by Hope Anika
Lucia was safe, and Alexander and Benjamin Cruz were safe. Sam had claimed them all, which made them no longer Tony’s primary concern.
No, Tony’s primary concern stood right in front of him.
“Undressing you,” he replied simply and slid his hands up beneath her t-shirt, where he found the silken ripple of her scarred back, damp and cold even to his chilled hands.
She inhaled sharply, and her hands lifted to rest hesitantly against his chest, her palms cool where they met his skin. Her gaze roamed over him, lingering on the intricate black tattoo that covered his left arm and bled across his chest. “Why?”
“Because the water’s running.”
She blinked, and Tony took advantage of her bemusement to pull her t-shirt over her head.
She wore a pale aqua blue bra that was as soaked as her shirt had been, so sheer it was invitation. He looked his fill, appreciating her shape and her scent and the wide, pouting nipple whose color he wanted to see.
Taste.
He saw the scars that shaped her, the exquisitely detailed scenes, every mark a tribute to her strength and perseverance, and there was nothing about them he found offensive. No, he wanted to map them, to discover where she was sensitive. Where she felt less. More.
“You’re staring,” she whispered, watching him.
“I’m trying to decide where to start first,” he admitted and tossed down her shirt.
Color flooded her cheeks. “Start what?”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into the hard plane of his body. So soft and round and inviting, no matter how cold. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.
“My feast,” he replied and slid his hands down over the curve of her ass, a heavy touch he knew was primitive and possessive, but he didn’t give a fuck. He lifted her from her feet easily, and told her, “Put your legs around me.”
“Feast?” she repeated, her voice quiet, throbbing with something that made his cock harden.
“Your legs, baby.”
Her fingernails scored him, but she acquiesced and lifted her legs, still covered in denim, and wrapped them around his hips.
“Good girl,” he murmured and couldn’t help but lean down to press a kiss to the hollow of her throat, where the race of her heart was evident.
Those fingers—slender and strong—speared into his hair and tugged his head up.
“I’ll obey for only so long,” she warned, her eyes glittering, her cheeks flushed.
“Long enough,” he said easily, and when Isabel unexpectedly laughed, he couldn’t help but stare. She looked so young; so fresh and so lovely he didn’t halt the urge he had, to turn and press her against the wall and put his mouth on her.
She gasped; his tongue nudged her bottom lip, and her mouth opened like the sweetest of flowers, and his tongue licked into her mouth.
So goddamn luscious. She rose against him, her tongue stroking his, a hungry moan vibrating from her. The fingers in his hair clenched, and his cock jerked.
Tony’s hands tightened on her. He wanted to push her into the wall and grind himself against her. Taste more of her.
He would be inside her in a heartbeat if she let him.
She shuddered under his hands and arched sweetly into him, as if reacting to that unspoken thought, and he almost gave into temptation.
But he was not going to fuck her up against the wall.
And that’s what was going to happen if they didn’t move.
Isabel protested when he broke the kiss, but he rubbed his cheek against hers and said, “You’re still shivering.”
He half expected her to balk, but she said nothing as he turned toward the bathroom. Tony didn’t want to force her into anything she didn’t want.
But goddamn if he wouldn’t push. At least a little.
He wanted to see her. To touch her. Test her.
She made a soft, low sound when the cloud of warm steam in the tiny bathroom enveloped them. Tony shut the door behind them and leaned back against it. Isabel gripped him with surprisingly strong thighs, and she was sweetly round in his hands. He didn’t want to put her down.
“That feels wonderful,” she whispered. Her eyes were closed, and she tilted her head back, and a fine mist shimmered over her skin.
“Just wait,” he told her roughly.
Then he slid her down his body to her feet, and when she swayed against him, he caught her and steadied her. He stripped her bra from her before she could protest, and she went still in his hands as he discarded the garment.
“Easy,” he murmured, and his gaze met hers, so dark, so still, his heart skipped a beat. She watched him carefully, and her hands lifted to cover herself. That she was self-conscious of the scars was something he accepted; that she was so clearly ashamed of them was not.
“Don’t,” he whispered and caught her cold, trembling hands in his. “Don’t hide from me, Isabel. Please.”
Color kissed her cheeks. In his hands, hers fisted. “I know how I look.”
“Not to me.” He looked down at the proud, pale thrust of her breasts, perfect in every way, no matter her scars. “You have no idea how beautiful I find you.”
She stared at him, and Tony could see her fear, her derision, her hope. His chest tightened, and he understood then that he was the first—the only—to bear witness to what she’d borne.
The realization humbled him. A gift. One he would not squander or ruin.
When his hands went to the button of her jeans, she jerked a little against him, but she didn’t protest, and Tony stripped them from her before she could change her mind. Her panties followed, and she jerked again and tried to step back, away from him, but he caught her with gentle hands and lifted her from them.
“Oh,” she said. “No—”
Tony ignored her and thrust one hand into the shower to check the temperature of the water.
Perfect.
He swept Isabel from her feet and put her in the shower, then shed the remains of his own clothing and stepped in behind her, shuddering when the hot water slammed into him. He pulled her against him until her body curved into his, and when he realized how cold she truly was, he wrapped himself around her, until she leaned back into him with a shudder, and they stood like that under the hot spray for a good, long while, until she stirred in his arms, tugging until he allowed her to turn in his hold.
Her breasts slid across his chest, and her nipples pressed into him; her soft belly cradled his cock. Tony’s hands slid down over her ass again. He couldn’t help himself.
She shuddered, and when her gaze met his, it glinted in a way he’d not seen before.
“It’s over,” she said, and his hands tightened on her.
“Yes.” He lifted her against him, just enough he could press the hard length of his cock against her. When she gasped and dug her nails into him, he halted and held her there, locked to him.
“Oh,” she said again and trembled against him. “That’s…”
“Yes,” he repeated and thrust gently against her.
Isabel shuddered again; her nails scored deeper. “What happens now?”
Tony leaned down and flicked his tongue against her pale, rose-tipped breast. “We live happily ever after.”
Against him, she stiffened. “Don’t make light of such things.”
Tony lifted his head and met her gaze. “No joke, baby. We’re doing this.”
“Doing what?”
He heard her fear, felt the faint tremor of her body. He put her gently back down on her feet and then he sank slowly to his knees before her.
“I’m keeping you,” he told her. He leaned forward and nibbled the delicate skin just above her mons, licking at the water that coursed over her, scratching her lightly with his beard. “We’re going home. We can figure the rest out later.”
“Home,” she echoed, as if the word were foreign. She gripped his hair.
“It’s a nice place; it can be our bat cave. You’ll like it. And if you don’t, we can find so
mething you do.” He nipped at her again, and she jumped, but then pressed closer to him. “I’m easy, baby. As long as we’re together.”
“Together,” she repeated and froze against him. “Just like that?”
“How else would it be?” Her scent was making his mouth water. He dipped his head and pressed his cheek against the silky, golden blond curls that covered her and inhaled deeply. Another tremor shook her. “I want to taste you, Isabel.”
She stared down at him, her eyes like dark wells, her cheeks flushed. “I can’t…I can’t be with you.”
He only laughed softly, and when that black gaze fired, he dragged her closer, until her thighs cradled his shoulders, and she was served up like the feast of which he’d spoken.
“Tony,” she whispered, and he looked up at her.
“I’m…damaged. I can’t…I don’t have people.”
She stared down at him, solemn, fucking sad. It infuriated him.
“Poor baby,” he said and put his mouth on her.
His slid his arms around her hips and locked her into place, and he stroked the tender bud of her clitoris with his tongue. She was spicy and sweet, and he wanted more. A sharp cry escaped her; she jerked in his hold. The hand in his hair pulled him closer. Her thighs trembled around him. He stroked her once, twice; the third time, her moan rippled into the air between them, and his cock leapt in response.
“Look at me,” he demanded, and when her obsidian gaze met his, he said, “I’m going to make you come. And then we’re going to eat the food we bought and get some sleep.”
“No,” she said, but she arched toward him, and her scent filled the air.
“In the morning, I’m going to make you come again,” he continued and rubbed his bristled chin against her, and she cried out softly and ground against him, and he couldn’t help but stab his tongue into her.
She moaned his name, and her thighs clutched at him, and her nails marked him as they held him close. The taste of her flooded his senses and made him heady.
But there was a method to his madness, and he pulled back, just enough that she clutched at him, that her eyes opened and flew to his.
“Together,” he said and dared her to argue.
“That’s not fair,” she whispered. “Please…”
“I want you to say it,” Tony told her. He held her gaze and leaned over and slowly flicked his tongue over her, and when she thrust herself at him, he suckled the tender nub into his mouth, and she gave a hoarse cry and arched against him. Then he pulled back.
“No,” she growled at him, and he laughed again, softly.
“Tell me what I want to hear, baby.”
Isabel shook her head, as if to clear it. “I don’t know that I’m capable of what you’re suggesting.”
Tony stilled, his hands tightening on her. “You aren’t brave enough to try?”
“Damn you.” And then, “Of course I’m brave enough.”
He smiled and nuzzled her, and she trembled in his arms.
“Say it,” he ordered and licked her again, a hard stroke that made her inhale sharply. “I’m hungry.”
“Together,” she whispered, and Tony growled.
Then he dipped his head and devoured her.
Chapter Forty-Three
“There’s a Facebook page, a Go Fund Me account, and a hashtag: #love4lucia, which is currently trending on Twitter. You are, to put it mildly, a social media megastar—at least, for the moment.”
Lucia frowned at the man who sat next to her, rifling through a large expandable file folder. His name was Flynn Abbott; he was slender and tall, with long bones and dark brown eyes. He’d shown up ten minutes ago, and the only reason she’d allowed the Deputy guarding her door to let him in was because he carried a cardboard tray with two cups of steaming, fragrant coffee.
That, and he claimed to be her lawyer.
“I do not understand,” she said, watching him. “What are you talking about?”
“The outcry has been deafening.” Flynn dropped the file to the chair next to him. Then he removed his eyeglasses and began to clean the lenses with a neatly pressed handkerchief. Sunlight streamed in the window behind him, giving glints of cherry-red life to his dark auburn hair because—at long last—the sun had finally decided to shine. “Once the videos were released—”
“Videos,” she interrupted, the memory of Alexander slamming his fists into the TV vivid. “What videos?”
Flynn shot her a surprised look. “You haven’t seen them?”
“No.”
“The videos were released several days after you disappeared with the boys.” He picked up his phone and began to poke it. “They were sent to all of the major news networks. Here. This is the one with…well. You’ll see.”
Lucia stared at the slender silver device he held toward her; she didn’t want to take it. She remembered the brief scene she’d watched at Alexander’s side, before Cruz had shown up, and she had no desire to see any more.
No. Which just made her a coward. Alexander had lived through that hell; the least she could do was watch it.
But…no. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“Where did they come from?” she asked, but she wasn’t thinking about that. She was thinking about Alexander. About what it would do to him to have the whole world know. To have them see—
“A hacker infiltrated Cruz’s hard drive and released a number of private videos, all of which show him sexually engaged with minors.”
“Minors.” More than one. Fury flared, and bile surged to Lucia’s throat. She met Flynn’s dark brown gaze. “Including Alexander.”
Color touched his cheeks. He put his phone down. “Yes, ma’am. I’m…I’m sorry.”
The weight that had lifted yesterday with Sam’s brief visit settled heavily in Lucia’s heart. Alexander would never escape what had been done to him. Not privately, not publically. No matter what became of Donavon Cruz, the boy would never be free. Someone would always remember. Someone—
“Why?” she growled, her hands fisting. “Why would someone do such a thing?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t think the goal was to hurt Alexander. I think whoever did this was trying to expose Cruz; the boy just became collateral damage. A sacrifice made for the greater good.”
Rage made her blood simmer. Who had made that call? What right did they have? To exploit Alexander in such a manner…something he would never be free of…something that had the ability to destroy him... Tears stung her eyes; her chest ached. And she wanted to scream at the profound unfairness of it all; so much horror and pain and devastation. How was a child to cope? To survive?
He’s just a boy.
“What’s going to happen to him?” Her throat squeezed tight around the words; panic flared within her, sharp, painful. Useless.
“Mr. Steele filed a petition for temporary guardianship this morning.”
Lucia went still. “He did what?”
“The doctors don’t anticipate Donavon Cruz ever regaining consciousness, but because of the language in Mr. Cruz’s living will, they are legally obligated to keep him alive. It was Mr. Cruz’s direction that his attorney, a man named Louis Alcott, be granted temporary guardianship of his sons until their permanent guardian could collect them. That permanent guardian is a private academy in Belgium. However, both Mr. Alcott and the academy have agreed that Mr. Steele should be granted temporary guardianship.”
“Why?” she asked baldly. “Why would they do that?”
Flynn pushed his glasses back onto his nose and shrugged. “Considering what everyone now knows Donavon Cruz to be guilty of, following his wishes is not first on anyone’s list. The boys have no next of kin. They have no pre-existing relationship with either Mr. Alcott or the organization in Belgium, whereas Mr. Steele spent the better part of the last week taking care of them, and they trust him. The fact that he’s a decorated former Army Ranger and a U.S. Deputy Marshal doesn’t hurt. I don’t foresee the judge objecting.”
&nbs
p; “He’s taken responsibility for them both?” Lucia clarified, staring at Flynn suspiciously.
“Yes.” Flynn tilted his head. “He’s taken responsibility for you, too, but I don’t think it will be necessary.”
“What does that mean?” she asked carefully and tried valiantly to ignore the sudden, frantic beat of her heart.
“That means that in spite of the many charges that could be brought against you, I don’t think any will.”
For a moment, time seemed to freeze. “Why not?”
“Because you tried to do things the right away, and every child advocacy organization in the city of Las Vegas failed you. So you did the only thing you could: you took them. I think far more people understand that than you think. And the videos have only served to become your smoking gun. Incontrovertible evidence, so much so that I daresay the federal prosecutor will be loath to waste taxpayers money to punish you for it. Oh, you’ll get a slap—because people can’t do what you did, not without consequence—but I have a feeling it will be more along the lines of community service than jail time. I could be wrong. I haven’t spoken to the prosecutor, although I do have a call into her office. But the support you’ve garnered, coupled with the truth of Donavon Cruz, will be enough, I think, to grant you a very generous legal boon.”
Lucia stared at him, hardly able to breathe. She probably shouldn’t listen to him—she didn’t know him, hadn’t hired him, had only his word that Sam had done so—and he probably didn’t know what he was talking about and—
“Take heart, Lucia.” Flynn stood. “I think you might be out of the woods.” He held out his hand. “It’s been a pleasure; I’ll be in touch.”
Lucia shook his hand—cool, soft, not like Sam’s rough, warm skin—and then he was gone.
Community service.
“Preposterous,” she muttered. She’d kidnapped two children. Driven across state lines.
Buried an ax in a man.
And Flynn Abbott thought she would get community service? He was insane.
But the information that Sam had stepped forward to claim the boys… I’m keeping them for you.