She turned her head, unable to meet his gaze, and accidentally brushed her lips against his. They tingled, so she licked them to make the sensation go away, but it left her wanting more. Vincent nudged her chin, so she’d look at him again. His breath was coming in shallow bursts, mirroring hers. Then he lowered his lips to hers, though didn’t linger. It was a short, exploratory kiss. He was asking a question, and it was up to her to decide, but he wasn’t making it easy to deny him. His fingertips moved from her jaw, down her neck, her collarbone, and just as she thought he’d cup her breast, he drew his palm down her arm, taking her hand and pressing it over his heart.
“I want you, Avery. You’re all I can think about, and… I think you want me back.”
She felt overwhelmingly shy. When he’d touched her at the cabin, she’d been off her game, barely awake, so by the time she was aware of what was going on, she was already fully aroused. And it had been dark. She didn’t have to look at him looking at her.
“Vincent, I don’t think you understand. Dante wants me back,” she said. “To kill me or control me, I don’t know. He sees me as a trophy. As his. I won’t know what he has planned until I see him, but you must see how you and me is a bad idea. A death sentence.”
Vincent’s gaze hardened, and then he lay her down, and lay side by side with her. “Listen. You talk about your ex like he’s all powerful. He’s not. Do you know who is? Me. Because I’m on your side, and I have the full power of the FBI behind me, and I won’t fucking let him have you.” He covered her mouth with his, his hands clutching her to him, mashing their lips together. She held on, slammed with desire and hope. When he broke the kiss, he kept their faces close. “Do you hear me? He can’t have you,” Vincent growled. “I won’t let him hurt you.”
“But…” She shook her head weakly. “Why?” She didn’t understand why.
Vincent closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly. His chest rose and fell, and she could see him restraining his emotions. The sight excited and impressed her, made her feel like she mattered to him. It brought on feelings of wonder, as if it were happening in a dream, and she didn’t trust them one bit.
“Vincent?”
He opened his eyes, and she saw his confusion all mixed up with something else. That something else was what had her fingertips touching his cheekbone, exploring the hollow below, and gently raking her nails against his thick stubble. He was so beautiful. Wonderful. She ran her palm over his strong chest, his shoulder, loving how he felt, how he made her feel when she touched him.
He was touching her, too. His hand slipped under her shirt, reached behind her and unsnapped her bra; then they were pulling off their weapon sheaths, tossing them to the floor. And then he was kissing her again, sweetly, at first, and then deeper, drugging her with his focused passion, making her feel like the most desirable woman on the planet. He wanted her, as she wanted him, and that had never happened to her before. She’d never wanted a man back. Not like Vincent. He’d become important to her and precious…someone to protect. She broke the kiss, out of breath and feeling vulnerable.
“Somewhere along the way, Vincent, you forgot I was a means to an end. Cut your losses. Save yourself.”
His hand was under her shirt, cupping her breast as he rubbed his lips against hers, mingling their breaths. “I don’t want to be saved.”
His words startled her, and then she realized this was the permission she’d been waiting for. He was telling her to take him. Just…take him.
Avery tugged his shirt up, and with trembling hands, bared his abs, pressing her mouth to his rippling muscles. She wanted to see him, touch his skin. Vincent allowed her to push him onto his back, watching her with dark, haunted eyes. Off came his shirt, and when she reached for his belt, she paused, losing courage. Until Vincent helped and unbuckled it for her. He unzipped his fly, and she watched him, breathless.
Then he reached for her, and she was triggered. She pulled her shirt over her head before throwing it and her bra aside, and then they were shucking their boots. Her Doc Martens took the longest time because they had to be untie, but breathless, their eyes bright with anticipation, they did it together. Pants gone, naked, they met on the bed, knee to knee, facing each other, looking their fill. She admired his beauty, as he explored the scars on her belly, hips, and legs, mementos of her final battle with the six contract killers. She had more knife scars on her forearms, too, but they’d faded against the paleness of her skin, and didn’t pucker, because those cuts hadn’t been as deep.
His gaze was intense, and grim, but his hands never stopped caressing her, his eyes never stopped admiring her curves. “Tell me you want this as much as I do,” he said. “For the right reasons.” They both knew what he was saying. He feared she was playing him. Again.
She swallowed hard. “Making love to you is the most selfish thing I’ll ever do, and if you had even an ounce of self-preservation, you’d run from me, and count yourself lucky.” She pressed her hand over his heart, felt it racing, and drew her other hand down his arm until she reached his hand, and pressed it over her heart, relishing the feel of his callused fingers against her skin. “Touch me.”
He leaned, swept his tongue along her lower lip, tickling it open, and then plunged inside, sealing their mouth together. He kissed her with a gentleness and expertise she’d come to associate with Vincent. He had her near swooning within moments, and all the while, she trembled, loving how his muscles grew taut at her touch. His strength, the gloriousness of his physique, was all hers. All of him. Maybe just for now, but she’d take it.
“This is insane.” She barely recognized her voice. “We’ll pay for this. I know it. We’ll pay.” She lowered her mouth to his chest, tasting him.
“What wouldn’t I pay?” His words sent tingles through her body as he caressed her back, her ass, squeezing her as he pulled her hips toward him, making her feel his arousal. The tips of her breasts mashed against him. She lifted her mouth, seeking his kiss, moaning when he drew her tongue into his mouth. Melting in his arms, she felt the tension build in her lower belly, making her swell with want, become wet with need. She wanted him inside her.
Vincent lowered her to the mattress, slipped a knee between her knees, and spread her wide as he positioned himself above her. With Dante, once he was inside her, it was soon over, and she’d always been left wanting. Avery couldn’t survive if that happened now. Her body was on fire, desperate for release.
Then Vincent surprised her, growing still. Elbows supporting his weight, he held her gaze, and waited. For what, Avery had no idea. With fluttering hands, she ran them across his chest, lifting her chin, hoping to make him kiss her, touch her. Yet, he hesitated, poised to sheath himself inside her, studying her body.
“What? What should I do?” She knew how this worked. Dante had been a demanding lover. What was she doing wrong?
“Just…let me look at you.” His gaze lingered on her hair, her eyes, her lips. “You’re so damn sexy. So. Damn. Sexy.” He moved lower on her body, tasting the tip of her breast, swirling his tongue around the nipple. Her thighs trembled as they squeezed together, pinning his waist, wanting him to touch her more intimately, to ease her growing need.
Arching upward, she felt his mouth suckle her. She threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him at her breast, overwhelmed by her wanting, but needing more. She whimpered when he lifted his head. But Vincent had moved on to her other breast, teasing this one now with a flick of his thumb. Soon, his caress moved down her stomach, over her scars, kissing them. Then he cupped her between her legs, and she was more than ready for him, wiggling against his hand, his questing finger. She gasped when he sheathed it inside her, bucking at his first stroke, even as his tongue thrust inside her mouth. Moaning, lightheaded, she edged toward climax. Then Vincent stopped and pulled back.
“Huh?” She lifted herself onto her elbows, having a hard time focusing. Vincent reached for
his pants on the floor, and pull a wrapped condom from his pocket.
“Call me a cockeyed optimist.” He tore it open with his teeth, handed it to her, and then lay on his back. “Put it on me.”
Eyes wide, she eagerly complied, reveling in the hungry look on his face. He focused on her hands moving over his erection, and gasped when she gave him a tiny squeeze when she was done. Smiling, Avery pushed Vincent onto his back. He chuckled, helping her straddle him. Then she positioned him between her legs and sheathed herself with one downward movement.
Her eyes lost focus, and suddenly it felt as if she didn’t need to breathe. Vincent inhaled sharply, dug his fingers into her hips, holding her in place. When she could focus, she saw his eyes had become heavy-lidded, and his mouth seemed poised to bite. Then he moved beneath her, guiding her hips, showing her what he wanted, creating their rhythm. Sweat broke out on her upper lip and cooled her back as pleasure made her weak, and soon it became a struggle to stay upright. Then he was moving faster inside her, adjusting her on him. She wanted to watch him, to enjoy his arousal, but she was too busy throwing her head back and moaning as stroke after stroke buffeted her with pleasure.
Vincent blew…her…mind.
Filled her completely. Had her arching toward him even as his hips surged inside her. She’d never felt the like as Vincent controlled her completely. He whispered her name, hot and breathy, as if against his will. Then he pulled her chest down to him, mashing her breasts against his hardness. He flipped them, until she was on her back and he was pinning her hips to the mattress, burying himself even deeper. She gasped, saw stars, and then his rhythm became fierce as he moved inside her, tipping her over an edge to orgasm, to…ecstasy.
“Vincent!” She turned her face, hiding it in the hollow of his neck. She felt him shudder, knew he’d found his release, even as he continued to move, longer strokes now, feeding her climax aftershocks.
The whole thing was heartrending, devastating, and… Avery couldn’t wait to do it again. She laughed, floored by the enormity of it all. Vincent pressed his lips to her neck, his chest shaking, silently laughing. Happy. They were happy.
She rubbed his back, grabbed his ass and squeezed, and then locked her legs around his waist, not wanting to let him go. She wanted to thank him, to congratulate him for showing her what sex could be like, but feared it was a novice move, and would reveal her inexperience with orgasms.
He pressed a lingering kiss to her lips, and then pressed his face in the hollow of her neck, nuzzling. Time stood still and neither spoke as they caught their breath and calmed their racing hearts. It was wonderful. Avery felt amazing, and she wanted to memorize the feeling, memorize everything about this moment. His embrace, the tickling of his breath as it moved the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck. She wanted to remember every detail, so when he was gone, and when life got so bad she thought nothing could warrant the effort to survive, she’d have this memory: his protective embrace, his scratchy cheek on her neck, their sweat and heat mingling.
Because bad times were coming.
Soon, Vincent would know everything; who she was, what she’d done.
That was inevitable. He’d stick with her until he knew, because he was that kind of guy…the good kind. Only the truth about who she was would make him abandon her, but she had now, and this memory. It would have to be enough.
Her phone rang, and her heart skipped with fear. She unlocked her legs, and lay splayed on the bed, staring at the ceiling as he remained buried inside her. “I can’t breathe.”
Vincent rolled off her, sitting on the bed’s edge as he picked up her ringing phone. “Do you think it’s Coppola?”
“It has to be, unless it’s the Feds.” And why would they call Avery, instead of Vincent? They wouldn’t. The phone continued to ring.
He glanced at the incoming phone number. “It’s not Benton.”
Pressing her palm to her forehead, she held her breath, struggling to compose herself. She waited as long as she dared before snatching the phone from Vincent’s hand and hitting the accept button. She pressed it to her ear. “Yeah?” She held her breath, staring at the water-stained ceiling.
“Hello, baby. Miss me?” Dante’s smooth, deep tone gave her a chill.
She caught Vincent’s gaze and held it. He was all that was good in a man. All that Dante wasn’t. Whatever he saw in her eyes had Vincent grabbing his Glock off the side table.
“You got my message.” She bit her lip.
“Yes, I did,” Dante said. “Poor Pete. He wanted you to know he was sending his mother to Boca to retire. You certainly made an impression, but then again, you always do.”
“I want proof of life. Put Millie on.”
“You shouldn’t have betrayed me, Avery.”
“I didn’t betray you.”
“You know what you did.”
“I want to speak to Millie.”
“She’s fine, swimming in the pool. Don’t worry about her. Beautiful things always have their value in my home.”
Avery swallowed hard. So, Millie was at the mansion and Dante wanted her to know. “She’s not yours to keep, Dante. You know that, right?” She wouldn’t allow it.
“Who’s the man you’re with? Pete told me you had a bodyguard. Are you lovers?” He couldn’t hide his jealousy, and knowing Dante, he probably felt as if he had a right to it.
She reached for Vincent, gripping his thigh, needing the assurance of his solidness, his strength. Vincent covered her hand, squeezing gently. “We’re divorced, Dante. You have no right to ask about my personal life.”
He chuckled. “In the eyes of the church we’re married until one of us dies.”
There was a knock on the door, loud and insistent. The Feds had arrived. She turned to Vincent, used her free hand to indicate her nakedness, and that he needed to buy them time for her to finish this call and get dressed. He nodded and stood, moving toward the door, showing her his fine ass. Even freaked by talking with her psychopathic ex, there was still a portion of her mind devoted to admiring the insane beauty of Special Agent Vincent Modena’s naked glory.
“Goodbye, Avery. I’ll miss you.” The way he said it scared her.
“Let me talk to Millie!”
“That would upset her and she’s only now calmed from that messiness in Boston.” Jason Chadwick’s murder. Millie’s kidnapping. “She doesn’t have your constitution, baby. A little blood and she fainted dead away.” The knocking continued, but Avery ignored it. Vincent, gun in hand, peered through the peep hole. What he saw had him shaking his head impatiently, walking back to Avery and the bed.
“I’m coming, Dante.” She squeezed the phone so hard it bit into her hand. “No need to kill anyone else.”
“You should have left the rings.”
“You want them? I’ll give you anything, just let me speak to her,” Avery said. The line disconnected.
A deafening boom coincided with a hole the size of a grapefruit being blown from the door’s lock. Her mind registered the sound of a shotgun blast, even as a large woman appeared behind the now open door. Dark brown hair in a bun, wearing a housekeeping uniform, her brown eyes promised violence as she aimed her shotgun at Avery.
Angelina Modelli. One of Dante’s preferred contract killers.
Avery rolled to the floor, and seconds later the mattress’s edge disintegrated with a shotgun blast. Vincent got off three rounds, which bought him time to run into the bathroom. Avery low crawled to the bed’s edge, peeking around. Lina had taken cover in the hall, but her shotgun’s barrel was still in view, aimed toward the bathroom.
“Lina!” Avery bit off an expletive. The contract killer’s presence here meant Dante had known Avery was at the hotel this whole time. “Don’t do this! He’s lying to you!”
“I don’t care! I’ve wanted to kill you for years, Avery! Don’t try to ruin my fun!” Li
na cackled from the hall. On Avery’s wedding day, she’d caught her French-kissing Dante in his office. “He requested your hands as proof of death.” She laughed. “Just your hands. Wants to make sure you’re good and dead.” The rings. But Lina would recognize the six rings, too. Did that mean Lina was in Dante’s confidence?
Vincent was giving minimal cover fire, making her think he was conserving rounds. Avery’s gun was by her feet, so she grabbed it, chambered a round, and aimed toward the door. Lina shot the floor next to her, forcing Avery to scurrying back, seeking cover.
“Lina! I’m only back for Millie!”
“I don’t care. I earned this kill. For the last three years, all I’ve heard is Avery this and Avery that.” The distinct sound of a shotgun being reloaded had Avery on her feet, rushing the door. She grabbed the barrel just as Lina had it cocked and ready to go.
Avery pulled. Lina’s grip was sure. A tug of war ensued, bringing them both into the room. The shotgun discharged, blowing a hole in the ceiling, just as Avery kicked Lina’s knee out. It buckled, and Lina fell to one knee, swinging a handgun up with her other hand.
Vincent, still naked, rushed from the bathroom, gun extended. He pulled the trigger, his bullet grazing Lina’s shoulder. “Drop it!” Lina recoiled as her shoulder was thrown back, but didn’t lose her grip on the gun, so Avery kicked it from her hand. It hurting like hell, making her foot scream with pain, but it was a twofer, because Lina lost her balance, allowing Avery to grab the shotgun and toss it aside.
Vincent rushed them, pressing his gun to Lina’s head. It should have ended there, but Lina risked it all, slapping his wrist. Vincent got off a shot, missed, but it was fired close enough to Avery to force an instinctive recoil, giving Lina an opening. She locked Avery’s arm behind her back, and used her as a shield against Vincent. Avery stomped on Lina’s foot, and found herself thrown into Vincent for her troubles. He caught her, and then dove with her to the floor as Lina retrieved her gun and fired. It clicked, empty.
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