Her Villain: A Dark Bully Romance (Aqua Vitae Duet Book 1)

by Ellie Meadows

  I came in an uncontrollable rush of sweet aching, spurting into her violently and groaning loudly. As I came, she leaned back, placing one hand behind her on the table next to me, and she rubbed herself, working fast circles over her clit. I slipped a hand under her arm and reached around to pinch her nipple sharply. The pain sent her over the edge, and she cried out, body shaking as she orgasmed again, her ass convulsing and milking the last drops from my dick.

  *

  “Should I go ahead and make your next appointment?” Carrie looked hopeful, braid frizzy and uniform dress half unzipped.

  “Balthasar will call and make arrangements when necessary.” I finished buttoning up the sky-blue dress shirt before slipping into the gray Brioni suit. It was one of my favorites, though a little hot for this time of year.

  “Oh, okay.”

  “Carrie, you know what this is,” I reminded, no gentleness in my words. There was a line, one that couldn’t be blurred with any of my regular women. If they couldn’t stick to the most important rule—no feelings involved—then the relationship needed termination.

  “I know,” she sighed.

  “If you’re having issues, having feelings, we can end our arrangement. There are no hard feelings.” I slipped into my shoes, the Italian leather hugging my foot.

  “No, it’s fine.” She forced a smile. “I’ll see you when I see you, then!”

  False cheer. It looked like I was going to need a new masseuse. Which was a bloody shame. I really loved this spa.

  “Good,” I nodded curtly.

  I’d have Balthasar notify her later.

  Only once had I broken an arrangement off in person. She had caused a very public scene, in a very public neutral place. From that point forward, I let Balthasar sever ties for me. At least when it came to women and sex.

  Euphoria Spa’s parking was underground. I took the stairs two at a time, walking briskly down to where the Ghost was parked. It was the only thing I hadn’t sold off of my father’s when he’d died. Mostly out of spite. He’d loved the Rolls more than anything else in his life, except money of course. But the car was basically money on wheels. He’d paid extra to have it painted Imperial Jade, not one of the Ghost’s normal colors. The inside was also bespoke, teak trimmings and an emerald encrusted ‘M’ on the dash.

  It was the one I’d taken on a joyride. He’d dropped the charges after having me arrested, but he’d beaten the shit out of me once home.

  I kept it out of spite.

  Let him sit in hell looking up at his son driving his beloved car. Let him choke on it.

  I got in, sliding against the top grain leather. The damn thing still smelled new. Dad was meticulous with the things he actually loved, I’d give him that.

  But when things failed him, he didn’t forgive them. Things were never the same after the joyride, but they weren’t terrible. The moment he found out I wouldn’t take over his business and run it in the way he wanted was the day things really went to shit.

  The engine rumbled to life.

  I liked parking garages. Maybe that was strange. But the lower levels like this, buried under buildings and far away from sunlight, felt safe.

  Soon though, I was pulling onto St. Nicholas Ave and into the dimness of yet another cloudy New York July day to navigate the busy streets towards the Flatiron District. I had a piece of business to attend to before heading home. I drove through Manhattan and the Upper West Side, weaving between cars and stopping for tourists who obviously didn’t know where the fuck they were going.

  An accident in Hell’s Kitchen forced me to detour towards the Diamond District and take 6th.

  It was near Madison Square Garden that I saw her. Running in the pouring rain towards the shelter of a street vendor’s cart.

  Juliette Capuleti.

  There was shit for parking, but I didn’t give a fuck. I pulled over as soon as I could, angled badly towards the sidewalk, and I pushed my door open, stepping out into the storm.

  11.

  Juliette

  “Really?” I questioned the sky as droplets began to splash down around me. “Like today isn’t shit enough.” I raced to a nearby sales cart, though my legs were aching from walking so much, to steal shelter beneath its fabric overhang.

  “You gonna buy something?” A gruff voice sounded.

  I blinked, finding the face of the owner staring back at me, eyebrows raised and mouth a hard line. This wasn’t a normal part of the city for me. I mean, I’d explored the city before, sure, but this wasn’t a street of vendors that recognized me and knew my name, knew my coffee order. I’d been walking randomly, heading in the general direction of home.

  “Um, sure. Yes.” I surveyed his offerings quickly. The normal New York tourist fare—miniature landmarks, I heart NY shirts, snow globe and overpriced snacks. It made sense; we were fairly close to the Madison Square Garden here. Not that there weren’t a million and one things all over New York for a tourist to see so there were sales carts like this all over. Hell, I’d walked past the Museum of Ice Cream only a little while ago. That was my speed. I could live off Butter Pecan. And then there was the Empire State Building past Koreatown. Even though I hated New York now, I still remembered why I loved it as a girl.

  “So, are you buying or leaving?” The shop owner huffed again, crossing his arms and making a pinup girl bulge fatly on his forearm.

  I picked up an item randomly, a lighter with lady liberty etched poorly on the front. “How much?”

  “Price is on the bottom, Lady.” He barked.

  I turned it over, finding the little white sticker. “Twenty dollars?” I asked incredulously.

  “You got a problem with that, Lady?”

  “No, that’s fine. I’m sure it’s worth it.” The moment I went to pull my purse from my shoulder and snag my wallet was the moment I realized that I’d raced out of the office without grabbing my personal belongings. Aside from the phone in my pocket, the gun strapped to my waist, and the badge clipped to my belt. “Um, I don’t suppose you take a contactless payment? I’ve only got my phone.”

  “Listen, lady. Stop wasting my time. It’s cash,” He reached over and slammed his hand into a sign, “Or card. If you can’t pay, then put down the lighter and find some other place to stay dry.”

  “She’ll take the lighter.”

  I whirled around, heart skipping a beat.

  Even without a waltz flowing from speakers along the ceiling.

  Even without the fantasy of a dance floor with lights pulsing above us…

  I knew that voice immediately.

  I was speechless, my tongue knotted together in my mouth and unable to move.

  I watched stupidly as Romero Montego, almost so tall that he couldn’t fit under the overhang, leaned towards the salesman with a pitch-black card. He paid for the ridiculous, poorly made lighter, and then he pocketed both the card and the receipt.

  “You’re getting wet.” I finally unfroze, and that’s what I said. You’re getting wet.

  “And you are wet.” His brilliant green eyes stared at me; his black hair nearly soaked now with one springy curl falling over his forehead to drip slowly.

  “What are you even doing here?”

  “Do you have exclusive rights to this part of New York?” He almost smiled, the slightest hint of curve blossoming at the corner of his mouth.

  “No, of course not,” I sputtered and then clamped my mouth shut tightly, trying to avoid saying more stupid things.

  “I have some business in the Flatiron District.” He gave this beautiful, graceful shrug that screamed casual elegance. I wanted to shove him into the street.

  “Here, take it. You paid for it.” I pushed the lighter at him, her curled fingers around it, staring at it curiously.

  “A present? How did you know I smoked?”

  “Because it’s a nasty habit and you’re a nasty human being,” I snarked, straightening my shoulders and defying him to deny it.

  “Am I so obvious?�
�� He did smile now, mouth spreading wide to show over those money-perfect teeth.

  “Maybe not to everyone else, but I know you Mr. Montego. I know your family.”

  His smile faded.

  “A person is not their family, Miss Capuleti. If they were, then we’d all be damned to hell.” He leaned down, a heaven of sandalwood and lavender floated towards me. And something else... something that made my body tighten in a carnal way. “You, for example, are not your mother. The philandering philanthropist.”

  “A woman isn’t a philanderer,” I sputtered, anger rising in me. “That’s a strumpet, moron.”

  “Yes, but it’s not nearly as poetic sounding, is it?” He stood up to his full height, towering over me now that I wasn’t in super tall heels.

  “What right do you have? What fucking right do you have to talk to me like this?” I pushed past him, leaving shelter, and facing the storm that had intensified since I’d first escaped the rain.

  God, which way do I go? Which way is home? For once, I wished that I had a car. It wasn’t something you really needed in New York, traveling mostly between two boroughs. Especially when you had agency vehicles at your disposal. I’m at 23rd and 6th. The metro isn’t far. Just a block over on 7th.

  I started walking fast, blinking rapidly to see through the heavy rain.

  I only made it a few feet before a hand curled around my wrist.

  “Let me take you home.”

  “No,” I growled, yanking my hand away.

  I tried to move, but this time his hands curled around my shoulders.

  “Please, Juliette. Let me take you home.”

  “I’m not showing you where I live, asshole.”

  He whirled me around, only releasing my shoulders long enough for me to turn. He held me there, hands pressing down against my body, and his eyes looked through my soul. “Juliette, it’s raining like hell. You’ll never get a cab. You’re obviously fucking lost.”

  “I’m not lost. I know exactly where I am, and I’ll take the subway.”

  “The 7th street entrance is closed for maintenance.”

  “Then I’ll go to the one on Park Avenue!” I shouted, trying to yank from his grip and walk in the opposite direction.

  Romero Montego looked at me curiously. And then he lifted me from the ground in one fell swoop and carried me towards a badly parked green car.

  “Put me the fuck down!” I kicked and hit his back.

  “You are hands down the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met.”

  “And you’re kidnapping a goddamn federal agent.” I tried to reach for my gun, but it was wedged between our bodies, and he was jostling me around too violently for it to be safe to pull a firearm on him.

  “I’ll put in a call. I know an asshole in your office. Big ugly fucker named Tybalt.”

  I stopped thrashing at that. “You do not know Anthony.”

  “Oh, I do. He had ties to Montego Arms before I dismantled it. Or did you not realize my father was a person of interest to the DEA and FBI?”

  He lowered me to the ground next to his car’s passenger door. I didn’t know what to say.

  “I’ve never seen any files on your father.” I peered at him through narrowed eyes.

  Romero moved closer to me, so close that our bodies nearly touched. I staggered back, but there was nowhere to go. “I guess you don’t know everything. Above your pay grade maybe.” He pitched his voice low, a harsh rumble that set my pulse racing.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” I spit out, even as the rain became so heavy that New York started to drown, the road drains struggling to keep up.

  “Be sensible,” he said, moving around the car and not waiting for me to respond.

  I glanced around, at the people racing through the streets and the folks trying to hail a cab. I was already soaked to the bones. It had been a terrible day.

  I opened the passenger door and got into his stupid car.

  12.

  Romero

  “My place or yours?” I asked, steering away from the curb and trying not to show my surprise that Juliette had gotten in the car.

  “Like I said, I’m not showing you where I live.” Her body language screamed discomfort, pushing against the car door and keeping herself as far from me as possible.

  “So, you’d rather see where I live?”

  Her head whipped towards me, deep frown only making her look prettier. “I don’t like what you’re fucking implying. I’m cold, wet, and I just want to be somewhere dry.”

  “Making women dry isn’t really my strongest talent.” I smirked.

  “Making women vomit obviously is, though,” she countered, looking back out the window, though New York was nearly rendered invisible thanks to the torrent.

  I depressed the phone icon on the steering wheel. “Call Jakob Stone.”

  A ringing sound sprung to life seconds later. Jakob answered on the third ring. “Stone speaking.” Jakob’s voice was harried, pouring from the car’s surround speakers loudly. I clicked the volume button down twice.

  “Jakob, it’s Romero. We’re going to have to reschedule.”

  “Thank fuck,” he breathed out. “All hell’s broken loose here and we’re on damage control. Some conspiracy theorist published a piece trying to link your father to that socialite’s murder a decade ago. Fucking ridiculous. You dancing with her daughter has set the city on fucking fire, Romero. In good and bad ways.”

  I flicked a glance at Juliette. She was staring at me.

  “Put the fires out, Jakob.”

  “What the hell do you think I’m doing here, Romero? How about you crawl back into your hole and go back to being the reclusive humanitarian who writes checks and only woos women in private. It was a lot easier to craft that public image.”

  “Your New York’s best PR guy. I’m sure you’ll handle it.”

  “You got any fucking miracles up your sleeve?”

  “No, but I’ve got you on retainer to the tune of several million a year, so I urge you to earn that money.” I knew how I sounded, voice stern and unforgiving. I liked Jakob a lot, but he was taking too many liberties with this conversation. I was his employer; he was my employee. He should act like it.

  “Right, right. Sorry. By morning you’ll be back to New York’s most eligible without a hint of scandal to be had.”

  “I expect that to be the case.” I hung up, irritation growing in my chest. Hell, I’d suspected my own father back in the day, but I’d proven him innocent of the crime. No one else needed to dig that goddamn skeleton out of the closet.

  “I’m surprised anyone wants to work with you. You talk to people like they matter less. Like you’re so high and mighty that they should fall on their faces trying to please you.”

  “You asked me mere moments ago what right I had to talk to you like this. I’ll return that question for you to think on.” My fingers gripped the steering wheel hard as I maneuvered through New York, finally, thankfully, pulling off East 69th and into the parking garage built under the townhome. It opened into the basement and held at most four cars. My father’s collection would have eclipsed the space easily. But I didn’t care to collect things.

  That was a lie I supposed. I collected women, in a way. The experience of being with them in The Dark Room.

  “Where are we?” Juliette asked suspiciously.

  “My home. Or rather the garage of my home.” I parked the Ghost next to my Ecosse ES1 Spirit. It was neon orange when I bought it, but now sported a matte black paintjob across the titanium body. It was fast, flashy, and the third most expensive bike in the world. Though, I preferred the Ecosse Founder’s Edition Ti XX which was far more classic looking. I’d looked at other brands, but Ecosse made me come in and take a two-week class at their headquarters. They said it was policy, and they didn’t care about who I was or how much money I had to burn. It was unusual that a company wouldn’t bend to deep pockets. I liked that.

  The engine quieted and I pushed the d
river’s door open, standing up and immediately cracking my neck. By the time I closed the door and started walking towards the entrance into the house, Juliette still hadn’t gotten out of the car. I turned around, slipping my hands into my pockets to watch her as she debated what she should do now that she’d allowed a relative stranger to bring her to his home.

  Finally, I walked back over to the passenger side of the car and tapped on the window.

  “I promise not to bite.”

  “You realize when you say that you sound exactly like the kind of guy who does bite,” she said loudly, projecting through the glass.

  “What can I do to get you out of the car, Juliette?” This wasn’t how it normally went. I didn’t have a problem getting women into my bed, let alone my house. I wasn’t going to fucking beg her to be sensible.

  “You can stop being Romero Montego for a start,” she huffed, crossing her arms and slamming back against the passenger seat, clearly frustrated.

  “If we’re wishing for impossible things, I’d take us back to the fundraising gala and dance with you again.” I crossed my own arms and leaned against the car, staring across the garage at an unremarkable section of reinforced wall.

  We lapsed into silence, at an impasse. After a while, I heard movement, and then felt her door starting to move outward. I shifted, standing away from the car and uncrossing my arms to push my hands back in my pockets. I didn’t want to look like I cared that she finally gave into the inevitable. What else weas she going to do?

  “I’m just here long enough to get a car to take me home,” she stared up at me, lower lip trembling, but stance defiant. “The last thing I need is some paparazzi getting wind that we’re together again, and in your home no less.”

  “No one will find out you’re here,” I promised. “Now, come inside.”

  “Stop being so fucking bossy,” she breathed out, glaring at me, trying to get her emotions under control.

  I smirked. “If you think this is bossy, then your bar is very, very low.”