* * *
DARIO
She didn’t get it. She didn’t realize her hold on him, the way that she had disrupted everything. Maybe … maybe that was his fault.
He forced his jaw to unclench, for his words to come out calm. “I’m not a man used to fighting for attention, Bell. I haven’t been in a position to do a proper job of showing you how I feel about you. Part of that’s due to my respect for Gwen. Part of it is because I’ve worried, if I showed you all of my cards, that you’ll be careless with me.”
But he already had shown her his cards, even if she hadn’t recognized it. Protecting her from Hawk. Ripping apart that filth from her hometown. Giving her a new home, chasing her around like a love-struck teenager. Had any other woman walked away from him, he would have laughed. When she’d walked away, over and over, he’d followed. Waited for. Chased. His cards had been on the table from the moment he’d walked into The House and saw her. She just hadn’t known where to look, and what they meant.
He pulled her hand toward him, cupping the small palm between his. “I love you. And I’m risking everything for you. Telling Gwen is a side effect that has no impact on the destruction you are capable of doing to me.”
Her eyes softened, and maybe there was a chance, maybe she did love him, maybe he wasn’t a crazy old man chasing a flighty college girl. She glanced down, and he steeled himself for whatever was coming next. “I’m worried you’re playing me.”
Insanity, coming from her perfect little mouth. How did she not know?
“It’s just that, we haven’t even…”
He tried to follow the sentence, tried not to get distracted by the way her teeth gently pulled across her pale pink bottom lip.
“We haven’t even had sex.” She leaned forward, whispering the words, and he laughed. So young, this one. So brave, so beautiful, but so young. Did she think that mattered?
“I told you why we haven’t done that.”
She cast her eyes to the side, glancing at the other tables to see if anyone was listening. Everything they’d talked about, and this… this is what she was worried about. This from the woman who was naked underneath that dress, her bare pussy in easy reach of his fingers and at risk of exposure from a strong breeze. He felt his cock stiffen and mentally forced the image from his mind.
“Yeah.” Her lips pursed together in a beautiful pinch.
“Because I cared about you as more than a fuck. Because I was trying to keep…” He had tried to keep an emotional distance between them. Tried and failed. He had tried not to get in too deep. Tried and failed. Why was he still trying? What was he still fighting?
He leaned forward. “Is that what you want? It’s important to you?”
She shifted in her seat, a blush spreading over those gorgeous cheeks. “I just want all of you. Not some censored version of you.”
Censored. That was an adjective that had never been used to describe him. Then again, with other women, he’d had them naked and wrapped around his cock within hours. With other women, he hadn’t been interested in anything but that.
He stood so suddenly that the table jerked a little. “Let’s go.”
“What?”
He pulled out his wallet and peeled two large bills off its clip, tossing them down on the table.
“Now. Come on.”
He held out his hand for hers, and she grinned, grabbing her purse and standing. Her soft palm slipped into his, and they moved through the planters and toward the entrance.
“Want to walk back along the beach?” he asked.
She glanced toward the hotel, then out on the sand. Reaching down, she pulled off her left heel, then her right. From her new, diminished height, she jogged forward onto the beach, turning and giving him a playful look. She looked free and in love. It was a look he wanted to see every day, for the rest of his life. He caught up with her, grabbing her hand and pulling her against him.
She was a freaking minx. A sexy, adorable, beautiful minx. And she wanted him, all of him.
It was a blessing that scared the hell out of him.
* * *
BELL
He flipped the lock, pulling me into the room and onto the bed. He opened the sliding door, and the sound of the ocean came in, the scent of seawater, the cool warmth of the breeze. I lay back, my weight propped on my elbows, and pulled my feet up, my dress falling to my hips, everything exposed to him.
He stripped, his eyes on me, the moonlight reflecting off his build as it was unveiled. Those shoulders, the bulge of his biceps, the lines of his abs, the sharp cut of his hips. He was a fucking machine, and when he pulled down his underwear, he was already ready.
He ripped open a foil package and tossed it beside me. “I want you just like this, every night of my life.”
His knees settled on the bed, the mattress shifting, and he parted my knees and ran his hands down my thighs. Between us, his stiff cock bobbed, and it was so thick I wondered if it would hurt. I reached between us and wrapped my hand around it. Squeezing the thick cord of muscle, I felt it respond against my palm.
“Lay back.”
His hand brushed over my pussy, and my smile turned into a sigh of surrender, my grip falling off his cock, my back hitting the mattress. His talented fingers made soft contact with my clit, feather-light and circling, moving over the sensitive area in a leisurely fashion. He shifted, and I felt the thick intrusion of fingers, pushing inside of me. My body was slick and ready, and I lifted my hips off the bed in an attempt for more.
“God, you are perfect.” He leaned forward, and my eyes pinched shut when his tongue replaced the movement on my clit, his fingers moving from thrusting to g-spot manipulation, everything in my world turning dark as pleasure overtook brain function, and my body surrendered to his mouth.
The man ate pussy as if it was ice cream. He feasted on it, moaned against my clit, and slid his tongue across every inch of it. A woman couldn’t be self-conscious, not with the talented play of his mouth, his hands pinning my thighs open, the enthusiasm—no, worship—of his touch. My body tightened and he knew, his lips tensing, tongue flicking, and everything spiraled into a hot spin of pleasure, all of my senses building, twisting, exploding underneath that mouth.
“Oh… God… I…”
I surrendered to him, trusted him with its intensity, and didn’t hold back, letting the orgasm bind and break me, the explosion ripping through me with exquisite clarity. I screamed, knotting my fingers in his hair, my thighs clamping around his head, my feet flexing against his back. I whimpered, the orgasm spreading, fading, my body jerking. My legs slid off his shoulders, and my hips bucked, an involuntary reflex, my pussy tightening, an aftershock of pleasure still sparking.
I moaned with unintelligible pleasure and he didn’t look up from his cock, rolling the condom on with brisk efficiency. He sat back on his knees and pulled me forward, flush to him, my thighs against his, my legs falling open, void of any energy or control. My senses came back to life when he thrust forward, a slow, controlled movement that opened my body in an entirely new way.
Holy shit. I could feel him everywhere. Rigid. Thick. He filled me in an almost painful way, and if I wasn’t still drugged and languid from my orgasm, I’d make him stop. I cried out, my hand pushing on his chest, and he leaned forward, the pain lessening, the angle better, his gaze holding mine.
“Give it a minute.”
I’d give it all night. He pulled at my dress, dragging it over my stomach and exposing my breasts. He tilted his hips, went even deeper, and I couldn’t believe this was happening. Him, naked against me. His muscular thighs, tensing. His cock inside of me. His eyes ran over my bare body, and he whispered my name. He slid his hands over my breasts, owning and caressing them with his touch. My body relaxed, adjusted, and when he moved his hands to my hips, his weight settling back, it didn’t hurt anymore. His eyes met mine, and I smiled.
“Ready?”
I didn’t know what I was supposed to be ready for, bu
t I nodded. I nodded, and the man atop me exploded into action.
Had I ever been truly and properly fucked before? I thought I had. I thought I was experienced, thought that all of the men before Dario had exposed me to every pleasure center and position that existed. But in that room, I had a virgin’s knowledge of what could occur.
He fucked … and there was no other word for it. Hard, piston-like thrusts that didn’t change in their repetitions. I didn’t understand the beauty of it until the consistency of his actions led to the build. The build that grew and strengthened and twisted and bloomed, my orgasm the kind that shattered through me, a pleasure center exploding, and stretching. He barely stopped, but suddenly I was on my hands and knees, at his disposal. Animalistic and raw. He growled when he thrust into me. He gripped my ass, pulled me on and off of his cock, and set us into motion.
On my side, his movements slowed, his hands sweeping over me. Teasing. Cherishing.
My dress, fully off. His fingers, tightening in and tugging on my hair. His mouth on my nipples, the gentle scrape of teeth, suction of his tongue.
I crawled on top of him, my knees tight to his sides, his wet fingers dragging over my breasts, then gripping my hips. He pulled me down to his chest, wrapped his arms around me, and his hips took over our movements. That orgasm was the best, the longest, the highest. He rolled on top of me, growled out my name, and let himself come.
He was gorgeous when he came. That heat, that light in his eyes, flared. There was a moment of vulnerability, of raw and unprotected emotion. He grunted, his legs trembled, his hands tightened. It was long, and I could feel his cock flex, felt the warmth of his release through the condom, and I squeezed my body around him in response.
“I love you.” I whispered the confession, and he rolled to his side, pulling me to his chest, his cock still inside me, and I felt his heart, the strong thump and hammer of it. His body was such an engine, a force of sexual nature, built to please and—in this moment—all mine. I relaxed my cheek against his chest, my legs sliding down, his intertwining around them.
“I love you, too.” His fingers trailed over my bare back, and he lifted his head, pressing his lips to my hair. “I don’t ever want another man to have you.”
I think he meant physically, but emotionally, he was the only man who had ever truly had me. Would he be the only one who ever would?
I closed my eyes and couldn’t, in that moment, find anything to say.
Thirty
DARIO
He drove, his hand resting on the back of her seat, and glanced at her. She was curled up, her sweatshirt stuffed under her head, asleep. She looked so innocent. Innocent and brave. Giving that vulnerable and delicate heart and love to him. He had to protect her, take the trust she gave him and fulfill it.
An easier thing to want than deliver. Fuck, he was in one hell of a situation—pulled in different directions by two incredible women. One held his heart and his cock in her delicate grasp. The other held his head and his past in her fist. Gwen wouldn’t let go easily. She would fight for him, for them. She would remind him of every promise he’d ever made and hold him to them.
Fuck. He rubbed his hand over his face and picked up his phone, then set it back down. Changed his mind again and sent Gwen a quick text message, letting her know he was on his way back. She replied quickly, asking about dinner, and he confirmed. There. A date set. Him and Gwen. It was time to tell her everything and hear her thoughts on the matter.
He’d been married to the woman for a decade but suddenly, with the dinner looming, he was lost at what to expect.
* * *
THE FAILURE
Claudia chewed at the edge of one nail, watching the back of the minivan as it changed lanes. This had been a complete waste of a trip, and Robert had been less than enthusiastic on their last call. The disappointment had been hard in his voice, each question another stab in her gut.
Why had they left mid-dinner? She didn’t know.
Why hadn’t Bell stayed at the hotel when Dario had met with the show runners? She didn’t know.
Had she been in the meeting with him? She couldn’t say. The talent office hadn’t let her follow them up the elevator, wanting her driver’s license and authorization from someone inside.
She had done her best, and it hadn’t been enough. There hadn’t been an opening, the couple glued together like lovesick idiots.
She turned up the air conditioning. She hadn’t told Robert about their behavior together, afraid the details would anger him further. The way that Dario looked at her, the way he constantly touched her, pulling her into his side and kissing the top of her head … it had made Claudia sick. Dario was married to Gwen. Devoted to Gwen. He was supposed to be in love with Gwen.
It was a wrong that needed to be righted. First, by Bell Hartley’s death. And then? She tore off a piece of her cuticle and wondered what further punishment Robert would bring down on Dario Capece.
She glanced down at the notebook where she’d written down the code that Robert had given her. 04182996#. He’d gone into The Majestic’s reservation system and pulled the access for suite 908.
It was probably better, killing Bell there. The Majestic was a controlled environment, one Robert could get her full access to. He would be able to kill security cameras and see housekeeping schedules. She would have privacy and less witnesses than at Taco Bell.
She released the gas, letting the minivan grow further away. Putting on her turn signal, she moved into the right lane and onto the next exit. Glancing down the road, she caught a final glimpse of the van before it disappeared from sight.
Soon. Soon, this task would be done. Bell Hartley would be dead. Dario Capece would be punished. Robert would be pleased, and Gwen’s marriage would be saved. All thanks to her.
It would be the biggest test Robert Hawk had ever given her.
So far, she had failed. But soon. Soon, she would succeed.
* * *
BELL
“I’d like you to stay in the suite tonight.”
I looked over, halfway through a Sudoku puzzle I had already screwed up. “Tonight?” I made a face. “I’ve got laundry to do.” With my last two weeks filled with work, Dario, and exams, my dirty clothes pile had accumulated into a mountain. Now that the semester had ended, I had no excuse.
“Do it there.” He rested one hand on the steering wheel, his other on my thigh.
“You want me to go home, pack up all my dirty laundry, and take it to The Majestic?” I laughed. “No.”
“You know, we have services for that.”
“I don’t want some stranger going through my dirty clothes.” Though… maybe I could get over that. The thought of never doing laundry again was definitely tempting. I turned the page and started a fresh puzzle.
“You can do laundry tomorrow. Just stay there tonight.”
I looked up, curious at his insistence. “Is it a sex thing? You had one taste at what I’ve got, and now you need it every night?”
He chuckled. “It’s not a sex thing.”
“Is it my sparkling personality? You need more of it?”
He grinned and released my thigh, stealing my hand and pulling it into his lap. “Guilty. I am addicted to your sparkling personality.”
“That’s a common issue, you know.” I straightened in my seat. “I have to send certified letters and hire professionals to handle the personality stalkers. It’s exhausting.”
He lifted my hand and ran his lips over my thumb, then gently nipped it. “I will try not to be exhausting. And I refuse to accept certified letters.”
I giggled when he flicked his tongue over my knuckle, the flutter reminding me of his talent against my clit. I shifted in the seat, and his gaze darkened.
“You’re lucky you’re wearing jeans. If you were in a skirt right now…” He shook his head, his eyes on the road.
“If I were in a skirt, I’d have my panties pulled to the side and your fingers inside me.”
&n
bsp; He made a sound low in his throat, one that sounded suspiciously like a growl. “Dirty girl.”
I laughed. “Not … yet.”
I unbuckled my seatbelt and flipped up the armrest. He watched the action, his mouth curving into a smile. Then, I took full advantage of the minivan’s lack of center console and got on my knees, unzipping his pants and taking him into my hand. As we grew closer to Vegas, I showed him exactly how dirty my mouth could be.
* * *
GWEN
Her husband was nervous. She could see it in the stern jerk of his head at the waiter, the way his fingers drummed on the table, the adjustment of his tie.
EVEN MONEY Page 20