Lace and Bullets: A Hitman Romance

by Marie Carnay

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ve got to make a call. Unpack or…something. There’s beer in the fridge.”

  “O-kay.”

  He walked into his bedroom and shut the door, leaving Jessica standing alone in the middle of his apartment. She didn’t know Tate very well, but from what her stepfather always said, she’d never gotten the impression he was this much of a jackass. Maybe he hadn’t had lunch.

  She shook off his snarky attitude and looked around, taking in his sleek, modern furniture and framed art. The apartment looked so…grown-up. And a ton nicer than hers. She still had do-it-yourself furniture and a mattress on the floor. Only two years older and he outclassed her by a mile. Well, his apartment did at least. His attitude stunk.

  She’d expected to find the old Tate—the quiet punk rocker with hair hiding his eyes, living in some sketchy walk-up in a transitional neighborhood. Instead, she got a twenty-five-year-old stud. With muscles for days and bright blue eyes that reminded her of the ocean down the street.

  A hint of desire fluttered in her core and she crossed her arms in annoyance. She could not think of Tate that way. It didn’t matter that they never lived together. Or that they barely knew each other. He was her stepbrother. Her stepfather’s son. Someone she couldn’t have, no matter how sexy.

  With a sigh, Jessica walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Beer and milk. And some questionable takeout containers. Thank god. At least she had something on him. Staring at his apartment had her feeling like a kid again and not in a good way.

  Pulling out a beer, she twisted the top and took a drink. The shoot didn’t start until ten the next morning. And it’d be a shame to turn down his offer. It might be the only one she’d ever get.

  * * *

  Tate paced back and forth in his bedroom, running his hands through his hair and cursing. He knew she’d changed—he’d heard enough about her fucking modeling career from his dad to know that. But he didn’t know she’d turned into a damn bombshell.

  Wavy reddish-brown hair framed her face, showing off sexy eyes so dark they blended into her pupils. And those lips. Shit, he got hard just watching her talk. He didn’t even want to think about her body. Trim curves, toned muscles. Just enough where it counted and none where it didn’t. He knew how hard it was to get a physique like that. He’d worked years for his.

  Balling his hands into fists, he glanced up at the closed bedroom door. Three days. He just had to make through three days. If he kept up the asshole routine, she might even leave early and check into a hotel.

  He never should have said yes to letting her stay. But he’d been curious. How could the snotty little teenager he remembered ever be a working model? He knew now. And regretted every bit of that knowledge.

  But he couldn’t kick her out. Even if he had dirty, nasty thoughts about all the things he could do to her body. All the places he could make her go. He glanced at the four-poster bed and images of Jessica, spread eagle and moaning filled his head. Shit. He had to snap out of it.

  With a deep breath, he shoved his raging attraction to the side and made up his mind. He’d go be nice for an hour and then come up with an excuse. Anything to get away from her.

  Walking out of his bedroom, he didn’t see her at first and relief filled him. Had he taken so long she’d bailed?

  He entered the kitchen and stumbled to a stop. Aw, hell. Jessica perched on his kitchen counter, swinging her legs back and forth like a schoolgirl while drinking a beer. Her skirt was so short, it rode up her thighs and almost gave everything away. Jesus.

  “Thanks for the beer.”

  “You’re welcome. Aren’t you cold sitting like that?”

  “No, why?” She glanced down and back up with a frown.

  He smirked and opened the fridge, bending over to pull out a beer for himself when he answered. “Cause granite can be pretty chilly, and it looks like your bare ass is sitting on it.”

  He heard a thump and turned around to see her standing up, arms crossed. She was even hotter pissed off.

  “You know, if you didn’t want me here, you should have said no. I’d have figured something out.”

  “I thought you’d already tried everything and struck out?”

  “I did.”

  “Then I guess you’re stuck with me.”

  “Goody.” She brought her bottle to her lips and turned around, finishing it off as she looked out the window.

  Shit. He needed to rein it in. Being a dick to her wasn’t fair. Not entirely. “So, do famous models eat?”

  She chortled and set her empty bottle on the counter. “Famous models? They probably stopped eating before they could ride a bike.”

  “So…I guess that’s a no on having dinner with me?”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels as she turned to face him. She raised an eyebrow and smiled, perking up her face and his dick. Fuck. He was in so much trouble.

  “Lucky for you I’m not famous yet. Not even close.”

  “Well, there’s a good place that delivers. You want Chinese?”

  “I’d love it. Thanks.”

  Tate pulled a menu from his kitchen drawer and handed it to Jessica. She read it over while he sipped his beer. Between her tongue that darted out now and then and her teeth that nibbled on her lower lip, Tate could almost feel her mouth wrapped around his cock.

  It took all his self-control not to turn around and walk out of the room. But he owed it to her to try. He’d invited her over and even if it killed him to admit it, she was his stepsister. Family of sorts. He couldn’t kick her out, no matter how much he wanted to.

  “It all looks great. How about you just order whatever’s good? I’m going to change.”

  He rolled his eyes and took the menu back. She wanted him to be in charge? Fine. He’d order his usual.

  Jessica disappeared with her bag into the bathroom and Tate called in the order. Now all he had to do was wait. And not think about his stepsister undressing a wall away. He chugged the rest of his beer and threw the bottle in the trash.

  He was acting like he’d never seen a hot chick before. But he’d seen—and bedded—plenty. They just never stuck around longer than a night. Two at most. And they never sat on his counter drinking his beer like they owned the place. Or him.

  God, if she weren’t off-limits, he’d have already made a move. Pinned her against the wall and seen how rough she liked it. Ropes, blindfolds, handcuffs? Would she go for what turned him on? A shiver ran down his spine and he turned toward the window.

  He couldn’t think of her like that. It didn’t matter that they were thrown together as teenagers or that he’d bailed on their insta-family before it even began. Their parents were married. End of fucking story.

  The doorbell rang and he shook his head. He seriously needed to get over the idea of them together. Kung Pao chicken would help.

  A few minutes later and he’d heaped a plate so full of sticky rice and sauce-coated stir fry it threatened to spill onto the floor.

  “Wow, hungry much?”

  Tate turned around, bobbling the plate and nearly losing all of his dinner. Jessica had changed all right. Into an itty-bitty tank top and short shorts. “What are you wearing?”

  “Pajamas, silly. The food smells great. I’m starving.”

  She scooted past him, reaching for a plate and serving herself. He watched as she piled it up, heaps of rice and meat, veggies and sauce. No skimping for her.

  “You’re really gonna eat all that?”

  “Yeah. Of course. I said I’m starving.”

  He shrugged and grabbed two forks, motioning for her to follow him into the living room. They sat on the couch and he gave her a tight smile as he passed a fork over. “Sorry I was such a dick earlier. It’s been a while since I’ve had anyone over.”

  “Rusty on your people skills, huh?” Jessica smirked and chomped on a mouthful of food. “Oh my god! This is delicious! You’re forgiven, Tate.”
<
br />   He laughed and watched her shovel a few more forkfuls into her mouth before he started in on his plate. His stepsister was full of surprises.

  * * *

  Awesome food, an actual laugh, normal social behavior. Jessica wondered if Tate had an identical twin and was playing a practical joke. She couldn’t get a read on him to save her life. Why was he cold one minute—practically telling her to get lost—and hot the next?

  She shook her head and took another bite. God, the food was good. It helped that all she’d had to eat that day was coffee and a stale granola bar. And the beer which had gone straight to her head.

  She’d had to excuse herself to change to keep from embarrassing herself with a tipsy cackle. “So, tell me, what’s Miami like?”

  Tate snorted and finished chewing. “Hot. A little wild. Good place to DJ—there’s always a party.”

  “Lots of girls, I take it.”

  “There’s a few.”

  “Any caught your eye?”

  Tate looked up and she regretted snooping. The easy-going guy who’d relaxed into the couch disappeared. “No.”

  “Not even one?”

  “No.”

  Great. I’ve made him monosyllabic. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. Forget I said anything.”

  She dug back into the food, chasing stray grains of rice around her plate.

  “How about you? What’s your boyfriend like?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Not a single one?”

  This time, it was her turn to glare. “No. If you must know, I haven’t had much luck in that department.”

  “Why the hell not? You’re gorgeous. Smart. Funny. Seems like a no-brainer.”

  Jessica blinked and tried not to gawk. Tate had just complimented her…three times in a row. Wow. “Um…well…I…” She trailed off, unsure how to even begin.

  As he sat there watching her, she frowned. Wait. How did this all end up about me? She’d been trying to find out about him—the cagey stepbrother she knew so little about—and instead there she was dodging his questions.

  The thought of answering him—telling Tate the truth about her failed romances and the men who couldn’t satisfy her—it sent a shiver down her spine. Part of her wanted him to know. And to do something about it.

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  She folded and refolded the napkin in her lap, avoiding his stare as she replied. “I haven’t found anyone I connect with.”

  “That’s a bullshit answer if I ever heard one.”

  Jessica snapped her head up and glowered. “Oh yeah? Well, it’s a hell of a lot better than just saying no.”

  “At least I was being honest.”

  “You think I’m not being honest? And what do you base that judgment on, huh? You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I don’t need to know you to see that you’re holding back.”

  A flush kept up her neck and Jessica bit her lip as she tore her gaze away. “Maybe I am. It’s not like you’re not.” She looked up at him and batted her lashes. “You want to know why I can’t find a boyfriend? Then you spill first. What’s keeping you single?”

  Tate set his plate on the coffee table and ran his hand through his hair. The muscles in his arm flexed and his shirt stretched across his chest. Damn. Focus, Jessica.

  “I haven’t found a woman who shares my…interests. That’s all.”

  “What, like music? Art? Bad video games? There are a million women in Miami, there have to be a few.”

  “None that I’ve found.”

  “Hmph.”

  “Your turn. Why no boyfriends?”

  She didn’t know why she wanted to spill the truth so badly. Maybe his deep blue eyes were really made of magic. Whatever the reason, she longed to confess. To let him know how dirty and wicked she could be.

  An ache spread from her core and she squeezed her muscles, squirming on the couch to relieve the pressure. Setting her plate down next to Tate’s, she pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs.

  “I can’t find a guy who…you know…does what I want.”

  “I don’t understand. You mean you want a personal assistant for a boyfriend?”

  Jessica grabbed a pillow and tossed it at her stepbrother. “No, you jerk. In bed. I can’t…I haven’t…oh, god, this is so embarrassing!”

  She buried her head in between her knees and silently begged him to let it go.

  The couch shifted next to her and she felt his hand brush her arm. A bolt of pleasure shot through her from the contact and she pulled her head up to look at Tate. His hair had fallen across his face, but his eyes peeked through—blue and clear and bottomless.

  “You can tell me, Jess. I won’t laugh. Really.”

  “Right.”

  “No, I mean it.” He stroked his thumb across her arm, raising gooseflesh in his wake.

  She couldn’t believe she was going to say it. But he’d gotten under her skin and if he…Oh, hell. What’s the worst that could happen?

  “I, um…I like it when guys are in control. You know, ties and cuffs and that sort of thing. Without it, I can’t…you know, get there.”

  Tate stared at her, eyes boring into hers for what seemed like forever. Closing the gap between their bodies, his chest brushed against her legs, heat radiating through his thin cotton shirt and over her skin. His fingers tightened around her wrist, holding her still as a breath caught in her lungs.

  And then it broke. Whatever spell she’d been under dissolved and Tate pulled away as if he’d been burned. He stood and grabbed their plates, walking around the couch as he made his way to the kitchen.

  He dumped the food in the trash and put the dishes in the sink without saying a word. When he’d finished, he headed straight for his bedroom door.

  “I’m beat. There’s a stack of sheets on the side table and an extra pillow. Enjoy your night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Jessica watched him walk into his bedroom and shut the door. What the hell just happened? She hugged her legs tighter, squeezing so hard she winced. He’d been just like all the rest—one confession, one breath of the truth and men ran away. Finding women who didn’t need what she did. Women who didn’t crave someone who could own them, please them, make them beg for it.

  No matter how much she tried to be average—to be the girl satisfied with sweet and plain—she wasn’t. She needed it strong and intense and full of passion. And for a moment, she thought Tate did too.

  Too bad she was wrong.

  2

  She knocked on the door and waited. Nothing. So she fished out the spare key Tate had left on the bar and let herself in. She still couldn’t believe he’d snuck out before she woke up, leaving her a scribbled note and an extra set of keys.

  Didn’t DJs work nights? She shook her head and walked into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge and grabbing a box of leftovers. Her stomach growled as she fished out a fork from the drawer and dug in. She didn’t even bother heating it up.

  The shoot ran long and she’d skipped breakfast and lunch in an effort to look as toned as possible. It was her first major gig—a four-page spread in a national fitness magazine with a photographer who made careers. All she had to do was show off the hours she’d spent at the gym and she’d be one step closer to making it. One step closer to having a career.

  She should be thrilled, bouncing up and down and popping some champagne. But all she could think about was Tate. How he’d stared into her eyes when she’d told him her secret. And how he’d turned on her and run away.

  It didn’t make sense. If he’d been grossed out or shocked, he could have just said so. Unless it hit him deeper. Struck a chord. Jessica finished the box of leftovers and wiped her hands. What secrets are you hiding, stepbrother?

  Walking out of the kitchen, she made her way down the hall, standing at the door to his bedroom. She had no idea when he’d be back. But she could take a quick glance, poke around in his room for a
minute without getting caught, right?

  Pushing the door open, she slipped inside, taking in his huge four-poster bed with thick, square posts and crisp gray sheets, the simple dresser in matching dark wood, and a mirrored closet lining the entire far wall.

  It screamed masculine and elegance and Jessica wanted to slip underneath the covers and breathe it all in. She never knew Tate had such a cultured side—that he cared about details and craftsmanship and style. She’d always thought of him as frozen in time, stuck as a rebellious teenager.

  He’d changed way more than his body. She walked around the bed and ran her hand over the dresser. Did men keep their secrets in the top drawer? One way to find out.

  She pulled it open and chuckled to herself as rows of boxer briefs and socks came into view. It seemed so naughty to rifle through his underwear, trailing her fingers over the cotton, imagining her hands running over his firm muscles instead.

  Pushing his things to the side, she explored the back of the drawer, hunting by feel but coming up empty. Huh. Nothing. She shut the drawer and turned around, worrying her lip with her teeth as she thought about where else to look.

  Glancing at the bed again, she spotted it. Bingo. The mattress sat on a platform with drawers. Jessica kneeled on the floor and pulled the first drawer open. Oh my god.

  A wave of arousal washed over her as she stared at her stepbrother’s secret stash. Knotted ropes dyed in deep reds and blacks, leather cuffs with metal buckles. With trembling fingers, she reached out and picked up a rope, pulling the smooth silk knots through her hand.

  She could imagine the cord wrapped around her wrists, pulling tight and rendering her helpless. How would it feel to have a man in complete control? Someone bigger, stronger, tying her down and fucking her. Tate.

  Her breath came in little gasps and she parted her lips to get enough air. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be in here.

  Panic bubbled up inside Jessica and she set the rope back in place. But she couldn’t get up. She couldn’t will her legs to work and propel her out of the room and away from his secrets.