally patrolled inside Prescott’s house was conspicuous by his absence from the large drawing room.

Though Ethan was sure he was in the house somewhere.

Prescott played the convivial host while Ethan played the part of possessive boyfriend and kept Beth locked to his side. The information broker was definitely giving her looks that spoke of too personal an interest in his new investment advisor. He was affable with Ethan on the surface, but made several adroit comments intended to irk Ethan Grange the author.

It was no more than he expected and Ethan enjoyed making it a point of not rising to the bait.

When it came time for dinner, he was not surprised to find himself at the other end of the table while Beth was seated to the left of her host, breaking social custom. Prescott’s “date” was seated to his right. Ethan could not hear their conversation, but he wasn’t worried about Beth’s part in it. She’d been attending political dinners every bit as dangerous in their own way since she was a child. He had complete faith in her, but that didn’t mean he had to like the way Prescott touched her arm when he spoke to her or tried to tempt her to taste his appetizer of escargot when she declined her own.

For his part, Ethan listened to the discussions going on around him while appearing to be wholly engrossed in his flirtation with the woman on his left. Celine Fournier was companion to a middle-aged Frenchman who reeked of money and wore a wedding ring. She didn’t. Not the wife. And not exactly enamored with her role as mistress either, if the amount of wine she imbibed as dinner progressed was any indication.

So far, the conversations around them were innocuous, but a man across the table made a comment about “the merchandise” to which the woman beside him said she hoped it was as impressive as Prescott had intimated it would be. Both hastily changed the subject after a cold-eyed glare from an Arab seated on the other side of the woman.

Between the salad and the main course, Ethan used the cover of dropping his napkin to place a microchip size bug under the table. For all its miniscule proportions, it had amazing range, but he still wanted to get listening devices closer to Prescott’s office and at least one upstairs.

His flirtation with Celine continued after dinner while Prescott made a point of keeping Beth by his side, ostensibly discussing her investment strategy. When Prescott took Beth on a tour of the garden, along with the ever-present bodyguard and several of his other guests, Ethan allowed the now very tipsy brunette to lead him upstairs to a deserted bedroom.

She grabbed him and tumbled back toward the bed, her hands everywhere. His hand on her neck, he leaned down, pretending he was about to kiss her. Instead, he exerted pressure on a sensitive point and she lost consciousness almost instantly. He figured he had two minutes, five at the most, before she came to again. But he’d studied the house plans and architectural detail enough that he was confident he could achieve his objective before she woke.

Yanking on a spandex black ski mask and wafer-thin night goggles he had tucked in the inside pocket of his black blazer as he went, he climbed out the window onto the roof. He sprinted on catlike feet to the window for the master bedroom. It would have been quicker to use the interior hallway, but any movement within the house would be monitored by cameras. Those on the outside were unlikely to pick up Ethan’s movements-even if they were directed at the roof as opposed to the grounds.

He’d dressed all in black for the evening in clothes that fit his literary author persona and made darn good camouflage in the dark. Black turtleneck, blazer, slacks, and what looked like designer men’s dress shoes, but had soft soles for stealth.

He affixed the listening device in a mere second and ran back to the guest room, slipping in through the window with silent speed. He closed it as the sound of people coming up the stairs reached him. He had just stripped off the ski mask, tucking it and the goggles back into his jacket, and sat down on the bed beside Celine, when she woozily opened her eyes. She reached for him as the lights were turned on and a man’s curse and woman’s soft gasp could be heard from the doorway.

Ethan looked up and Beth was staring at him like he was a cockroach. She was with Celine’s date; the Frenchman looked ready to kill.

Ethan smiled easily, used to this sort of “cover your ass” maneuvers in the field, but something inside him stuttered at the look of disgust in Beth’s eyes before she masked it. “I was just helping Ms. Fournier. She was feeling faint and I carried her in here. I’m glad you’ve arrived to take over, Monsieur Bernard.”

Ethan patted Celine’s hand and stood up, careful not to adjust his clothing, or in any way make it appear they’d been doing exactly what Celine had intended for them to be doing.

She, obviously knowing a good cover-up when it presented itself, put her hand to her forehead and sighed dramatically. “It is true. Henri…you were too busy in your business discussions to notice my distress, but this gentleman cared for me.”

Skin pale from the enforced blackout and her slightly slurred consonants from too much wine gave her performance realism, but her benefactor still looked suspicious. “The light was off when we arrived.”

“It hurt my eyes.” She shut them, allowing a single tear to escape and turned her head away. “Not that I expect you to notice, or care. Tonight was to be entertainment you said, but you have done nothing but talk business in whispers. You have ignored me.”

The woman wasn’t a bad actress; she played the part of neglected date very well.

Bernard looked at Ethan, as if asking for confirmation.

Ethan stifled a sigh of disgust. “Now that you are here, I will leave you to care for your date’s discomfort.”

Bernard nodded and rushed to Celine’s side. Taking her into his arms, he whispered words of abject apology in French, all the while looking like a man who had to be wondering if having a young mistress was worth the trouble. Considering the fact that Celine made a good stab at being both a lush and unfaithful, Ethan would have said no.

But men who ignored the sanctity of their marriage vows got what they deserved, in his opinion. Dismissing the other couple from his mind, Ethan crossed the room to Beth. “I thought you’d gone into the garden with Prescott.”

“I was going to, but I didn’t realize you knew…so I came back to tell you where I’d gone.” She bit her lip, looking vulnerable and her gaze slid to the beautiful brunette now clinging to her benefactor’s Armani-clad shoulders.

Ethan took Beth’s arm and led her from the room. “I’ll come with you.”

“If you’re sure Miss Fournier doesn’t need you.” There was a bite in Beth’s tone that made Ethan’s smile genuine.

He liked thinking she could be jealous of him, especially considering she was smart enough to realize anything he did with Celine was for the sake of the case only. It made him feel less of a fool for his own reaction to the attention Prescott gave her.