Relentless

by Vanessa Dare

  “Let’s try something. Leave the coffee and come over here.” Nick leaned back against the counter, crooked his finger at me, before putting his hands on the lip behind him.

  I did as he asked, closing the few feet between us.

  “Your body trusts me, so kiss me. Touch me. Do what you want. I’ll keep my hands right here.” I glanced at his big hands, the knuckles white as he gripped the granite. “You’re in control.”

  I stared at him, testing the weight of his words. He might look relaxed, but I was beginning to recognize he was always this way. At ease. Calm. Except for the eyes. That was his tell. Nick was aroused. He wanted me. Wanted me to touch him, but was giving me the control. He knew I wasn’t ready to let go of it, so he let me keep it. To run with it. With a tightness in my chest, I realized the little gift he was offering me. In that moment, I think I lost a little bit of my heart to him. I didn’t think it was possible to do, or that I even had it to give away, but it happened.

  Even with this ridiculous revelation, could I kiss him? Could I close the small space between us and take what I wanted? It was only about two feet, but it felt like a mile. He was right. I had to trust him, at least in this. The rest…it could wait.

  I closed what was left of the space between us. He casually shifted one leg to the side so he stood with his feet shoulder width apart. I looked down at our bare feet. His were big, tan and surprisingly sexy. My fuchsia toenail polish stood out in contrast. Inching forward, I moved into the space between his legs, my belly brushing against his. Fortunately, leaning back as he was, he wasn’t quite as tall and I didn’t have to do more than lift up on the balls of my feet just a little bit and I was able to look directly into his eyes, to feel my breath mingle with his. He smelled of toothpaste and my soap.

  Still, he held on to the counter, didn’t lean his head in to kiss me, didn’t move. He watched me with his dark gaze, searched my eyes, practically looked into my soul while he waited. Waited for me to trust him. As I closed the last inch between our mouths, my breasts pressed against his chest, hard planes aligned with my soft curves and I heard him groan softly. But it wasn’t his abs I was thinking about. It was his mouth; soft, warm and still against mine. I was kissing him softly, but he wasn’t kissing me back. Just letting me feel him, learn him with my lips alone. I feathered kisses over one corner of his mouth, then the other, slid over his rough stubble along his strong jaw. Just this simple contact made my nipples tighten, and lower, the ache grew.

  He watched me as I kissed him, affected, yet passive. It was a strange, yet heady feeling, to be able to touch him like this. To do what I wanted with a man—yet still have control. Feeling bold, I moved back to his mouth and kissed him again, this time my tongue brushing out to taste his lips. A shudder ran through him, but he remained still. Strangely, it wasn’t enough.

  I pulled back, looked up at him. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?” I asked, my voice breathless, as if kissing him were hard work.

  He shook his head. “No.” The one word came out deep. Rough like sandpaper.

  “Why not?” I pouted. I felt like a kid with a toy, getting just what I wanted but realizing it wasn’t enough.

  “Because I won’t stop. God, Anna, you drive me crazy.” He lifted a hand, ran it over his jaw as if trying to wipe my kisses away. “Look, I have to go.”

  I looked down at the floor, my arousal fizzling out like a used match. I was a terrible kisser! I hadn’t done it right or else he would have liked it. That’s why he didn’t respond. Tears clogged my throat.

  A finger gently lifted my chin. “You being in control is pretty damn hot,” Nick murmured.

  I looked up at him from beneath my lashes, doubtful. “Seriously?” I whispered.

  “Want to know what I want to do to you?” His voice had gone dark and rich, like the coffee brewing.

  Did I? Yes, yes I did. I nodded.

  He smiled and his dimple appeared. “I want to unwrap you slowly, like a present. I’ve been picturing what you look like beneath those prim clothes you wear. Don’t panic,” he said, probably witnessing the flare of hurt in my eyes as he spoke of my wardrobe. “I love your clothes. Know why?”

  I cleared my throat. “No.” My voice was a scratchy whisper.

  “Once I undo those buttons on your shirt, unzip your skirt, I’ll see things no one else has. At least for a long time. Right?”

  His voice was almost hypnotic, soothing. I could only nod.

  “Those clothes that cover you up so well means no other man can see. You’ll only share with me.” He leaned in close. “No one else.”

  I shivered as his warm breath fanned my ear.

  “I wonder what color your nipples are. I wonder if they’re as sensitive as I imagine. I bet I could make you come just by sucking on them. And lower, I want to spread your thighs and—”

  It was my turn to put a finger to Nick’s lips, silencing him. If I heard any more, I’d spontaneously combust. Nick’s eyes lit up, little crinkles at the corner showing his amusement.

  I felt warm all over. My body instinctually softened at his words, as if readying itself for him. My nipples tingled, as if his hands, his mouth really were working them. I swallowed, trying to return saliva to my dry mouth.

  “Why say this and tell me you’re leaving?”

  “I think I’ve pushed you enough. For now. I want to do those things to you, but if I don’t leave, my self-control is going to disappear and that’s not what I want. You’re not ready yet. You’ll come to me when it’s time. I’ll even let you seduce me.” He winked. “Until then, I’ll show you how it will be between us, but you’ll say when we finally come together.” Nick ran his knuckles down my cheek.

  My mouth fell open in surprise. “You’re going to wait for me to be ready?” Was that ever going to happen? I panicked at the idea of being held, let alone have sex.

  “I’ll help you get there. For now, you need some space, time to yourself.” He pushed off the counter, walked around me to the mug I’d put down, filled it. “My sister, she lives in Brooklyn and I dropped my bag at her place on the way from the airport.” Stayed there for the first few days as I learned Anna's movements, but didn’t need to tell her that. “I need to stop in there, get my stuff. Visit with her for a while. Can I come back later?”

  “You have a sister?” I asked, surprised.

  Nick chuckled. “You sound as if I were born in a cabbage patch.” He handed me the mug full of steaming coffee, poured another. “I have three sisters, actually. Only one lives here.”

  I didn’t really think about Nick having a family, being young and growing up with sisters. I wondered what it had been like for him; it must have been chaos. I felt a twinge of jealousy at the picture.

  “I have some sketches I have to finish for a client. That should take most of the day.” Half of the time I’d probably be daydreaming about Nick.

  “Then I’ll come back later, take you out to dinner. We’ll talk about your friend that needs help.” He took a sip of coffee, placed the mug back on the counter, grabbed his gun where he’d left it the night before and tucked it once again beneath his shirt. “And, Anna, tonight, when I come back?”

  I nodded, remembering there was more to him than just a good kisser.

  “I’m going to ask you to undo those top two buttons on your blouse so I can peek and see what color bra you’re wearing. So make sure it’s lacy and sexy as hell.”

  I felt hot at his directive. I hadn’t considered my sleeveless top to be anything but modest. Nick had just blown that idea out of the water. Oh yeah, I was going to be daydreaming all day.

  Grif

  Anna needed some space, some room to breathe. Acting as I had at the bar had scared her. She’d thought I was going to kill her. Hell, I couldn’t blame her with the minimal amount of information she had on me. I’d given my word I wasn’t there to hurther, and my word wasn’t much. She’d still believed me, or she wouldn’t have let me into her bed. If she stopped to think ab
out it now, the only thing she’d actually learned about me was that I had sisters.

  I hadn’t been subtle with her, blatantly telling her—and showing her—how much I wanted her. I didn’t fuck her though. Some guys would have seduced her into pliancy, but I knew that wasn’t going to work with her. I didn’t want to just “work” with her. There was something between us, something intense and confusing and a whole lot crazy. I’d heard of guys on the force who’d come in on a Monday morning and share they’d met the love of their life. One guy even said he’d found the woman he was going to marry. They had no doubts. I doubted plenty for them, a lightning strike of love at just the sight of a woman had been unfathomable to me. I was just beginning to see where those guys—now happily married—were coming from.

  It was as if, in the blink of an eye, Anna had become important to me. Her happiness came first. She came first. Wasn’t that a kick in the pants?

  Peters texted while I waited for a light to change, saying they’d worked through the military schools on the East Coast and the Deep South. Nothing yet.

  Space was something I needed, too. My sister, Carrie, really did live in Brooklyn, and I really had dropped my bag at her house. I just had no intention of staying there. Fortunately, out of all my sisters, this one was a lawyer. I had a feeling I’d be needing her expert opinion very soon. I headed in the direction of the subway to meet her for lunch.

  My short-term plan was to give Anna some room. Not a lot, just enough for her to decompress, get her control back around her again. She didn’t do people. I wasn’t a psychologist, but it wasn’t hard to recognize an introvert when I saw one. She’d spend the day rebuilding her defenses as best she could. As I walked down the steps to the subway, I knew it would be harder and harder for her to rebuild them. Soon enough, I’d knock them down entirely.

  ***

  “What do you mean you don’t know her name?” my sister, Carrie, asked. “You spent last night with her, didn’t you?” She was even more no-nonsense than I was. Tactful, straightforward and very deliberate. She had less tolerance for BS than even I did, which made her a fantastic lawyer.

  We sat at a Midtown restaurant’s outdoor seating, the street and pedestrian traffic made for a chaotic backdrop. The area was shaded by the towering buildings, but it was still muggy and warm. Denver’s dry heat was not something I’d ever take for granted. The waitress put down our meals, Carrie a salad with seared salmon, a hamburger for me.

  “Her real name. She took on a new persona when she was eighteen.” I picked up the ketchup, lifted the top of the bun and poured some on my burger. “Some guys on the force are helping me look into why she did it and who she was before.”

  “If she committed a crime when she was a minor, most likely her record is sealed.” She added sugar from a little white packet to her tea. “That gives you a very small window. A few months at most.”

  I took a bite of a dill pickle, pointed the tip at her. “A lot can happen in that time.”

  Carrie looked at me with her pale blue eyes. Somehow, she’d gotten lucky with the gorgeous Black Irish features of our father. Her dark hair was pulled back in a simple twist to complement the business suit she needed for a day in court. Only a year younger, she was my favorite sister. And she knew it. We didn’t keep many secrets, but distance—living in two different parts of the country and both of us married to our jobs—made it hard to keep up.

  “What do you think it might be?”

  She knew I was undercover, but I filled her in about last weekend, Bobby Lane’s body in the trunk, the wedding reception, Anna’s appearance at Scorch, Moretti’s idea that she worked for Carmichael. All of it. I left out the kissing and instant attraction part. There were some things we both agreed not to share. I didn’t even want to think about Carrie’s latest boyfriend.

  I shrugged. “She admitted she’d done something bad. I was referring to killing Bobby Lane when I brought it up, but now that I talk about it, with you and with a buddy on the force, maybe she was referring to something else.”

  We both ate for a minute, considering the implications.

  “Let’s run a scenario,” Carrie said after taking a sip of her iced tea. “She had nothing to do with that dead body. She’s not tied in with Carmichael. She got involved, completely randomly, in last week’s mess in Denver. She admitted to doing something really bad. Something bad enough that she had to change her identity.”

  The waitress topped off our drinks and left.

  “People don’t get a new identify easily. It would have to be big.” Carrie put down her fork. “The only people I know who help someone with a new identity are…well, bad guys like you—”

  I grinned at the implication and cut in. “The FBI for those people who are in Witness Protection.”

  “—and organizations that help women hide from abusive husbands.”

  My hand holding my burger stopped halfway to my mouth. “Oh, crap. She said she’d been married for six months. Had to have been her former self because Anna Scott has never been married.”

  My gut clenched. The burger didn’t look as appealing as it had a minute ago. Had someone hurt Anna enough to send her underground, to create an entirely new identity? Her own husband? It happened, but to Anna? From what I’d seen of her, there wasn’t a mark on her. No scars, not even a blemish. Some scars didn’t show, however. She hadn’t been held. That had definitely left a mark on her psyche. What else had that bastard done? Shit.

  “She came to me asking for my help with a friend of hers, who, in Anna’s own words, was in trouble with a very bad man.” I bit into a fry.

  Carrie glanced at me like an eagle-eyed lawyer, emotions on the side, critically considering every aspect of the situation. “The other option is that she really is working for Carmichael and killed Bobby Lane to get back at Moretti somehow. She duped everyone in Denver last week, slipped in and out even after a meet and greet at the police station. She’s right now laughing over lunch of corned beef sandwiches with Uncle Frankie at how they’d both duped you. How does that scenario suit you?”

  “Corned beef sandwiches?” I asked, chuckling. I picked up my burger once again. “Uncle Frankie?” I took a big bite.

  Carrie rolled her eyes. “You’re playing for the wrong team here, buddy. This is New York and Carmichael’s turf, not Denver. What’s Moretti’s favorite meal?”

  “Open-faced turkey sandwich and fries drowned in brown gravy.” I cringed at the image.

  She pointed at me with a forkful of salad, her eyebrows arched in a look that screamed, See?

  “Right. Corned beef. Sandwich men,” I grumbled, mouth full. I swallowed. “Do I want to know how you know what Uncle Frankie’s favorite food is?” I looked at her in what I hoped was my bossy older brother face.

  Carrie only grinned at me. Damn, the imp. “Probably not.” She pointed her fork at herself. “I’m not working for him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Fine. Your second scenario is sounding less and less likely.” I didn’t like the direction my thoughts were turning. “If that’s the case, Christ, she walked into Scorch on her own, knowing I was working for Moretti, to ask for help. Not for herself, but for a friend.”

  Pride flared for the woman who’d done that, taken that asshole out with a wrist lock. Worse things, deadly things, could have happened to her. She’d gone, into the proverbial lion’s den, to see me. Because Moretti owed her. Jesus, she could have been killed. If I hadn’t been there, if I’d gone home from the reception instead of to the bar, if she’d talked to one of the other guys, her body still wouldn’t be found. I wanted to strangle her and kiss her at the same time. The woman was making me fucking insane!

  “Let’s go talk to her. Find out what’s going on with her, with her friend,” Carrie offered, making it sound so simple. Little did she know my relationship, or friendship, or acquaintance—whatever—with Anna, was far from that. How did I keep the sexiest woman I’d ever met safe when she was the person I was s
ent to kill? And if I didn’t do it, then someone would come to kill both of us. This situation was a total shit storm.

  Carrie glanced at her cell on the wood table. “I’ll be done with court by three. I can meet you.”

  I took a second to calm down, knowing there was nothing to do about Anna’s brave and stupid stunt—except maybe lock her in her apartment and never let her out, ever. But dragging my sister into this mess, more than just talking with her about it, might not be the best idea. I didn’t hurt women, nor knowingly put them in danger.

  “I don’t want you mixed up in all of this,” I told her. “I’m still undercover and Moretti’s a wildcard.”

  Carrie shrugged my words off. “So? You need help. I’ll be done by three,” she repeated.

  I sighed. What was it with stubborn women? But I was low on options, low on help. Carrie had connections here, with police, the justice system, and from the sound of it, Frank Carmichael. Her network was pretty vast and I had a feeling I was going to need some heavy hitters on my side. I’d just keep Carrie to the sidelines, out of danger, where it was safe. I doubted that would be possible—she owned a gun or two of her own—but it was worth a brotherly shot.

  Then there was Anna. She seemed to be fairly thin on the friend front. Carrie could work that angle and wheedle something out of her I couldn’t. If seducing it out of her wasn’t an option—and it wasn’t, I’d get her in bed for the right reasons—then a girlfriend for her might be the next best thing.

  “Fine, but if things get the least bit dangerous, you’re gone,” I said.

  The waitress dropped off our check and I grabbed it before Carrie could.

  “Sure, whatever. Then how are we going to do this?” she asked, completely ignoring my worries.

  “I was thinking good cop, bad cop.” We had a bunch of scenarios we’d used as kids to get out of trouble, some that worked well enough to be used in our professional lives.