Caught by You

by Kris Rafferty

  “I’m serious. No relationships since my ex-wife tossed me to the curb.”

  She lifted her brows. “Gun shy?”

  “Guns seems to be the only thing I’m not shy of. All work, no play, until you.” Her expression told him she did not in fact believe him at all, but it was the truth. He propped himself on his elbow. “Now all I can think about is you, Mrs. Coppola.” As soon as that name crossed his lips, he winced, hating that he’d slipped up so badly when her mood had finally lightened.

  “Don’t call me that.” A shadow crossed her expression.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I divorced him. I started over. I don’t even want that part of him touching me.” She pressed her face into the pillow for a moment. When she’d readjusted her head on the pillow, she’d composed herself, but she looked at him with sadness now.

  “It slipped out.” Dante Coppola was twenty years Avery’s senior, at seventeen she must have been very desperate to marry the syndicate boss. “I’m assuming you didn’t know he was behind your family’s massacre.” Otherwise, Vincent couldn’t fathom her decision to marry him, no matter how desperate she’d been.

  He saw a flash of temper, but it didn’t leech into her tone. “Remember when I said you don’t know anything? Well, this is one of the things you don’t know.” He thought for a moment that she was going to leave it at that, but instead, she sighed. “Dante had nothing to do with it. It was a coup within the ranks of my father’s people. Dante found out soon after it happened, but didn’t have the power to do much beyond rebuild the businesses by then. The contract killers didn’t like that my father was pulling the syndicate out of illegal activities and going into legitimate business. He was essentially putting them out of a job.”

  “Who needs contract killers if you’re not a criminal enterprise?”

  Her eyes lost focus, and whatever thoughts tormented her, they were familiar enough to shrug off. “My father should have foreseen what eventually happened, and taken steps to prevent it. He didn’t, and now my family is dead. All but me and Millie.”

  “So how does Dante fit in?”

  Her eyes focused on Vincent’s face, and she frowned. “He took over because he was the only one left who could without creating a range war, so people got behind him. I married him. He protected me and Millie.” She seemed defensive.

  “And hired The Stinger?”

  “Stop. If you won’t believe what I tell you, why do you keep asking me questions? I told you. The Stinger doesn’t exist.”

  “Hmm.” She was lying. He could tell. She had a tick on her right eyelid that gave her away every time. “Okay. Fine. I’ll back off.”

  “I don’t want to talk about Dante. I’m tired.” She curled up, bumping knees with him. “Let’s talk about you. What do you do for fun?”

  Vincent couldn’t repress his smile. “I could show you.” Then he nudged a curl behind her ear.

  Avery laughed and pushed his hand away. “I thought you don’t have time for romance.”

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t have fun.” He flopped onto his back, tucking his hands behind his head. The afternoon was getting old, and the sun was dropping. This deep in the woods, it got dark sooner because of tree cover, so he’d light a fire soon, if only to see by. “I read. I run, go to the gym, and there’s poker night every Thursday with the team.” He glanced at her, expecting a smirk, or some level of derision. He saw interest.

  “That sounds like a nice life. Lonely, though.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Reading. Done alone. Running. Alone. Gym? Maybe that could be considered a group sport, but I don’t see you as the guy that works out with friends. You probably do your sets with earbuds on and head home an hour later.”

  That was about right. “Poker is a group activity.”

  “With coworkers makes it an extension of work.” He must have revealed a bit of irritation, because she pressed her hand on his arm. “Don’t get me wrong. I understand. You have poker and I have Millie. Having a ten-year-old forces you to do things. School activities. Playdates. I’m around people all the time, but I’d rather be reading.”

  He frowned. “You work out. I know you do. I saw your moves at the diner. The meth head—”

  She covered her jaw with her palm. “I thought I was dead six times, at least.”

  “You’ve trained with some seriously skilled people, Avery. You are seriously skilled.”

  “I don’t deny it. After what happened to my family, I felt vulnerable and didn’t like it. It crippled me, actually, so I trained.”

  “With who?”

  She bit her lower lip, and for a moment, he thought she wouldn’t tell him. “Dante’s contract killers.”

  Vincent sat, staring down at her. He didn’t know what he’d expected her to say, but that wasn’t it. “Tell me the six that killed your family weren’t involved in your training.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze, and seemed unwilling to answer, so he nudged her.

  “Well, obviously, I didn’t know what they’d done,” she said. “Not when they were training me.”

  Obviously? He didn’t know what to say. A person couldn’t be that mind-fucked and survive, could they? “And I thought my ex was Satan.”

  She covered her face with her hands. “I shouldn’t have told you. I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

  He pulled her hands off her face. “Make me understand.”

  She flopped on her back, then she grabbed her Glock, resting it on her chest again. He took it as a sign that she was feeling threatened.

  “I was desperate,” she said. “I’d stopped sleeping. I thought whoever killed my family would come after me and Millie.” She wiggled on the bed, adjusting herself. “You can’t imagine, Vincent. The level of fear I lived with.” She shook her head. “My family was massacred at a family reunion, where I should have been completely safe. I would have been dead, too, if I hadn’t gone upstairs to check on my sister. We spent an hour cowering in a closet. Millie kept crying, and I knew if she was heard, we’d both die. Ever since then, my life has been centered on keeping Millie safe.”

  He’d seen the pictures. He knew what happened that day, and knew what she’d found when she’d left that closet. “I’m sorry, Avery.”

  “I didn’t know it was them. That the people that killed my family were training me. I didn’t. I just knew I needed to be more, be stronger.” Her chin quivered and tears spilled over her lashes. “Being vulnerable is intolerable.”

  “But Coppola married you, promising protection.”

  “I knew it wouldn’t be enough. I’d had my father’s protection. That didn’t save anyone, so I made Dante promise to have his men train me. That way, if anyone tried to hurt me or Millie, I’d be prepared this time. I would never have to cower in a closet again. I would be in control. They’d cower before me.”

  Vincent couldn’t even imagine what the undercurrents in those training classes must have been like. “You might not have known, but they knew. Why did they train you?”

  She shrugged. “Dante told them to.”

  “But they killed the last boss.”

  Sniffing, she gave him an impatient glance. “I explained that.”

  “Job retention?” Hard to believe.

  She shook her head. “It’s about power. Control. Most things are.”

  He wasn’t sure he bought that story, but she seemed to. “I just can’t visualize you training with those killers.”

  “For five years. I began the day after I married Dante.” Avery rubbed her thumbs against her rings. “They beat the crap out of me three times a week and called it “training.” It would have been more frequent, but Dante feared the pace would kill me. I think they believed if they were brutal enough, I’d give up. They underestimated my fear, and I had no idea they’d killed my family, so there was that. If
I’d known, I would have been too afraid, but I learned, persisted, became better. When I won sparring matches, more often than not, and could shoot and throw knives as well as them, my “training” ended. I ran with Millie soon after.”

  “When did Dante tell you they’d killed your family?” He saw her surprise, as if she hadn’t seen that question coming. It surprised him in turn, because it seemed the most important question.

  “After they were dead.” She pursed her lips, and her eyes lost focus.

  Vincent couldn’t wait to put the whole damn lot of them behind bars. “I’m sorry,” was all he could force past his lips.

  She sniffed, blinking. “Dante had to know if I’d found out, I would have left him, so he kept it from me. No way I could have stayed with them around all the time.”

  “So, he killed them for you? Trying to keep you there?”

  Her eyes slowly focused, and her expression hardened. “Nice try, but no dice. I don’t know who killed them.” She sighed. “Anyway, Dante isn’t so romantic. They were his men. Why would he kill them? They had their uses, and it takes a long time to train one. I should know.”

  “That means The Stinger must be from a rival syndicate.” He saw she wanted to deny it, so stopped her before she could speak. “Someone killed those six men, Avery, and our forensics people say it was one person, same time of death, so one after the other. Do you know someone skilled enough to do that? You trained with those killers. You’d know if one of Coppola’s people were capable.” She shook her head, denying any knowledge of such a person. “The Stinger has to be from a rival syndicate.”

  “I can’t think about this anymore. It’s too much.” Curled up, she grabbed the pillow and hugged it, seeming more a little girl, than an exhausted warrior. When she closed her eyes, he told himself to allow her to rest. It didn’t matter that what he needed was to take her in his arms and make everything better. That was his burden, and not his job. He gave himself a mental shake and then he rolled off the bed, afraid if he stayed there, lying next to her, he’d kiss her and set in motion events that he wouldn’t be able to take back.

  Like making love with her. Like growing more attached to her. Like losing his last shred of objectivity, which was already shaky, at best. Instead, he set about building a fire, determined to pretend he had everything under control.

  Chapter 10

  Avery woke in the dark. Achy, and cold, she could only make out the outline of furniture as moonlight peeked in through the windows. She wanted to sleep, be oblivious again, but her muscles were cramping so badly she couldn’t ignore it, and when she yawned, her jaw clicked, reminding her that an asshole had sucker punched her at the diner.

  Vincent’s arms encircled her, pulled her close, spooning her. She sighed with relief as his heat eased her muscle pain. He’d taken his shirt off at some point during the night, so her cheek pressed to hot skin when she turned in his arms, cleaving to him, her lips now against his neck. She felt a little bad about splaying her cold hands on his back, dragging her palms up to the back of his neck, threading her fingers through his hair. But he was so warm, and she needed his heat to sleep.

  He shifted his body, lying on his back, bringing her with him, so she didn’t even have to try to touch him. She was draped on him, splayed, dead weight, and when he turned his head and his warm lips pressed against the hollow of her neck, it felt right. She sighed, lifting her knee and dragging it up over his naked belly, curling around him so more of her could touch him and benefit from his warmth. When his lips moved left and right along her neck’s hollow, she didn’t think much of it, beyond that it felt nice, relaxing, because she was drifting off again.

  His hot hands splayed on her back, his fingers bent and gently kneaded her, easing the ache of strained muscles as her mind took note of serenading bugs and frogs outside. She heard the crackle of a fire, and remembered they were in Vincent’s cabin, on borrowed time. She didn’t have to do anything, be anything, because it was that limbo point after midnight and before dawn when the world stopped and expectations ceased. Avery could just be. She could allow this small pleasure with Vincent. Him, easing her sore muscles, his lips moving against her neck.

  She found the strength to loll her head to the side to give him better access, and then he was tugging at her T-shirt’s neckline. The shock of his tongue touching her skin wasn’t enough to open her eyes, but she stopped breathing for a moment, and then sighed as its drew a line up the band of muscle from her shoulder to her ear. There, he lingered, having left a cool dampness behind that he used as a marker to return to with his open mouth. He nuzzled her neck, sucking, tasting her, driving her crazy as tingles of desire laid waste to her body. Overwhelmed, more aroused than she’d ever felt before, she found it impossible to think past his mouth on her, and how he made her feel.

  Avery’s hips arched, rocking, as delicious tension twisted up her belly. It took a moment to recognize her rhythm matched his kisses, and another to recognize it felt right. Necessary, like breathing. Her chest rose and fell, and tension nudged aside sleepiness. She wanted Vincent.

  Her first tiny moan startled her. The second came after Vincent’s kisses prompted a spike of arousal so powerful, her eyes open. Then she saw him beneath her, the fire to the left, its flickering light dancing around the cabin, as they lay there, her hand pressed to his chest.

  She should stop this.

  She should, yet her eyelids drooped when his teeth nipped at her neck, and another wave of desire hit her, making her tremble, urging her hips to move harder against his. Vincent’s palm moved to her waist, and then to her waistband, teasing its edge, slipping under the fabric. Then he reversed direction, and his hand moved under her T-shirt, between their bodies, even as he teeth grazed the sensitized skin near her throat. He cupped her breast, his thumb brushed its tip, and her body arched toward him, seeking more.

  This is wrong. She was wrong. Avery was uniquely wrong for Vincent.

  She could ruin him. Get him killed. He had no idea what she’d done.

  She had to stop this.

  Vincent turned them onto their sides, and then his kisses, licks, and nibbles moved from her neck to her breasts, mouthing her through her T-shirt, leaving damp marks where he covered her nipples and sucked. It was one of the most erotic experiences of her life. Vincent seemed starved for her, and it was intoxicating, made it hard to think, to feel guilt, to resist him.

  When her hand found its way to his fly, she felt his arousal straining against the fabric. Vincent covered her hand, stopped her caress. “I’ll explode,” he said. The words seemed to burst from him. “This is out of control.” He guided her hand to his chest, holding it there. “My fault.”

  She pressed her face to his neck, forcing herself not to taste his hot skin. She’d just…lay with him. “Go to sleep,” she said, knowing it was impossible. It felt as if she’d never sleep again.

  “Yeah. Sleep.” He rolled her onto her back, and settled his weight between her thighs, pinning her to the mattress. “Kiss me good night, sweet Avery.” Elbows resting on either side of her head, she looked up at him, but his face was in shadow. “Kiss me.” He lowered his head, brushing his lips against hers. She told herself one kiss…one more kiss. Then he swept his tongue inside her mouth, and their kiss was hot, and wet, and lingering, banishing all thoughts on what she should do.

  She grabbed his ass with both her hands and arched her hips higher, needing him closer. “What are we doing?” Out of breath, out of her mind. This wasn’t right. She didn’t deserve a man like Vincent. “We have to stop.”

  He rolled off her, eyes squeezed shut. “Stopping. We’re stopping.”

  “Good night, Vincent.” She stared at the ceiling, blinded by her failures as she curled up, facing away from him.

  If he learned her secrets, he’d hate her. How could he not? Yes, she’d allowed him to worm his way into her…what? Heart? Head? She ne
eded to protect herself, be strong, where she was weak. A few more moments of kissing, and she’d have begged him to be inside her. Even now, swollen and pulsing, her panties wet, Avery feared she still might beg.

  But some instinct told her that if they made love, he’d never let her go. He’d use that intimacy to excuse his “protection,” maybe even force her to deal with the Feds. She shuddered at the thought.

  She’d come to care if Vincent lived or died, and that caring made him a vulnerability. This man, this Fed, made her vulnerable. He could destroy her, would destroy her if he knew the truth, so why the hell was she playing with fire?

  * * * *

  Something woke her abruptly, and she didn’t know if it was the sunlight, birds chirping, bugs clacking, or the chill in the air. Vincent’s warm arm was draped over her side, and he was spooning her, his hand tucked just inside her unzipped waistband, as if poised to slip into her panties and cup her heat. The thought had her lady parts clenching. She turned her face against the pillow and suppressed a groan.

  Vincent tensed, and then his arm twitched, making her recognize what had woken her. He was having a nightmare. She looked over her shoulder, at his face, and saw a furrow between his brows, his jaw muscles flexing and releasing. He was suffering. Pressing her hand to his forearm, she snuggled close, seeking to give solace where she could, because she sympathized. It was rare she didn’t suffer nightmares. Dante had hired a counselor just after they’d been married. He didn’t like her thrashing about in bed, crying as he attempted to sleep. Her nightmares eventually chased Dante from her bed, so they were a welcomed plus in the end.

  Vincent tensed again, so she tightened her hold on his arm, feeling the need to keep him company as he waged his internal battles. Soon, his breath no longer caught, as if poised to shout, and his arm no longer squeezed her close. Twenty minutes later, he was smacking his lips and nuzzling the back of her neck. She couldn’t help but smile as she felt him pressing his erection against her ass. Her warrior, randy after winning the battle.