Fever

by Carnal, MJ

"My mistake." The guy doubled over, his breaths coming out in short gasps. "Apologies, I'm so sorry—"

  "Sorry?" Ax repeated then punched him in the stomach again. "Don't apologize to me, asshole, apologize to her."

  He lifted the guy up by his shirt and dragged him over to me.

  Shocked, I could only stare as the guy trembled in Ax's grip. "Ma'am, I'm so sorry for my error, please forgive me." Ax squeezed the guy's neck. "It was a horrible, mistake." His voice came out hoarse as Ax continued putting pressure on his windpipe.

  Ax nodded to me.

  "It's um, it's fine." I said in a cheerful voice so the guy didn't report us to the cops or anything. It wasn't like we were in Chicago; they would call the cops here. Then again maybe the Abandonatos were famous everywhere, it wasn't like I really kept track of mafia dealings.

  "Remember," Ax whispered to the guy. "No scratches."

  The guy collapsed onto the pavement clutching his stomach as Ax ushered me inside the huge building. It was the most expensive hotel in town — I only knew because I'd tried to get a job bartending only to find out that they only hired people who'd gone to actual bartending school. Yeah, I didn't fit that profile at all.

  "Wait here." Ax motioned for me to sit on the couch while he went to the front desk and checked in.

  Minutes later he returned with one of the hotel employees. Ax wrapped a possessive arm around my shoulder and led me to a dark hallway where a single elevator was located.

  "Just let me know if you need anything else, Mr. Abandonato. The only guests who can use this key are ones staying on the penthouse level." She handed him the key card, didn't make eye contact with me at all, and walked off down the marble hallway.

  Too busy gawking, I didn't even notice the elevator had opened until I almost tripped as Ax pulled me inside. In a whoosh it took off, within seconds opening up on the top floor where only two doors were located.

  Ax swiped the card again and opened one of the doors, stepping back so I could enter the room first.

  It was huge.

  Not just, oh wow, this is a big hotel room, but it was massive, like its own apartment. It had a full-sized kitchen with granite countertops on the right, a long hallway that led to what I'm guessing were multiple bedrooms, and a beautiful view of the river.

  "Now—" Ax put the card on the table and reached for the phone— "We feed you."

  My stomach grumbled on command.

  "Go take a bath." He nodded towards the hallway. "I'll order you some food, but you probably want to relax for a bit."

  "Are you going to be barging in and waving your gun?" I asked. "Or beating any more hotel employees up?"

  "If you stay dressed like that?" He eyed me slowly up and down. "Yes. Now, go."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Axton

  The slam of the bathroom door gave immediate relief. Muscles I wasn't even aware I'd been flexing, relaxed as I slumped against the countertop. I was less than half a day in and I was already strung so tight that even alcohol wouldn't bring me down.

  It was the outfit.

  And the braid.

  Maybe even the legs.

  Hell, who was I kidding, it was everything.

  I gripped my cell in my hand and punched in a quick text to Nixon.

  Me: Safe, at hotel, her room was destroyed.

  Nixon: Did you find it?

  Me: What is it?

  Nixon: You'll know when you see it.

  Me: Vague, thanks.

  Nixon: Just get her to Chicago, that's all you need to worry about.

  With a grimace I set the phone away from me and leaned against the counter, half tempted to bang my head against the granite just to see if it would knock any sense into my brain. Then again, it wasn't my brain having issues but every other cell in my body. It was like I had lost complete control over my hands, my damn heartbeat, my breathing — everything was fixed on her and her alone. Which made doing my job without getting emotionally attached, damn near impossible.

  Clothes. I needed to get her some clothes, preferably a turtleneck and a pair of sweats, maybe a floppy hat, some sunglasses.

  Not that it would help, but one could always hope.

  "Aaaaagh!" A scream erupted from the bathroom. Gripping my gun I ran down the hallway and burst through the door, hand raised, ready to shoot anyone who dared touch her.

  Amy was lying in the giant bath tub, bubbles surrounding her body making it impossible for me to see her completely naked but giving me the suggestion that it was my loss I couldn't.

  "What's wrong?" I lowered the gun, my heart rate finally returning to normal. "I thought someone was attacking you."

  Amy blushed, the pink color traveled down her neck to her chest, where my eyes stayed for longer than they should have.

  "A bad dream." She shook her head, pieces of wet hair stuck to her chin and cheeks. I had to bite my lip to keep from telling her how beautiful she looked and how badly I wanted to kiss her. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize how tired I was, I laid down and closed my eyes and then—"

  With a sigh I glanced away — not because I was trying to be polite but because I was tilted on my own axis, a stranger in my own body, unable to actually look at her and speak at the same time. "Do you want me to stay in here?"

  "No!" She lurched forward as if to stop me from staying. Water lapped over the edges of the bathtub.

  Bubbles moved around her.

  And I stared like a man who'd never seen water before.

  One bubble remained near her chest.

  I stared it down. Willed it to move to the right, the left, or to disappear altogether, and when that didn't work I argued with it in my head, alternating between telling it why it shouldn't exist and why it should.

  Yes, my speech was quite extensive, well researched, well thought out. I would have probably won an award. And that award would have been for stupidity, but… there I was, still staring, still arguing, still telling myself it was okay to want what I'd given up so long ago — what I didn't deserve.

  "Ax?" Amy squeaked. "Is something wrong?"

  My body responded in the most inappropriate way, coming alive at the sound of her voice as if she'd just offered to let me lick her while pushing the damn bubble away.

  "Uh, yeah," I snapped. "Sorry, just, next time don't scream unless something's really wrong, I could have shot you."

  Romance was clearly lost on me. Of all the things to say, I could have shot you probably killed the moment more than anything. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if the bubble suddenly spontaneously split into two just to shame me for being such an ass.

  "Sorry," she said quickly. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

  "'K." I backed away, forgetting that I'd closed the door behind me, and collided with the doorknob. Wincing, I turned, gave her a salute, because that's what mafia hit men do when they're in a bathroom with a naked girl, they salute her like a freaking boy scout, and then leave.

  Once the door shut behind me I almost turned the gun on myself.

  What the hell was I going to do the rest of the time we were together? And how was I going to keep my hands from touching her when the need to be near her was almost painful?

  "Ax," she called from inside the bathroom.

  I cracked open the door. "Yeah?"

  "Thanks… for coming… even though it was a false alarm."

  "I'll always come," I vowed. "I swear."

  "I'll keep that in mind next time I want you to run in my direction — screaming works."

  A grin spread over my face and I winked. "Just make sure it's my name and we won't have any problems."

  Just the thought of her yelling my name in pleasure had my body going hot all over, my clothes feeling to tight and my trigger-happy finger ready to drop the gun and run towards her.

  "Okay."

  I shut the door again and cursed under my breath as I made my way towards the room. When I opened the door I wanted to curse all over again, maybe throw a tantrum, or perhaps a chair? Yeah
throwing a chair would make it all better.

  One king-sized bed.

  I walked back down the hall.

  Two bathrooms.

  And one bedroom.

  The next room was an office.

  Perfect.

  The couch and I were going to get real close because no chance in hell could I lie inches from her with the knowledge of what it was like to hold her in my arms haunting my dreams.

  Shaking the thought from my head, I tried to focus on something else, anything else. Food. I needed to feed her. I quickly picked up the phone and dialed room service. Maybe I'd just eat away my lust—right that would work, eat until was so sick I couldn't do anything about the way I felt about the girl in the bathtub driving me to an early grave.

  ****

  By the time Amy was finished bathing I was ready to shoot myself in the hand just so I could be distracted by a little blood and pain. The entire bathroom smelled like girl, and not cheap girl. Not the type of girl that makes you want to cough and wheeze because there's so much perfume.

  No. It was soap. Hotel soap. But I swear her skin had chemically altered it, making it smell better than anything I'd ever smelled in my entire life. Pathetic that she was probably already out like a light and I was in the shower smelling hotel soup and trying not to let my arousal get so out of control that I had a permanent problem dressing myself or covering myself enough not to look like some horny teen who just found out what his junk was for.

  I turned the spout to the shower as far as I could, the hot water pounded my back, and the more I stayed underneath it, the worse my thoughts became.

  Thoughts of her in the bath.

  The damn bubble again. I swear if there was a Mr. Bubble container I'd probably be groping it.

  Nixon would be doing me a favor by shooting me when I got back to Chicago. I was hardly acting like a man, let alone a man that tortured people for information and dropped bodies into the lake when I wasn't satisfied with what they said. Then again that had been years ago—did I really know that man anymore? Did I still want to be him? Apparently going into hiding made a person soft.

  Ridiculous.

  Cursing, I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around my waist, then padded down to the bedroom, hoping the lights were off, hoping she was sleeping and hoping that I could throw on a pair of boxers and just be done with the whole painful scenario.

  As luck would have it, all the lights were on. Amy was lying across the bed, her wet hair kissing the pillow, her thumbnail in her mouth and her lips pressed against her thumb in such a tender way I damn near flinched beneath my towel.

  "Sorry." She yawned, stretching her arms above her head. I'd given her a pair of my boxers and a white t-shirt to sleep in. They looked good on her, too good, better than the sexed up outfit she'd had on before.

  Suppressing a groan I smiled at her as politely as I could, which probably meant it looked like I was ready to rip her in half with my teeth, and reached into my suitcase for a pair of boxers.

  "Which side?" Amy whispered behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I panicked with how to respond.

  Slowly, I turned. "I uh…"

  "Middle?" She winked. "Or left?"

  My smile grew as her eyes lit with playfulness. It was the Amy I remembered, the one who let me wipe her tears, the one I wanted to save for myself.

  And if I was being completely honest, the face I saw when I was with other women, when I kissed them, slept with them, did anything with them, I'd always wished it was her.

  And now she was asking me what side of the bed I wanted. Life could be so cruel. Dangling her in front of me like a damn prize I'd never be good enough to get, let alone deserve.

  "Middle," I croaked. "I like the middle now."

  "Rock, Paper, Scissors for it?" She tilted her head. I couldn't refuse that pout, those eyes. Damn it, a freaking gunfight wouldn't be able to distract me from that face. Since when did I decide to even share the bed?

  She smiled again.

  Right, since she started holding my sanity captive.

  "Ready?" I lifted my hands.

  Her eyes scanned my abs and chest before she lifted her hands and said, "Rock, Paper, Scissors."

  We both hit paper and went again. I won rocking her scissors.

  The next round she won because she cheated, but whatever, I hesitated and she used that to her advantage, covering my rock with her paper.

  "Ooh, final round." I teased.

  "Ready?" She moved to her knees so she was as close to me as she could get without falling off the bed.

  "Ready." I walked towards her, careful not to let my towel drop, and held out my hands in front of me.

  "Paper." Me.

  "Rock." Her.

  "Scissors." Us.

  "Huh?" She pointed at my hand. "What the heck is that?"

  "Oh, right." I had my finger pointing at her and sliced her paper in half. "It's a knife, I'm mafia. We don't play by the rules."

  Amy scowled, her cute little eyebrows knitting together in frustration. "You can't just make up rules."

  "I believe—" I leaned forward. "—I just did, now are you going to be a sore loser or let me have the middle?"

  "Sore loser."

  "You've always been fair," I teased. "You gonna start changing my opinion of you?"

  "Fine." She crossed her arms and huffed "But I'm asking people when I get back if that's something you guys do."

  "Us guys?" I repeated.

  "You know." She waved me off. "The mafia."

  I burst out laughing. "Oh we have tons of rules, special codes, bad ass hand shakes, seriously takes me like ten whole minutes to even meet up with someone at the bar because I have to go through so many movements. One of them involves a spin, just in case you were wondering."

  Her eyes widened and then narrowed. "You're lying."

  I shrugged. "I'm mafia sweetheart."

  "And Sicilian." She rolled her eyes. "Double X."

  "And Sicilians are liars?"

  She grabbed a pillow and held it to her chest. "My dad was."

  "Your dad is a piece of shit," I spat. "He doesn't even deserve the title of dad and when I see him I'm going to cut off his hands for ever laying a finger on you."

  Amy hissed out a breath.

  "Sorry." I looked quickly down at my feet, semi-embarrassed that I'd just gone all killer on her. "It's only fair though. Why should he deserve the honor having hands when he doesn't even know how to use them properly?"

  "Do you?"

  "Do I what?"

  "Use yours properly?"

  Load my gun and tickle the trigger why don't you? Did she even realize what she was asking? The connotation behind it? The absolute restraint it took for me not to throw my towel to the ground and pin her arms against the mattress until she screamed out in pleasure?

  With a practiced grin, one I knew made girls stutter — only because it pissed Sergio off to no end whenever I did it — I leaned forward and tilted my head, flashing my smile. "Honey, I use all things properly… especially my hands, wanna see?"

  "Even if I said yes…" Amy's eyes narrowed again. "You'd still chicken out."

  "Chicken out? What is this?" I laughed. "We play paper, rock, scissors for real estate on the bed and now you're calling me a chicken?"

  "Fine." Amy licked her lips. "Then touch me… with your hands."

  I froze.

  My hands clenched at my sides, unwilling to follow through with what she asked and pissed off that I had to keep them there lest I lose all self-control and ruin everything. "I can't."

  "Because?"

  "It isn't right."

  "Because?"

  "Damn it, Amy." I turned around and put my hands on my hips. "I can't just touch you and not do more. One touch is worse than a tease, it's like giving me a crumb of bread after I've been starving in the jungle for weeks. I'm just going to eat the whole thing and do whatever I can to get more."

  She was silent. Whe
n I turned back around she had a satisfied grin on her face, like I'd just made this huge confession. Panicked, I retraced what I said. She kept smiling.

  Scowling, I asked, "What?"

  "Honesty…" She shrugged. "It's better than you lying to me… mechanic my ass."

  "I did work as a mechanic…"

  "Fancy word for a made man."

  Yeah, she had me there. "We should sleep if we're going to get an early start tomorrow, alright?"

  Nodding, she turned on her side, careful to slip all the way to the end of the bed, and didn't say another word.

  I quickly dropped my towel and put on my boxers then turned off the lights. Slipping my gun under my pillow, I slid into the bed and lay across the middle, just because I could.

  Unfortunately two hours into what should have been a dead sleep I was awoken by Amy's hand, and then her arm, and then her leg as it snaked around mine.

  Sleep was going to be hell.

  And just as I was getting used to the fires singeing my body — she started to purr in her sleep.

  Wide eyed, I stared at the ceiling and repeated all the different reasons I couldn't take advantage of her — all the reasons I couldn't kiss her.

  She purred again.

  To hell with that — all bets were off when she was ready… and I was going to be there, waiting. I couldn't care less if I had bullet holes in my body; my mouth was going to be the one to claim hers forever.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Amy

  I woke up in the middle of the night to find myself basically plastered to Ax. His warm muscled body was like a beacon to mine. With his arm wrapped possessively around me, and his breathing even, I was able to stare at him, stare at the beautiful man who had rescued me — the beautiful man who had abandoned me.

  His eyelashes were so long it was impossible not to notice them. They were black and had a slight curl at the end. His jaw was covered in a bit of dark stubble — I'd forgotten how dark his hair was, or how silky it had always felt between my fingers. It was shorter than I remembered it being, but it was just as wavy, shiny. Too pretty to be boy hair, too tempting for me not to want to reach out and thread my fingers through it.

  But I knew I'd either wake him up and be on the opposite end of his gun, or he'd use it as an invitation we both knew I wasn't ready for. I craved him, but I didn't want to get lost in him and then suffer the absolute torture of having to say goodbye once he finished his job and dropped me off in Chicago.