Nailed Down: The Complete Series

by Bliss, Chelle

  “She dotes on you, doesn’t she?” I asked, anxious for a subject that would relieve me of some of my guilt, if only momentarily.

  The woman had ushered me into Johnny’s home when we arrived. She’d asked four times if I was hungry, told me I was too skinny, and then insisted on feeding both of us.

  “She does, I’ll admit.” He watched her disappear into the living room then out of sight before he looked back at me. “She’s the niece of the woman who helped raise Cara and me. God rest. My father has a staff who are loyal. Sending her to me, I suspect my father thought, would keep me from eating all my meals at Demonte’s.”

  I grinned, remembering the little dive bar Johnny had brought me to my first night in New York. There were too many men trying to flirt with me, most of them over sixty, but they made up a big group of roughnecks who were union that Johnny had hired for the crew. He’d seemed at home there, and it showed.

  “Anyway, all my father’s staff think I need a wife.” He took a sip, motioning to my plate as he started in on his. “I’m not in the market…” Johnny took a bite of his chicken Marsala, releasing a moan. “But, merda, if she cooks like this, I might make an exception.”

  I hurried to swallow more wine, smelling the delicious garlic wafting in the sauce, and the plump mushrooms and tender chicken of my own dish. “I’ll have to find a kickboxing class here in the city.” I took a bite and closed my eyes when all those delicious flavors hit my mouth. “And do three extra classes.”

  “That sounds like you’re staying.” Johnny stared at me, abandoning his meal.

  I copied him, not sure what to make of his expression.

  I’d never thought about my plans beyond this shoot and packaging several episodes to present to the studios we planned to pitch the show to. A month, maybe two, was all I’d planned on. I hadn’t even thought about finding a place to rent, but things were going well. I liked New York. I liked the crew. I liked almost everything about being here and doing this job.

  Except who wouldn’t be here if I stayed.

  “I don’t… God, I wish I knew. Everything is so…” I glanced at Johnny, my attention shooting straight to his purple jaw again. Guilt returned in a flood inside my chest. “I did apologize, right?”

  “Bella,” he said through a sigh. “I have to say, I’m not surprised. Hunter is a bastard with a wicked right hook, but he isn’t stupid, and if I found myself in his shoes…” Johnny stopped there, narrowing his eyes as he shrugged. “Not for nothing, Italian leather, designer shoes, but his shoes nonetheless, then si, maybe I would have clocked some chooch I thought was trying to lay claim to the woman I thought was mine.”

  “This is a mess,” I whispered, hoping the rim of my wineglass covered the groan in my words.

  And it was a mess, an unmitigated disaster of my own creation.

  I’d left Dale alone in my hotel room after reading Trudy’s messages. He’d have known I’d read them. They’d been new. He would have seen his phone on the bed where I left it. He would have seen the messaging app open the second he unlocked his phone. Seen the messages he hadn’t read had been read by someone. Since I was the only person in the room, the resulting conclusion was obvious.

  I hadn’t returned, despite how many times he called me. Despite the endless messages. Despite how my body ached from the memory of him over me, in me. I’d left and stayed gone. Didn’t bother returning to the set. I’d ignored him completely, and by two o’clock, I turned off my phone and spent the night at Cara’s empty apartment, telling Johnny I wanted to take advantage of the spa in the building.

  So when we returned to the set this morning and Dale showed up a half an hour later, Johnny was completely unaware that anything had happened between us. All he knew was that Dale was mad. That he looked a little unhinged, and that he directed all his tired energy at me the second he spotted me.

  “There a reason he thought that?” Johnny asked, leaning back in his chair.

  “Thought what?” I asked, watching him, distracted as the image of Dale’s wide, intense eyes came back to me.

  I’d never seen him that angry or that desperate to be heard.

  “Hunter. Why did he act like I was trying to steal his woman?”

  “You have to listen to me,” Dale had started, ignoring Johnny at my side and David as he and his producer stared at Dale and how quickly he cornered me. There had been bags under his eyes and red streaks lining the whites and around the iris. “I spent all day and night looking for you.”

  “This isn’t the time or place,” I’d said, dismissing him.

  “Gin, you got it wrong…”

  “Yeah.” I didn’t look at him, finally realizing that the gleam of hope our night together had given me was a flicker, not a flame. “I got a lot of things wrong.” Even that small spark was ash now.

  “Bella?” Johnny leaned against the table as I stared at nothing.

  My eyes burned as I remembered the twitch that took over Dale’s cheek when Johnny had grabbed his arm as Dale reached for me.

  “Hmm?”

  “You and Hunter?”

  “Oh,” I said, finishing off the wine, my voice flat. “Because, Johnny…” I looked at him across the table, drying my face when the tears spilled. Johnny pushed Dale first. You don’t do that to a SEAL. It could be deadly. Dale reacted. “I slept with him.”

  I don’t know what I expected. Johnny Carelli was a dangerous man. He could be scary, given the right circumstances. I’m sure if there was a woman he wanted to claim, he could be jealous and controlling.

  But Cara had shared that her brother and his friends had no interest in keeping company with the same woman for more than a night. In fact, they tended to spread the wealth when it came to beautiful women.

  That wasn’t my style.

  But even if I wasn’t Johnny’s woman and he didn’t have any interest in changing that, he still seemed irritated by my admission. I spotted the tight line that stretched across his mouth as he watched me, absorbing my confession like a sour olive.

  “You’re disappointed,” I said, surprised.

  He didn’t deny it. He kept his focus on my face, finally relaxing his features so that his mouth eased into a smile. “I think your standards are too low.” When I lifted my eyebrows, Johnny shrugged, moving closer to the table, the flame from the candles in the centerpiece throwing soft light around his beautiful face. “You deserve someone who will spoil you, bella. Someone who will give you the world.”

  “I’m fine with acquiring that on my own, Mr. Carelli.”

  His grin widened, and Johnny waved his hand. A surrender to my will that I was sure by now he would have gotten used to. “Fair enough, but I think you underestimate my intentions.”

  “Are you talking about your angle?”

  “I have angles?”

  “Forgotten already?”

  He poured another round between us. “You’ll have to forgive me. I was injured today by some asshole.”

  “I seem to recall you explaining all men have angles.”

  He filled my glass, motioning for me to drink, and I accepted.

  “All men, according to you, are plotting things. Typically, nefarious, filthy things, I’m guessing.”

  Johnny considered my words as he sipped his wine. I didn’t know what to make of the wolfish smile he tried to hide behind his glass. “Well.” He licked his lips. The motion distracted me enough that, for a second, my bad mood lifted, and I forgot about Dale punching Johnny and Johnny kicking him off the crew. “I’ll admit my angles can be filthy, but you, tesoro, I make exceptions for.”

  “And why is that?” I sat back, relaxing even more when Johnny came to my side of the table, kneeling next to me.

  He took my hand, bringing it to his mouth. “You are special, Ms. Sullivan, truly rare. And I only love the rarest of treasures.”

  My mind told me to leave this place. There was nothing here for me.

  Johnny Carelli wasn’t someone to play with. He couldn
’t be trusted. He was plotting things I didn’t want to be part of. He wasn’t what I needed.

  So why couldn’t I make myself stand up? Why was I becoming so fascinated by the smooth arch of his thick eyebrows and the wide bridge of his nose? Why did the small, dark freckle underneath his left eye grab my attention? Why did the sudden image of Johnny out of that designer suit, a thin smattering of black hair over his chest, and the carefully arranged dark waves of his hair tousled against his pillow hold such fascination for me?

  “I’m not…that’s not…” I swallowed, my throat going dry. I nodded a dismissive thanks at Johnny when he handed me my glass.

  He was affecting me, and he knew it. He likely enjoyed the effect his presence, his handsome face, and expensive cologne were having on me. The bastard was good. Too damn good.

  “We…could be good together, my little spitfire.”

  “Johnny,” I warned when he leaned close.

  “You and me, bella, the things we could do…” He touched my face, the flat of his thumb sliding across my cheekbone. “I could make you forget everyone else.” He moved in, making me hold my breath.

  I curled my fingers around the arm of my chair as he pressed his thick, warm lips to my forehead.

  “Tomorrow night, I will take you to dinner. It will be our first date.” When I didn’t respond, still hadn’t unwrapped my fingers from the chair, Johnny grinned, laughing under his breath. “You think on it, spitfire, and let me know.”

  Then Johnny stood, taking my hand to lead me out of his apartment and down to the parking garage. He walked me all the way to the waiting limo and once again kissed my forehead as he told me goodnight. It wasn’t until we’d cleared the garage and were halfway to my hotel that I realized I was heading right into the lion’s den.

  13

  Dale

  She never worked this late back in Seattle. Neither did Kit.

  Not once. Six o’clock rolled around, and things shut down. That was a rule the network put into place because they were family-oriented. Whatever Carelli was trying to do wasn’t, because it was a mafia-funded gig.

  There was a family involved, but not a good one.

  The elevator chimed, and for the fifth time in more than two hours. I jerked my attention down the hall, irritated when the guys I’d seen leave earlier returned with white bags that smelled like Greek food tucked under their arms. They nodded at me, and I didn’t bother to give them one back. Didn’t much care if they’d planned on hauling security up here to get me to leave. Turns out when you wear a Navy T-shirt that’s probably a size too small, and you tear off your jacket when you’re pissed off and sweating because of it, and everyone around you gets a good look at you…well, hell. Suppose it’s good enough to look don’t-fuck-with-me sometimes. Especially when you aren’t in the mood to be fucked with.

  At least, that was the running theory.

  Carelli had a steel jaw. I told myself that asshole hadn’t hurt me when I’d clocked him, and he didn’t. Much. But what tore me up more than anything was the look on Gin’s face when I tried to explain the shit she’d thought she read from Trudy’s message.

  Think about the baby.

  Fucking hell. That little face flashed into my head, and guilt crowded me, crushing my insides like they’d been struck by an anvil. She was too young. Too beautiful and if I had to choose between her and Gin…damn. I knew the choice I had to make.

  Hand in my hair, elbows on my knees, I didn’t bother looking up when the elevator bell signaled, sure that it wouldn’t be her. I’d spent two hours in this hallway. All kinds of scenarios of where Gin had been and with whom swirling in my head. They ran the gamut. They were stupid and horrible, vomit-inducing and disturbing. None gave me comfort. None did one damn bit of good when all I needed was a five-minute conversation to explain what had been going on over the past year with my ex-wife.

  “Why are you here?”

  I jerked my head up, climbing to my feet to stand in front of her. Christ, she was beautiful and so fucking pissed off at me. One glance at her red-blotched face told me that.

  “You need to leave.”

  “That ain’t happening,” I said, trying not to grin like a fool when I spotted the way she kept slipping her attention to my arms, then back over my chest. She might be mad, but I knew damn well Gin was thinking about us together in the room right behind this door.

  “I don’t have anything to say to you,” she started, moving the keycard into the lock.

  “Good,” I tried, holding my hand against the door when she opened it. “Because I want you to listen to me.”

  “No.”

  But she walked past the threshold, and I followed, closing the door with my foot, coming behind her as she moved inside.

  The room had been cleaned, but from where she’d kept her bags and the planner left open to the same page it had been when I’d left the morning she disappeared on me, I could tell she hadn’t been back here.

  I closed my eyes, telling myself I wouldn’t ask the question.

  Telling myself I had no right to know.

  Telling myself it would do no good to know the answer.

  Hell. I couldn’t help it.

  “You fuck Carelli?” I turned to face her.

  She was in the middle of taking off her necklace but stopped, holding her hands behind her neck to jerk a glare at me. “Excuse me?”

  The question was already out there. No sense in taking it back.

  I’d had Gin in this room two days ago. She gave me everything she had. She’d taken everything from me. What she did to me, what she let me do to her, that didn’t come easy. That wasn’t simple. That shit was real and raw and couldn’t be forced. It wasn’t pretend. No way she didn’t feel what I did.

  I had to know the truth.

  Two steps had me in front of her as she dropped her hands. I ignored the fire blazing bright in her eyes as that glare turned into venom. I’d be a dead asshole if that look were lethal.

  “You and Carelli, last night. You let him fuck you?”

  Gin opened her mouth, rage cresting and full as she watched me. I knew this woman. She’d been my best friend for years. Her warnings were easy to make out. Right then, she jumped over annoyed, maybe even pissed, and landed right on “You are dead to me.” But she’d have to get over it.

  I wanted the truth.

  “That isn’t your business.”

  “Like hell.”

  “It. Ain’t,” she said, that East Tennessee showing up as she curled her top lip and pushed me aside to get into her closet. She didn’t care that I watched as she shimmied out of her skirt and shirt like she forgot that undressing in front of me wasn’t something we always did. “Last time I checked,” she said, standing in front of a mess of clothes she didn’t seem to see at all as she flipped through the hangers in nothing but her bra and panties, “I wasn’t anyone’s wife, didn’t belong to a blessed soul. You and I, Mr. Dale Damn Hunter, at one time, were just friends.”

  “Were?” I came up behind her.

  Gin turned, brushing past me as she abandoned her search for something to wear. “I didn’t stutter. Were. As in, once was. As in, we ain’t now. As in, go home and stop asking me questions that aren’t your damn business. We aren’t friends. We aren’t…any damn thing anymore.”

  The words registered. I heard them well enough.

  Maybe even comprehension was a thing that clicked and fired in my brain. That didn’t mean it made much sense to me. That damn well didn’t mean I liked it one bit.

  Gin’s eyes burned bright and glistened as I came at her. Then widened when I grabbed her, tugging her against me. My arm around her waist and my fingers stretched over her ass as I held her off the floor. “That is where you’re fucking wrong.”

  She tried to argue. She at least released a loud sound of protest, but it got stifled by my tongue invading her mouth and the high shrieks of her moans as I pushed my hand between us, carrying her to the bed with my hand on her pussy,
teasing, finding her already soaked and getting wetter.

  Gin shuddered against my hand. I pushed her to the mattress, moving my hand away long enough to slide it into her panties, slipping two fingers inside her, groaning when she tightened around me. I hovered over her, wanting to taste her everywhere, but so hungry to be inside her, to remind her what was hers, what I had taken from her, what she’d always have of me.

  “This,” I said, taking my hand away from her, bringing it to my mouth, “doesn’t feel like we aren’t any damn thing, Gingerbread.” Her breathing quickened when I sucked the two fingers, still warm from her pussy, into my mouth.

  “Dale…” she breathed, pulling me close like she’d forgotten her anger. Forgotten everything but what her body told her she needed.

  “You want me, baby?”

  Her nod was hesitant, like she damn well didn’t want to admit she wanted anything from me at all. But she kept at my neck, pulling me closer.

  I held her wrist to stop her. “I want you. I want all of you too.” I took her mouth because it belonged to me and gave her my tongue. Her taste and mine mingling until she moved against me, until she threaded the fingers on both of our hands together and directed them to her clit. I could smell her everywhere. Felt the heat from her body, from her sweet, soft pussy against my leg. Felt the breaking sob of the passionate cries she made and could not take another second of not being inside her.

  “Please,” she said, sounding ready to burst. “Please, baby…”

  Gin kicked off her panties when I got them to her ankles and helped me tug down my jeans and shorts. We tangled together, hands and fingers and needy touches that felt greedy and desperate until I found her. My cock sank into that wet, tight heat, and we both breathed loud gasps of relief when I was inside her.

  “You tell me I’m not nothing,” I demanded, holding her open with my hand on the back of her knee. Gin arched up, coming up on her elbows as I moved deeper, gripping the pillow over her head, pushing myself deeper inside her. “Tell me. I need you to say it.”