“Killjoy.”
“Yes, but you’re alive. So, you’re welcome.”
“I’m finnneeee!” She sighed. “Nobody’s tried anything since that threat I didn’t even know about…a year ago.” She stilled.
“Something to confess?”
“I think about you when I shower?”
I tripped on my next step. “Not funny.”
“What makes you think I’m lying? Maybe I should buy a vibrator and name it Tank just to mess with you at night, screaming your name. I bet that would kill you, your name falling from my lips only to know it’s a robot giving me pleas—”
I slapped her ass so hard my hand stung.
“OW!” She wiggled. “That’s gonna leave a mark.”
“Good.” I slid the keycard and pushed the door open with my foot, then stomped into the master bedroom, tossing her onto the bed.
She bounced up, down, back up, and then glared. Her blue hair stuck to her lip gloss as she shoved it out of the way, and then she crossed her arms, her breasts nearly spilling out of whatever the hell that tiny scrap of black material was.
The plunging neckline went nearly to her belly button, and she was having trouble covering her thighs.
“Bedtime,” I growled.
She leaned back on her hands and crossed her legs. “You joining me, Tank?”
“Yes.” I peeled my shirt over my head and tossed it to the floor. “As a matter of fact, I am.”
Her expression went from confident to pale, then back again. “W-what?”
“You’re not…scared, are you, Tiny?”
She scowled. “Never. I just don’t want to catch any STDs from your dick. If it touches me, I’m cutting it off with a blunt knife!”
“Sounds exciting. Tell me more.” I yawned. “Now, do I need to help you get your pajamas on, or can we sleep? You’re exhausting.”
“Don’t you mean you’re exhausted?”
“Nope, I said it right.” I flashed a smile. “Well?”
She stood and lifted her chin, then walked over to where I’d thrown my shirt and pulled it over her head. It fell to her knees, and then she very slowly pulled down the straps of her dress and shimmied out of it until it dropped to the floor.
I could see her nipples through my white shirt.
“Ready,” she announced.
“You don’t believe in pajamas?” I shifted on my feet.
She took a step toward me and patted me on the stomach. “I sleep in the nude…you’re welcome.”
I couldn’t contain the groan that left my lips just like she seemed unable to contain the blush that stained her cheeks.
I shoved down my jeans and crawled into bed in nothing but my black boxer briefs, and waited as a dull roar pulsed in my ears.
She was in the bathroom.
Minutes later, the lights turned off, and she crawled into bed beside me.
In my shirt.
A mere foot from my arms.
My hands twitched.
She sighed.
I sighed.
And I hated that every part of me that was male came alive—burned to reach across that mattress and pull her against me.
My life or hers.
That was what I’d been cryptically told by all sides tonight.
Me.
Or this small, terrifying woman sleeping next to me with her veiled threats, blue hair, constant mockery, and gorgeous blue eyes.
I always wondered what it was like when people knew they were going to die. Was it sad? Depressing as hell? Or did it make them come alive?
Because I felt alive.
In that moment.
I wanted to touch, lick, experience. Please.
Because there was a great possibility that when she boarded the plane back home, a certain FBI agent would no longer be with her.
Me.
Her.
I sighed. “You,” I whispered. “Every time.”
Chapter Eight
Kartini
“You,” he whispered. “Every time.”
I froze.
My eyes had been closed.
But he had to know I wasn’t asleep yet. How could I possibly be asleep with my body humming the way it was? He was so close.
After wanting him from afar.
And now…he was in my bed.
I sobered immediately when he shifted.
Held my breath when the mattress dipped.
And then a strong arm jerked me against a warm body.
I opened my mouth to say something snarky when Tank whispered in my ear, his breath hot, his tongue touching skin. “For once…don’t.”
But, of course, I did. “Are you protecting me or holding me, Tank?”
He nuzzled my hair a bit with his nose. My lips parted on a little gasp of surprise as he whispered, “A little bit of both.”
I gulped. “You, um...brought your gun to bed.”
A dark chuckle and then. “No.”
Holy shit.
Holy. Shit.
Mouth dry, I just lay there with his giant arm pinned across my body, his breath in my hair, and his very aroused body pressed up against me.
I could literally feel every pulsing heartbeat of that giant non-gun in his pants.
And it seemed the more I felt, the more I wanted to feel.
I wiggled a bit.
He bit back a curse. “Bad idea.”
“Or best idea I’ve ever had, and we can blame it on intoxication.”
“Sober.”
I sighed. “Same.”
He let out a little growl. “Good to know that’s the only way you’d screw me, Tiny.” He pulled me tighter against him. “Now, stop wiggling and sleep.”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“One more thing—”
“If you say one more word, I’m gagging you, and it won’t be the fun type of gag where you have a safe word.”
I perked up. “Should we make a safe word just in case?”
He cursed.
“Sea turtle.” I decided with a cheerful sigh. “They’re innocent enough and—”
His hand moved up and cupped over my mouth.
I kind of liked it.
In a weird way.
How the hell did his hand smell so good, anyway?
Was that lotion?
Tank?
Or just…man?
I shivered.
“Felt that,” he hissed.
“It was involuntary,” I snapped.
His chuckle made me want to stab him more than kiss him. So arrogant. How rude! “You know, you don’t need to hold me.”
Not that I could get away if I wanted to, but I wasn’t about to admit defeat to the giant behind me.
If anything, he pulled me tighter against him, as if he were afraid to let me go. It was nice. Nice being wanted. Held. It had been…a while since anyone had simply held me or even wanted to.
I was too crass.
Too loud.
Too perfect one day, only to be too immature and crazy the next.
I never seemed to fit.
But I fit here.
In his arms.
I fit very well with his chin on my head, his hands on my skin, my heart beating out of my chest as his breathing slowed—seductively.
“I do, though.” His voice sounded heavier, carrying a rasp of exhaustion that I felt deep in my bones. “Need to hold you.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him why.
But then something happened.
I actually relaxed.
His deep breathing told me that he’d done the same, though he still had me pinned against him like I was his favorite bear to sleep with. But I was oddly okay with it in that moment as I was lulled into a deep sleep.
And this time…
I didn’t wake up screaming like I had after my first kill.
This time, I slept.
When my heavy eyes blinked open, a few hours had passed, and the warmth I’d felt from Ta
nk’s body was gone, leaving me shivering as I pulled the covers up over my body and sat up, looking around the room.
The shower was on.
I checked my phone.
Three a.m.? Really?
Rat bastard needs to shower at three a.m.?
With a groan, I chucked a pillow onto the floor and padded my way into the en suite bathroom.
Steam billowed outside of the walk-in shower. I mean, seriously, the hell was he doing?
I opened my mouth to yell something close to that when he walked around the shower wall, fully erect and nearly slipped back against the tile. “What are you doing?”
“It’s nighttime! What do you think I was doing? I was sleeping!” I kept my eyes on his face.
I should have been given an award for that.
He was just so male.
“I couldn’t sleep so I went for a quick perimeter run, then still couldn’t sleep so did some pushups and—wait, why am I explaining myself to you again?”
“Soooo, my bodyguard left me?” My right eyebrow arched.
“Miss me?” He winked. “And don’t worry, your bodyguard never left the premises, and I did the pushups inside the living room.”
“How many?” I just had to ask.
“Three hundred.” He sighed. “Now, can I dry off?”
“Who got your back?”
“Pardon?”
“In the shower.” I lifted my chin. “Who got your back?”
“Is this a trick question?”
“Does it feel like it?”
He groaned. “Well, at least now I’m tired. Next time, I’m just going to wake you up and get a good verbal spar on. I’ll be snoring in seconds.”
“Because I’m boring?” I put my hands on my hips.
He rolled his eyes. “No, because you’re exhausting.”
“Oh”
“Yeah.” He must have seen the frustration on my face because rather than grab a towel, he walked back into the shower, turned it on, and said, “You coming, or not?”
He’d called my bluff.
And now I had to wash his back.
His very buff back.
Me and my big, fat mouth.
I liked goading him.
He made me feel—more normal that way.
So, with an irritated sigh meant for myself, I pulled his t-shirt over my head, then very slowly walked around the corner and into the shower.
Both showerheads were on.
Steam billowed everywhere again.
Without turning around, Tank handed me a washcloth, and I went to work, my eyes traveling down his tanned muscular back like a woman starved.
It wasn’t like I’d never had sex.
Just last year, I’d decided to get it over with and had been so disappointed that I literally lay there and went, “That was it?”
It was just a random guy from Eagle Elite. We were at a party, and I pulled him into a room and started making out with him. I’d wanted it over with. I’d wanted to feel—to feel something other than that deep, etched sadness.
And he had done nothing to make me feel better.
If anything, I was so disappointed when it hurt and then when he pumped his hips a magical three times—only to spill into me with a roar that definitely wasn’t deserved—I mean, he didn’t even do any work!
My body was still in pain.
I was sticky.
And I kind of wanted to pull my knife on him.
Okay, not kind of.
We never spoke again after that, and though I’d made out with a few guys since then out of sheer boredom, nobody had ever made me feel how Tank did—from just washing his stupid old-man back.
Ugh.
I wanted to slap the rag against his skin.
Instead, I moved my hand in a circular motion as if I were super confident and could stay there all night long.
“Done,” I announced.
“Your turn.” He turned around, his green eyes flashing as he took the rag from my hand and then made a turning motion with his hand.
Slowly, I did just that and let out a little gasp when he moved a tendril of hair, tucking it into my messy bun as he continued washing, moving the washcloth up and down my back, then side to side.
Chills erupted down my arms despite the hot water. When I thought he would say something snarky or just drop the washcloth, his hand moved again, the cloth swiftly passing from my lower back to the front of my hips, then up across my belly button and beneath my breasts as he slowly massaged and seduced.
A shudder ran through my body like an electric current. How was he doing this with a stupid washcloth?
How was I responding so fervently to a small touch like this?
“Last year…” Tank moved closer until his wet chest pressed against my back, his thick length pulsing against my lower back and butt. “I almost kissed you last year.”
“What stopped you?” I asked.
“It was either kiss or kill. And perhaps the sickest part about this entire dilemma is that I think it would have been easier to kill you than to kiss you and have you walk away or reject me.”
I grabbed his wrist, the washcloth frozen by my breasts. “And now? Now, what do you want?”
My pulse thudded in my ears as I waited.
He was my bodyguard.
But my brain never forgot about the badge he carried around.
And about what that meant with a last name like mine.
“Kiss.” He let out a rough exhale. “Definitely kiss.”
He flipped me around in his arms and lifted me against the tile wall, his mouth crashing against mine as I tried to match him kiss for kiss, tongue for tongue, his hips pressed into me, making it impossible not to feel the throbbing heat of him.
With a grunt, he pulled away, his green eyes gleaming with lust. “Is the safe word still Sea turtle?” He winked. “Just checking.”
My jaw hung a bit before I spoke. “Did you really just kiss me and make a joke like my dad wouldn’t murder you if he found out?”
“I kissed you, but you seduced me. Big difference.”
“I did not!” I put my hands on my hips. “I’ve never even—”
His mouth covered mine again, and with a whimper, I dug my hands into his hair, tugging at his golden-brown locks, shamelessly rubbing my body against his.
He broke away, panting. “Did, too. Every day for the last year, you’ve been tempting me to either strangle you or turn you over onto my knee and spank the hell out of you for being so argumentative…so, really, this is all your fault. I’m sure he’ll see it my way.”
“It was just one kiss,” I argued.
“Two.” And then he lowered his mouth again, a gorgeous smirk forming across his lips. “Three.” Another kiss. “Four.” He backed away.
With a growl, I pulled his head back. “What? Can’t count past four?”
He grinned against my mouth, then slowly lowered me to my feet.
“I really start to struggle when I get past five, yes.” Tank turned off the water and turned to walk away.
“Wait!” I started to shiver. “That’s it? You just confess you had a choice to kill or kiss me, then kiss me, then count way too high for your tiny brain, and now you’re just leaving me naked in a shower, dripping wet?”
“Dripping wet?” His eyebrows shot up as he checked me out slowly. “No, you’re not. But you will be.”
“You—you!”
His answer was to toss a towel at my face.
With a growl, I dried off then wrapped it around myself as I marched into the bedroom to give him a piece of my mind—only to have him hold a finger up to his lips for me to be quiet.
I nodded jerkily and stayed put as he slowly reached for the nightstand and pulled out a gun I didn’t even realize he’d been keeping there.
It was eerily quiet.
And then, a small creak sounded.
Followed by another.
For a man so large, he moved with the grace of a predator. Som
eone in all black suddenly flashed through the living room.
Tank dove after the person.
They both went crashing into the coffee table, scrambling onto the floor as Tank pinned him, punching him in the face repeatedly until blood caked his fingertips. The person looked as if they weren’t breathing.
“Is he dead?” I whispered.
Tank’s answer was to growl, get off the guy, then kick him as if he were testing to see if he was still breathing. “Grab my cell.”
I didn’t realize I was shaking until I grabbed his phone from his side of the bed and handed it to him.
He dialed a number, held it to his ear, and spoke in low tones. “Yeah, just one…no.” He looked back at me. “She’s safe. Uh-huh, cleanup won’t take long. No, she’s fine. I said she’s fine. Allow me to do my job. Thank you...” He hung up. “Your dad says he loves you and that if I touch you, I’ll die a horrible death. He did mention something about fire, gasoline, and chickens—honestly, the chickens freak me out the most.”
I just stared. “How are you even talking so casually? This guy just got the shit beat out of him, and he was spying on me—on us. What if he would have come into the bathroom?”
Tank shrugged. “Then I would have killed him, and we wouldn’t have broken the coffee table.”
I gulped. “Is this why Dad has you guarding me?”
“You tell me.” Tank’s eyes flashed. “Because a year ago at Valerian’s wedding, you were supposed to be kidnapped. It was going to be FBI-led. They wanted division between the Petrov Family and the rest of the Italians again. That’s all I was told. And the only thing that makes sense is that united, you’re too strong, and the FBI loses its foothold—the minute I make a choice they already knew I was going to make.”
All the breath I’d been holding left my chest as I locked eyes with him. I wondered in that moment if I would lose him.
Not just his anger.
His rage.
But also his teasing.
The way he held me.
The way he protected me, even when he wanted to do more than that.
And the way he touched me.
Was I damning myself?
And, at the end of the day, could I truly trust this man standing in front of me, asking to take the leap into his arms when I knew that the ending could end up in handcuffs or worse—death?
But my dad…he trusted him.
I loved my dad.
I would die for him.
So, if he said that Tank was my bodyguard, then I could trust him with my life.
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