Lethal Consequences (The Aegis Series Book 2)

by Elisabeth Naughton

  Olivia pushed the bill of the wide-brimmed hat out of her face and quickened her pace so she wouldn’t trip and slow them down. “How did you . . . ? Where—?”

  Another shout echoed behind them, but Landon didn’t slow, and the crowd was so thick, it closed in behind them before the shopkeeper could figure out where they’d gone. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “But you stole it,” she hissed.

  “Jesus, Olivia,” he muttered. “Stop having such high morals. It’s either theft or death. This is the lesser of two evils.”

  Olivia clenched her jaw as he yanked her around some kind of band, set up near a fountain. He was right, but still . . .

  They wove past people, moving away from the noise instead of toward it. Through the crowd ahead, she glanced up and caught sight of a man standing on a stone bench, looking over the crowd as if searching for someone. A man with a bulge under his thin jacket that told her he was carrying some kind of weapon. A man she was almost certain had been at that compound yesterday.

  No . . . Her adrenaline shot up. Landon was heading right toward the guy. He didn’t see him.

  “Landon.” Her hand tightened around his, and she pulled hard, dragging him into the dark alcove of a shop closed for the festivities.

  “What the—”

  She pushed him into the entryway until his back hit the wood door, then moved in at his front. “Kiss me.”

  “What?” His eyes grew wide. “You want to do this right now?”

  “That guy standing on the bench is looking for two people on the run, not a couple making out. This dumb hat will block his view of our faces. Don’t think. Just kiss me.”

  She pushed her hands against his chest and lifted to her toes. He stiffened when she drew close. His hands landed on her hips. He drew in a sharp breath just as her mouth met his.

  His lips were warm and firm and just as tantalizing as she remembered from last night, and as soon as they met hers, a shock ran through her entire body and brought her mind to a screaming halt.

  It’s a cover. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like last night. Think of it as a part in a play. The words circled in her mind as she moved closer and brushed her mouth over his again, using her best acting skills to get through this. But as his fingers dug into her hipbones, as she felt his hard body relax against hers, the words grew fainter in her mind. All the reasons she shouldn’t kiss him drifted to the wayside, far enough out of her grasp that she couldn’t quite reach them.

  He groaned, and the sound was like an erotic trigger, flipping her internal burners to smolder. His hands slid around her waist, fisting the fabric of her sweatshirt at her back, pulling her tighter into the heat of his body. And even before he opened to her kiss, she knew she was lost. Knew that as much as she wanted to hold back after everything that had happened, when it came to him, she never truly could.

  His warm, wet tongue slid into her mouth, and liquid heat seared through her veins at the very first taste. She tried to stay focused on the danger around them, but, note by note, the sounds of the festival faded. The music dimmed. The heat inside her flared to life.

  He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, not a thing like the frantic, needy way he’d kissed her last night. But her mind was already going there, her body contracting with the memory of how hard he’d been sliding inside her in the dark, the tiny rasps of pleasure that had rippled through her body when he’d started to move, and the mind-blowing orgasm that had crashed into her when she’d finally let go.

  She moaned as he kissed her deeper, as she stroked into his mouth and let her body guide her. He answered by tightening his arms around her back. And against her belly, she felt his cock swell and thicken where he pressed into her, a reaction that made her whole body tremble.

  He broke the kiss long before she was ready. Before she’d had her fill. Slowly, he trailed his lips across her cheek to her ear. The faint sounds of the festival slithered through the sexual haze, and she gripped his shoulders to hold herself upright, pressing her forehead against his cheek as she tried to steady her racing pulse.

  “I think he’s gone,” he whispered near her ear, sounding completely in control and not a bit breathless like her. “I don’t see him anymore.”

  Olivia blinked several times, trying to clear her vision. The guy following them. Right. That’s why they’d been kissing. “Are . . . you sure?”

  His arms loosened around her, and he pushed himself more upright in the small alcove to look over her head. “Yeah. He’s gone.” He let go of her waist and reached for her hand. “Come on. We’ve got a ways to go to get back to the airport.”

  Olivia’s head was still in a fog. Her body didn’t want to let go. It wanted him. Right now. Right here. And she knew he’d wanted her too; she’d felt it. But her stupid brain—that part of her that obviously could never tell what he was thinking or wanting or feeling—chose that moment to remind her that guys are guys. They react to anything physical. It doesn’t mean he’s feeling any of what you are.

  She pressed a shaking hand against her forehead. God, when it came to Landon Miller, she just . . . she couldn’t even think straight.

  “Livy.” His warm, solid hand brushed her cheek. “Are you okay?”

  Livy . . . He’d called her that several times—in texts when they’d been flirting, during the hours they’d been on the run together, last night when they’d made love—er, had sex. Her friends and family called her Liv, but no one called her Livy, not since she’d been a kid. And though she’d always hated the nickname growing up, now she loved it. Because coming from him, here, now, it sounded like a term of endearment. Like . . . his own special name for her.

  “What is it?” he said, his voice worried, his other hand coming up to tip her face up to his.

  Oh . . . crud. Pressure grew in her chest. A familiar pressure she’d worked hard to get over since Seattle. The last few days were obviously catching up with her, and she was losing it. Some part of her brain was still conscious enough to recognize the signs. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. The alcove seemed to spin around her. “I . . .”

  “Okay, just . . . breathe.”

  That was all she seemed to be able to do. She drew in deep breaths, one after another, focusing on the pull of air through her nose, the push outward from her lungs. Slowly, the darkness that had threatened to overwhelm her dissipated, and she realized her hands were pressed against something solid. Warmth and comfort surrounded her, and a very familiar, sexy voice was whispering words she couldn’t quite grasp yet in her ear.

  Her eyes slid closed, and she leaned into Landon, letting him be her comfort, letting him hold her—if only for a few more seconds. This felt familiar, normal. Right. And the last few months she hadn’t had much of any of those. Not since she’d nearly lost it on that Seattle street and he’d held her then like he was doing now.

  Geez, it was just like her to fall for a guy who was as emotionally unavailable as she was mentally unstable. Forget about everything else that had happened between them. When it came down to it, even if she could get past the fact she’d caught him with another woman, or the knowledge of what he did for a living, or all the lies he’d carefully created to hide his true self from her, she was too wounded to stand a shot in hell at having a normal relationship with him or anyone else.

  She pushed back and swiped her hands over her face. “I’m fine now. You don’t have to coddle me anymore.”

  “It wasn’t coddling,” he said softly. His hands dropped to his sides, and knowing all she’d see was pity in his eyes, she turned to look down the busy street.

  The crowd was starting to disperse. The band had obviously moved on; where, Olivia wasn’t sure, but it was time they stopped screwing around and got the hell out of here.

  Her gaze scanned the red tile rooftops and finally landed on a bell tower. “Saint Andrew’s.” She pointed to the eas
t. “There.”

  “You want to go to church? Now? Uh, not exactly the best time.”

  She frowned because, yeah, he obviously thought she really was losing it. And maybe she’d been on the verge, but now she wasn’t. Now she knew exactly what she wanted: Just to go home. To forget about the last few days, forget about some stupid fantasy that wasn’t real, get back to her life in Idaho, and find a way to be happy with what she had.

  She drew in a deep breath, one that somehow gave her strength, and turned to face him. “Eve said if we couldn’t get to the airport, to find a way to Saint Andrew’s. They’ll pick us up there.”

  “A church.” Landon frowned. “Great. I have no doubt your sister did that on purpose.”

  Olivia wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but right now she didn’t care. She took a step back, out of the alcove, but when he didn’t follow, she turned to see what the holdup was. He rubbed a hand across his brow, an unreadable expression on his rugged face. “Problem?”

  “No.” He held out a hand. “Lead on. You’ve been leading me into trouble since the day we met. This won’t be any different.”

  She’d been leading him? Olivia held back a snort. Yeah, that’s what was happening. And totally explained why she was the one who was going to walk away from this with a battered heart.

  The hope Landon had held on to as they’d made their way toward Saint Andrew’s church in the heart of Tortoli didn’t just crash and burn, it went up in fucking flames.

  He scanned the open street and cursed his stupid luck. The church itself was made of pink stucco built in the classical style, with three arched, wooden doorways, tall pilasters, and a projecting cornice that ran across the top of the building. A Latin cross was perched in the middle of the cornice, and an octagonal dome sat atop the bell tower to the left. It looked like a dozen different churches throughout the Mediterranean, and though Olivia had been right in that the church was easy to find in the small city, it didn’t provide any sort of protection from passersby. The sidewalk ran right up to the door. No trees, no courtyard, no fountains to hide behind. They were sitting ducks out here in the open, which meant they weren’t going to be able to stay outside like he’d hoped.

  “Come on,” Olivia said, moving for the middle archway and the main door. “They could already be here.”

  Only if our luck has changed. Which, Landon figured, couldn’t be the case. Life was just not that fucking easy.

  Gritting his teeth, he followed her into the dark vestibule.

  The door closed with a heavy clank behind them. Some kind of hymnal music echoed from inside. Olivia moved through the vestibule and into the sanctuary, stopping briefly at a large marble font as they entered. She dipped her index finger in the water, then made the sign of the cross.

  Landon scanned the interior of the church. Pews lined the sanctuary. Ahead an intricate marble altar sat along the far wall, trimmed in gold and decorated with flowers. Several statues were tucked into the nooks and crannies of the altar, but the Big Man himself took up center stage.

  Swallowing hard, Landon glanced right and left. A few doors opened off the sanctuary, but, since churches were an anomaly to him, he didn’t have a clue where they led. A woman knelt in the back, a set of beads in her hand and a veil over her head. Another positioned flowers on the altar. Other than that, the place was empty.

  “I don’t see them,” Olivia whispered. She gestured with her hand as she moved farther into the church. “Come on.”

  Great. Yeah, just what he wanted. Landon would have been perfectly happy to slink into the shadows in the back, but he followed only because he didn’t want to draw attention. Every time wood creaked or the other women in the room moved, though, he jumped.

  “Relax,” Olivia said in a low voice as they ducked into a pew on the left side, far enough from the women so no one could hear their whispering. “They’ll be here.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

  One side of Olivia’s lips curled, and she inched away from him on the pew.

  He darted a look her way. “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t want to get caught when that lightning strikes you down.”

  “Very funny.”

  A sly smirk crossed her lips, and this time when he moved close, she stayed put. “I’m sure you’re fine.”

  His gaze swept back over the sanctuary. “Wishful thinking from the girl who doesn’t want to get caught in the blast zone.”

  “No, I’m just thinking logically. We’re in a cathedral. I’m pretty sure God saves the lightning strikes for the poor schmucks who don’t know any better and wander into the lonely parish churches.”

  She was making jokes. After everything she’d been through, she hadn’t lost her sense of humor. He turned to look at her. “I didn’t know you were Catholic.”

  She shrugged, folded her hands in her lap, and looked toward the intricate altar. “I’m not as Catholic as my parents would like me to be.”

  “Either way, I’m sure they’re happy you turned out so wholesome.”

  The look she flicked him said, Yeah, right. “You say the word wholesome like it’s a bad thing.”

  It wasn’t. Not to him. Not when it came to her. Not by a long shot.

  She glanced back toward the altar. “They might have been. I’ll never know. They’re both dead.”

  Shit. He knew that. Eve had mentioned it once. “Sorry. I—”

  “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. Death is a fact of life. You know that. I just had to deal with it earlier than some.”

  He did know that. And he hated that she knew it too. “How old were you?”

  She stared at the altar, and for a split second, in the silence, he wondered what she was remembering. “Seventeen when my mother died. In my senior year of high school. She’d been perfectly healthy, then one day had a minor medical procedure and caught a rare bacterial infection. Total fluke thing. She was dead within a week.”

  “Jesus.”

  She made a sound that was a half laugh, half snort. “Not exactly the word I’d use here if you’re trying to avoid that lightning strike, but yeah, the sentiment pretty much sums it up.”

  One side of his lips ticked up. There she went again, being . . . Olivia.

  Her smile faded, and her eyes grew distant. “Eve was already in college when it happened. I didn’t know it then, but she’d just lost her fiancé. She was already dealing with the fallout from that. When she came home for Mom’s funeral, she seemed so distant. I didn’t understand it. In fact, looking back, I know that was the start of the wedge that formed between us. When she left right away and didn’t help deal with our dad, who was in a severe state of depression, I was really ticked.” Her gaze slanted his way, and an embarrassed expression crossed her face. “Sorry. That was more than you wanted to know. Nightmare family stuff I’m sure you don’t want to hear about.”

  But he did. He didn’t have any right, but he wanted to know more about her. Wanted to know what made her so resilient. What made her . . . her. “And your faith helped you get through it?”

  She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “No. I pretty much stopped going to church then. I couldn’t get past the ‘everything happens for a reason’ and ‘He needs her up there instead of down here’ stuff my father and our parish priest were throwing at me. That also caused strain with my dad. Moving to Hollywood didn’t help.”

  “You lived in Hollywood?” Surprise rippled through him.

  “Yeah,” she said absently. “Six months. After my mom died, I decided to have a go at the whole actress thing. Even got a role in a movie.”

  Landon was shocked. He knew she taught drama, but this . . . “What happened?”

  She shrugged. “Wasn’t what I expected. So I moved back home, went to Boise State, got my teaching degree. Teaching’s a
n honorable profession, you know.”

  “I know it is.” He also knew there was a lot more she wasn’t saying. More he wanted to know about how and why she’d left a movie role behind if acting had been her dream.

  She stared at the altar. “I always envied Eve, going after what she wanted. I never had the guts to do that. Not all the way. Don’t tell her this, but I always wanted to be like her.”

  “I think you’re pretty great just the way you are.”

  Her cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink, and she shot him another yeah, right look before staring ahead again. “My father didn’t think so. These last couple of years, before he died of cancer, I’d go to mass with him a couple times per year when he guilted me into it, but it was never enough in his eyes. Just like being a teacher was never good enough.”

  Landon hated that someone had made her feel inferior. Her own father, even. Not that he knew all that much about what a good father was supposed to be, but still. How could anyone not see how special she was?

  She glanced his way. “What about you? I get the feeling you’re not Catholic.”

  “Um . . .” He drew in a deep breath and shifted against the pew. “No.”

  “No?” Her brow lifted.

  “Let’s just say God and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms.”

  “Why not?”

  Why? She knew why. Hell, she’d seen why up close and personal.

  She tipped her head. “Nothing is unforgivable, Landon.”

  Her words were like a shock to the solar plexus. And the way her gemlike eyes softened, and the gentle tone of her voice. It did something to him. Something he hadn’t felt before. His chest grew tight and warm, and the capillaries in his fingers and toes began to tingle.

  “Some things are unforgivable, Olivia.”

  “Only if you let them be,” she whispered.

  Time seemed to beat like a drum between them. Or maybe that was just his heart pounding so hard against his ribs it echoed in his ears. As he stared at her, he forgot about the people chasing them, about the danger he’d put her in, about the other women in this church, and saw only Olivia. Every day she surprised him. She could be as tough as nails one minute, then vulnerable and soft the next, then so full of compassion she took his breath away.