Deadly Secret

by B. J Daniels

  “We can stop whenever,” he said, so serious and noble and wrong.

  “I don’t ever want to stop.” She wanted to live in a moment where she had some power. Where she had some hope. “Take off your guns, Jaime.”

  He stilled briefly and then reached up to the shoulder of the harness and unbuckled it. He pulled the strand of weapons off his body, his eyes never leaving hers. He hesitated only a moment before he laid the weapons down next to her bed.

  He took a gun from his waistband she hadn’t known was there and placed it on the little table next to her bed. Something almost resembling a smile graced his mouth as he reached to his boots and pulled a knife out of each.

  There was something not just weighty about watching him disarm, but something intimate. She watched him strip himself of all the things he used to protect himself. All the things he used to portray another man. To do his job, his duty.

  “I think that’s all of them,” he said in a husky voice.

  She didn’t have any weapons to surrender, so she grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it off. She moved her hands to unbutton her pants, but Jaime made a sound.

  “Stop,” he ordered.

  She raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

  He crossed back to her, a hand splaying against her stomach, the other sliding down her arm. “Let me.”

  She swallowed the nerves fluttering to the surface. No, nerves wasn’t the right word. It was something more fundamental than that. Would he like what he saw? Would he still be as enamored with her when they were naked? When it was over?

  She wanted to laugh at her momentary worry about such things. But, like so many other thoughts, it was a comforting reaction—a real-life response. That she could still be a woman. That she could still care about such things.

  His hands were rough against her skin. Tanned against how pale she was with no access to sunlight. She watched as he traced the strangest parts of her, as if fascinated by her belly button or the curve of her waist. But he was still fully clothed, though he’d surrendered all his weapons.

  She gave the hem of his shirt a little tug. “Take this off,” she ordered, because it was nice to order. More than nice to have someone obey. Power. Equality, really. He could order her and she could order him, and they could each get what they wanted.

  He pulled his shirt off from the back, lifting it over his head and letting it hit the floor. He really was perfection. Tall and lithe and beautiful. He had scars and smooth patches of skin. Dark hair that drew a line from his chest to the waistband of his jeans.

  She moved forward and traced the longest scar on his side. A white line against his golden skin.

  “How did you get this?” she asked.

  “Knife fight.”

  She raised her gaze to his eyes, but his expression was serious, not silly. “You were in a knife fight?”

  He shrugged. “When I first started out as Rodriguez, I was doing some drug running for one of his lower-level operations. Unfortunately a lot of those guys try to double-cross each other. I was caught in the cross...well, cross-stabbing as it were.”

  He said it so cavalierly, as if that was just part of his job. Getting stabbed. Horribly enough to leave a long, white scar.

  “Did you go to the hospital?”

  Again he smiled, almost indulgently now. “There was a man who did the stitching back at our home base.”

  “A man? Not a doctor?” she demanded.

  “Doctors were saved from more...life-threatening injuries. Even then, only if you were important. At that point, I wasn’t very important.”

  Gabby tried to make sense of it as Jaime shook his head.

  “It’s a nonsensical world. None of it makes sense if you have a conscience, if you’ve known love or joy. Because it’s not about anything but greed and power and desperation.”

  She traced the jagged line and then bent to press a kiss to it. He sucked in a breath.

  “I bet there was no one to kiss it better,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted even though tears were threatening.

  “Ah, no.”

  “Then let me.” She raised to her tiptoes to kiss him. To press her chest to his. She still wore a bra, but the rest of her upper body was exposed and she tried to press every bare spot of her to every bare spot of him.

  She tasted his mouth, his tongue, and she wanted the kiss to go deep enough and mean enough to ease some of those old hurts, some of that old loneliness.

  For both of them.

  * * *

  There were things Jaime should do. Things he should stop from happening. But Gabby’s kiss, Gabby’s heart, was a balm to all the cruelties he’d suffered and administered in the past two years. She was sweetness and she was light. She was warmth and she was hope.

  At this point he could no longer keep it from himself, let alone her. She wanted this. Perhaps she needed it as much as he did. Regardless, there was no going back. There was only going forward.

  Her skin was velvet, her mouth honey. Her heart beating against his heart, the cadence of a million wonderful things he’d forgotten existed.

  Her fingertips were curious and gentle as they explored him, bold as though it never occurred to her she shouldn’t.

  All of it was solace wrapped in pleasure and passion. That someone would want to touch him with reverence or care. That he wasn’t the hideous monster he’d pretended to be for two years. He was still a man made of flesh and bone, justice and right.

  And despite her time here as a victim, she was still a woman. Made of flesh and bone. Made of heart and soul.

  He smoothed his hands up and down her back, absorbing the strength of her. Carefully leashed, carefully honed.

  He reached behind her and unsnapped her bra, slowly pulling it off her and down her arms. It meant he had to put space between them. It meant he had to wrestle his mouth from hers. But if anything was worth that separation, it was the sight before him. Gabby’s curly hair tumbled around her face. Her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed.

  The soft swell of her breasts, dark nipples sharp points because she was as excited as he was. As needy as he was. He palmed both breasts with his too-rough hands and was rewarded by her soft moan.

  Of course this amazingly strong and brave woman before him was not content to simply let him look or touch. She reached out and touched him, as well, her hands trailing down his chest all the way to his waistband. She flipped the button and unzipped the piece of clothing with no preamble at all.

  He continued to explore her breasts with his hands. Memorizing the weight and the shape and the warmth, the amazing softness her body offered to him. And it was more than just that. So much more than just the body. A heart. A soul. Neither of them would be at this point if it wasn’t so much more than physical. It was an underlying tie, a cord of inexplicable connection.

  She tugged his jeans down, his boxers with them. And then those slim, strong hands were grasping him. Stroking his erection and nearly bringing him to his knees.

  He needed to find some sort of center. Not necessarily of control but of reason. Sense and responsibility. This was neither sensible nor responsible, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take care of her. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

  Gently he pulled her hand off him. “I need to go get something. I’ll be right back.”

  She blinked up at him, eyebrows furrowed. Beautiful and naked from the waist up.

  He pressed his mouth to hers as he pulled his jeans up, drowning in it a minute, forgetting what he’d been about to do. It was only when she touched him again that he remembered.

  “Stay put. I will be right back.” When she opened her mouth, he shook his head. “I promise,” he repeated, his gaze steady on hers. He needed her to understand, and he needed her to believe him.

  She pouted a little bit, beautiful and sulky, but she nodded. />
  “Right back,” he repeated and then he was rushing to his room, caring far too little about the things he should care about. If The Stallion was around... If the other girls were okay... But it hardly mattered with Gabby’s soul entwined with his.

  He went to his closet of a room and grabbed the box that had been given to him. The box was still wrapped and he had no doubt about the safety of its contents.

  And he would keep Gabby safe. No matter what.

  With a very quick glance toward the back door, Jaime very nearly scurried back to Gabby. That back door was clearly shut and locked. Surely The Stallion had disappeared into his lair to obsess over Layne and Wallace’s progress.

  Jaime entered Gabby’s room once again, closing and locking the door behind him quickly. She wasn’t standing anymore. She was sitting on the edge of her bed and she was still shirtless.

  He walked over and placed the box of condoms on the nightstand next to his smaller gun. He watched her face carefully, something flickering there he didn’t recognize as she glanced at the box.

  “We still don’t have to,” he offered, wondering if it was reticence or something close to it.

  Her glance flicked from the box to him. “Why do you have these?”

  “If you haven’t noticed The Stallion is a little convinced women have—”

  “Cooties?” Gabby supplied for him.

  Jaime laughed. “I was going to say diseases. But, yes, essentially, cooties.”

  “So he gave those to you?”

  “When I convinced him that only female payment would do, he insisted I take the necessary precautions.”

  She frowned, puzzling over the box. He didn’t know what to say to make her okay. But eventually she grabbed the box and ran her nail around the edge. Pulling the wrapping off, she ripped open the box and took out a packet.

  She studied him from beneath her lashes and then smirked. “I think this is where you drop your pants.”

  He laughed again. Laughing. It was amazing considering he couldn’t think of the last time he’d laughed. With Gabby he felt like he wasn’t just a machine. He wasn’t simply a tool to bring The Stallion down or a tool to help The Stallion out. He’d been nothing but a weapon for so long it was hard to remember that he was also real. Capable of laughing. Capable of humor. Capable of feeling.

  Capable of caring. Perhaps even loving.

  He’d never been a romantic man who believed in flights of fancy and yet this woman had changed his life. She’d changed his heart and he didn’t have to know how she’d done it to know that it had happened.

  He pushed his jeans the remainder of the way down, watching her the entire time. Her gaze remained bold and appraising on his erection.

  She scooted forward on the bed, tearing the condom packet open before rolling it on him. Finally she looked up at him. Her gaze never left his as she lay back on the bed and undid the fastenings of her pants. She shimmied out of her remaining clothes and then lay there, naked and beautiful before him.

  He took a minute to drink her in. Because who knew how much time they would have after the next couple of days. He would save her—he would do anything to save her—and he did not know what lay ahead. He did know he had to absorb all of this, commit it to memory, connect it to his heart.

  He stepped out of his jeans and then crawled onto the bed and over her. She slid her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. The kiss was soft and sweet. An invitation, an enchanting spell.

  He traced the curve of her cheek with one hand, positioning himself with the other. Slowly, torturing himself and possibly her, as well, he found her entrance. Nudged against it. Taking his sweet time to slowly enter her.

  Joined. Together. As if they were a perfect match. A pair that belonged exactly here. How could he belong anywhere else when this was perfect? When she was perfect?

  She arched against him as if hurrying him along, her fingers tightening in his too long hair.

  “We have time, Gabby. We have time.” He kissed her, soft and sweet, indulging himself in a moment where he was simply seeped inside of her.

  A moment when he was all hers and she was all his. And she relaxed, melting. His. All his.

  Chapter 12

  Gabby had known sex with Jaime would be different for a lot of reasons. First and foremost, she wasn’t a young girl sneaking around, finding awkward stolen moments in the back of a car. Second, he wasn’t a little boy playing at being a hard-ass bad man.

  He was a strong, good, amazing man, doing things her ex-boyfriend would have wilted in front of.

  But mostly, sex with Jaime was different because it was them. Because it was here. Because it mattered in a way her teenage heart would never have been able to understand. Perhaps she never would have been able to understand if she hadn’t been in this position. The position that asked her to be more than she’d ever thought she’d be able to be. Because the truth of the matter was, eight years ago she had been a young woman like any other. Selfish and foolish and not strong in the least.

  She would never be grateful for this eight years of hell. She would never be happy for the lessons she’d learned here, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate them. Because whether she was happy about it or not, it had happened. It was reality. There was only so much bitterness a person could stand.

  With Jaime moving inside her, touching her, caring about her, bitterness had no place. Only pleasure. Only hope. Only a deep, abiding care she had never felt before.

  He kissed her, soft and gentle, wild and passionate, a million different kinds of kisses and cares. His body moved against hers; rough, strong, such a contrast. Such a perfect fit.

  Passion built inside her, deep and abiding. Bigger than anything she’d imagined she’d be able to feel ever again. But Jaime’s hands stroked her body. He moved inside her like he could unlock every piece of her. She wanted him to.

  The blinding spiral of pleasure took her off guard. She hadn’t expected it so quickly or so hard. She gasped his name, surprised at the sound in the quiet room. Surprised at all he could draw it out of her.

  He still moved with her. Growing a little frantic, a little wild. She reveled in it, her hands sliding down his back. Her heart beating against his.

  She wanted his release. Wanted to feel him lose himself inside her.

  Instead of galloping after it, though, he paused, as if wanting to make this moment last forever. Satisfied and sated, how could she argue with that? She would stay here, locked with him, body to body forever.

  He kissed her neck, her jaw. His teeth scraped against her lips and she moved her hips to meet with his. But he was unerringly slow and methodical. As though they’d been making love for years and he knew exactly how to drive her crazy. How to make her fall over that edge again and again. Because she was perilously close.

  Aside from the tension in his arms, she would have no idea he was exerting any energy whatsoever. That spurred something in her. Something she hadn’t thought she’d ever feel again. A challenge. And need.

  She tightened her hold on his shoulders, slicked though they were. She sank her teeth into his bottom lip, pushing hard against him with her hips. He groaned into her mouth. She slid her hands down his back, gripping his hips, urging him on. One hand tightened on her hip, a heavy, hot brand.

  She looked into his eyes and smiled at him. “More,” she insisted.

  He swore, sounding a little broken. That control he’d been holding on to, that calm assault to bring her to the brink, snapped. He moved against her with a wildness she craved, that she reveled in.

  She’d brought him to this point, wild and a little broken. She could be the woman that did this to him, and that was something no one could ever take away. She was the woman who had made him hers. Maybe she wouldn’t always have Jaime, but she’d always have this.

  He groaned his release
, pushing hard against her, and it was the knowledge she’d brought him there that sent her over the edge again herself. Pulsing and crashing. Her heart beating heavy, having grown a million sizes. Having accepted his as her own.

  He lay against her, and she stroked her hand up and down his back, listening to his heart beat slowly, slowly, come back to its regular rhythm. He made a move to get off her, but she held him there, wanting his weight on her for as long as it could be.

  “Aren’t I crushing you?” he asked in her ear, his voice a low rumble.

  “I like it,” she murmured in return.

  He nuzzled into her neck, relaxing into her. As though because she’d said she liked it he would give her this closeness for as long as he could. She believed that about him. That he would always give her whatever he could. Once they knew Natalie was safe, he’d agreed to get her out under any means possible, and she believed.

  For the first time in eight years she believed in someone aside from herself. For the first time in eight years she had hope and care and pleasure.

  She might’ve told him she loved him in any other situation, but this was no regular life. Love was... Who knew what love really was? If they got away, back into the real world, maybe...maybe she could learn.

  * * *

  Jaime slept in Gabby’s bed. It was a calculated risk to spend the night with her. He didn’t know how close an eye The Stallion was keeping on him with everything going on. In the end, perhaps a little addled by her and sex, he’d figured, if pressed, he’d explain all his time as making sure Gabby paid for her supposed lack of respect.

  It bothered him to have to think of things like that. Bothered him in a way nothing in the past two years had. That he had to make The Stallion think he was hurting Gabby. It grated against every inch of him every time he thought about it.

  So he tried not to think about it. He spent the night in her bed and the next day mostly holed up with her in her room. They made love. They talked. They laughed.

  It felt as though they were anywhere but in this prison. A vacation of sorts. Just one where you didn’t leave the room you were locked into. He wouldn’t regret this time. It was something to have her here, to have her close.