by SR Jones
“Take a boat? How? What boat?”
“Any boat that will get us safely to the mainland. As for how, leave that to me.”
“You’re going to steal a boat?”
He laughs. “It’s the least of our worries; trust me. Once on the mainland, the man we’re going to stay with will send a private jet for us. This is him.”
He holds the phone out to me. I stare at the handsome but cold face. Dark hair, even darker eyes, perfect Roman nose. Strong jaw. He’s handsome, but he’s too perfect. There’s no warmth to him either.
“This is Giovanni Bianchi, and he’ll be letting us stay at his home for a few days. This is his home.”
Priest swipes, and I can’t help the gasp that escapes my mouth. Wow.
The house is astonishing. A rambling, old Venetian style home, and the views look incredible.
“It’s in the hills high above Amalfi. Heavily guarded. This man and his employees are offering us protection, and the people I work with think he’s trustworthy.”
“Do you?”
He turns to me and gives me his gorgeous blue gaze. “I don’t know him, but if there’s even a hint of trouble, I’ll get you out of there.”
I’m sure he will, but I don’t get why we don’t simply stay here.
“Can’t we just stay?”
He shakes his head. “This is the plan, okay? We’ll execute as advised, but you have no need to worry because if there’s an issue, then we’ll leave. I can protect you.”
I know he can. From the moment he rescued me, I’ve felt safe so long as he’s with me. I nod and smile at him. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“Just doing my job.”
His words sting, but I keep my smile in place.
The day drags, and I mostly avoid Priest. I’m hiding out in the pool room. Not swimming but lounging on one of the poolside chairs and reading a book I found in one of the rooms. It’s crappy, but it’s something.
I’m still horrifyingly embarrassed. I know he said he’s seen it all before, and a man like him? I’m sure he has. Still, he’s not a gynecologist; his job doesn’t involve dispassionately looking at pussy all day. Do gynecologists ever get turned on? How do they separate job pussy from sexy times pussy? I mean, if they get a stunner on the table, do they have to have a quick moment in the bathroom after?
And now, I’m skeeving myself out and will never have a smear again unless it’s a lady doctor.
“You’re deep in thought.”
I almost scream at the deep voice behind me.
“For a gigantor, you’re awfully quiet,” I grumble.
“Gigantor? I’m not that quiet. You were lost in your own world.”
“I was wondering if gynecologists get hard-ons,” I say before I think to regulate my mouth to brain filter.
He stares at me, blinks, stares some more and then starts laughing. “Your mind is a strange and marvelous place, Roze.”
“In all seriousness, though. Do you think they do? You’re a guy. If you had to spend all day looking at vaginas, would they all merge into one, or would some stand out? What if you had a supermodel legs akimbo on the table? I mean surely, they get turned on. I’m never having a smear again.”
“One, why are you thinking about this? Two, get the damn smears, but ask for a female doctor if you’re that bothered. Three, I doubt they do, it’s a job. Then again, I straight up knew a guy who said he got so turned on during any battles he came. Not only that but he was proud of it, so people are fucking weird, and who knows?”
“He came while he was killing people?” Now, I’m shocked.
“Yep, or so he said. German dude. He was stationed with us for a while, but who knows if it was true or part of some personality he’d built up.”
“Why would anyone do that?”
“Do what?”
“Build up a personality? Be false?”
“People do it all the time.”
“Do you?”
He gives me a smile, but it’s kind of sad. “No, I don’t have the damn energy.”
He has a lot of energy it seems to me. Always cleaning his guns. Always on the move. He’s been doing a workout today, and it looked killer. Sets of burpees and push-ups and other torturous moves.
“You’re full of energy,” I point out.
“Okay, let me clarify. I don’t have the mental or emotional energy to do that shit.”
“You do put up a wall, though,” I add, bravely because he’s going to get pissed at that.
Instead of looking angry, he hunkers down until he’s eye level with me. “Ah, princess, that wall isn’t a show. That wall isn’t pretend. That wall is real. It’s why this thing, whatever it is between us, can’t happen because that wall is there, and it’s thick and solid, and I doubt it’s ever coming down.”
I can’t speak.
He admitted it. He admitted there’s a thing.
He also told me in no uncertain terms that he’ll never let his guard down.
“What’s it made of?” I whisper.
He’s looking at the ground right now, and it makes me bold.
In this room, with the strange shimmery light of the pool bouncing off the walls, and the silence, it’s as if none of this is real.
“Past experiences. Nightmares. Exhaustion.” He sighs and lifts his gaze to me. “You want a hero, Roze.” Then he reaches out and brushes the knuckles of his fingers down my cheek. “You deserve a hero, and that’s not me. I’d let you down. You’d want more than I can give. You’d end up hating me.”
“You already are my hero,” I whisper.
“And that’s the problem. No one can live up to the reality of that. Don’t you see? And if I am a hero, then no way will I cross the line to explore whatever this is.”
“But you want to?”
He smiles at me, a small, one-sided kick upward of his mouth on the left side. It’s sexy as hell.
“Damn, yes, I want to.”
“I know it’s not my birthday today, but can I have one thing? Just one thing? A present?”
He frowns. “Depends on what it is.”
“A kiss. Can I have a kiss? That’s all. One kiss, what can it hurt? I need to feel a … connection. I feel … unmoored, unreal almost. Put your arms around me and kiss me. That’s all.”
He swallows, and I know he’s going to tell me he won’t, or can’t, but then he moves his fingers down to my chin, tips it up, and brings his lips softly down on mine.
I close my eyes and breathe him in. The kiss is not what I expected. I thought Priest would be demanding, harsh. This is soft and tentative almost. As if he’s exploring me, the same way I am him.
He smells amazing and tastes even better.
I can’t help the small whimper that crawls up my throat.
Something about the sound I make lights a fuse in Priest because he fists my hair with one hand, and the other cups my cheek as he angles my face and intensifies the kiss.
This is what I imagined, only so much more.
He demands entry, and I give it. His tongue tangles with mine, and I moan properly this time. He’s glorious. I’ve never been kissed like this. Never.
I’m melting, boneless, pliant. I want him to use me, take me, make me his. I want to be under him, as he does with his cock what he is with his tongue. I want him inside me.
As I’m daring myself to touch him, he breaks off the kiss, and pulls back.
He stares at me.
We’re both breathing heavily.
Shit. What have I done? He might leave. I can see it in his eyes. He’s considering it.
“Just a kiss?” he says with a shake of his head.
“Don’t leave,” I say immediately. “I’ll never touch you again. I won’t give you the googly eyes. I’m sorry I asked for a kiss. Don’t leave.”
He doesn’t answer. His gaze is locked on mine as he licks his lips.
I know what I need to do. I need to do to him what he’s been doing to me.
; “It was only a kiss. Not like I’ve not had hundreds before,” I tell him. “You were better than some, worse than others. It brought me out of my funk, though, so thank you.”
Then I turn away from him, heart pounding and pick up my book.
Please accept the lie.
Please act on it.
Let’s pretend it was nothing, so you don’t have to give someone else my detail.
“Worse than who?” he asks indignantly.
I glance at him and see we’re back on safe ground. I go with the banter, purposefully lightening the heavy air around us. “Well, you’re about fourth best kisser now in my top ten.”
He’s number one.
“You ought to get some practice when you get out of here.”
He could win the kissing Olympics.
“I’ll be sure to bear that in mind.” He winks at me, and my stomach flips, but I poke my tongue out at him as if we’re just pals messing around.
I turn back to my book, and he closes the door of the pool room.
When he’s gone, I touch my lips, and close my eyes.
Chapter 13
Biggest mistake of my life? Not saving my best friend’s life.
Second biggest mistake of my life? Kissing Roze.
The first mistake was more of a failure. I tried. I failed.
The second was a failure of judgment.
I should have told her to go to hell. I should have walked away.
I gave in, and I did so because I wanted to. With one simple action, I’ve changed things between us.
Even after her flashing me this morning, I could tell myself the simmering attraction was nothing but two people thrown together in close proximity.
I could tell myself that if we went there it would probably be an epic disappointment. Now I know better.
It would simply be epic.
I ought to leave. Right the fuck now, I should call Konstantin and tell him to slap Cole around the head, wake him from his Pamela-focused stupor, and send him here to guard Roze. Then I should go back to the States and work with my brother in the chop shop for the rest of my life.
I don’t do any of those things.
Roze and me? There’s something set in motion now.
I walked away, and she thinks that means we’re back to square one. That from now on we’re going to keep avoiding one another.
It doesn’t.
It means I have to figure shit out because I want her and that kiss, that fucking kiss means I’m going to have her.
But if I take her, she’s not going to be a one and done. No way.
This thing between us is more than attraction. It’s like all the messed up missing parts of her can be filled by the few bits of me left whole, and vice versa.
We’re both messed up, but the ways in which we’re messed up work somehow, almost complement each other.
I sleep when she’s beside me.
The ramifications of that are huge. I’ve fucked women before, after I left the service, and still had the nightmares. It’s one reason I stopped having sex. No one wants to wake up with a woman screaming bloody murder as you’re pacing around their bedroom with an imaginary weapon in hand.
With Roze, though, I slept.
Being with her did something to me, the same way being on the ocean does something to me.
I’ve been fighting this, but from the moment I saw her picture, it was as if part of my soul recognized part of hers.
Roze thinks I’ve been backing off because my wall is too thick and too high for her to scale.
She’s wrong.
I’ve been backing off because if I take her, she’s going to be behind that wall with me. Mine. Woven into the very fabric of my being.
It’s a fundamental fact, the way the sun rising and setting is. I don’t think she’s realized or recognized it.
It’s why I’ve kept backing off. She’s young. She should have a chance to be free, not walled up with some guy who needs her like breathing but can’t deal with it. She didn’t back off, though. She kept pushing, and then she asked me to kiss her.
She signed her own fate.
I don’t know yet when or how I’ll change the dynamic between us, or when she will. It feels inevitable, though. We’ve set the events in motion now, and neither of us can turn back.
Roze doesn’t know that yet.
She will soon enough.
I pinch my nose and then rub my eyes. I have to focus on the task at hand, planning to getting us safely to Dubrovnik.
We leave as soon as the sun goes down. I feed the dogs and make sure they have water and that their kennels are clean. Then I grab the large bag I’ve stuffed everything into and haul it to the car. Roze climbs into the passenger side, and I take the driver’s seat and start the engine. I put us into reverse, and angle the car right before pulling up to the gates. I enter the code, and they slide open, letting us out onto the road.
I’ve been studying the maps, and there are two or three bays that probably hold a few boats each. There’s also a small harbor nearby. My plan is to try the harbor first and see if anyone will take us to Dubrovnik for payment. If that fails, I’ll drive us to the bays, until I find a suitable boat. I’d rather not take someone’s boat, though, if option one works. It might be their livelihood, and I’ll have no way of getting it back to them.
Roze is silent. She’s staring out the window, and her fingers drum on her thigh in time to a beat she’s playing in her head. I want to tell her all will be well, but I can’t. Long term, she’s in a tricky situation. Either she’s going to have to go on accepting her father’s money for a long time in order to keep safe, or she’s going to have to strike out alone, and that means she’ll have no family behind her. She’s an adult, but she’s still young. Neither option is ideal. She does have a third option. Lose herself in this, in us. Will she take that, or will the reality of it be too much for her?
When we reach the harbor, I take a good look around before exiting the vehicle. “Stay there,” I order Roze.
My hand automatically goes to my hip where I have my gun. I’m wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a button-down over the top. My weapon is concealed under the button-down, but it’s reassuring to feel it under the soft cloth.
There are people sitting around outside the cafes and bars, sipping at drinks. Many of them wearing sweaters, and some with blankets wrapped around their shoulders. It’s cool but not freezing, and the night is calm, which is good.
Down by the harborside a few people are still messing around on their boats. I glance back at Roze in the car and head that way.
I approach one of the men. He has a decent sized motorboat, and he’s on deck, cleaning with a rag. I glance around again and then call out to him.
He puts his rag down and comes to speak to me.
“I’m looking to hire a boat to take me to Dubrovnik.”
“I don’t do hires,” he says in accented English.
I take my wallet out and flash him my close protection license. We’re all badged up by the U.K. regulator. Konstantin’s orders. He says it’s a good system they have there for licensing, and it will give clients reassurance.
“I’m a close protection officer,” I say. I add officer, hoping it sounds more official, like I’m government employed. “I’m looking after someone who I need to get to Dubrovnik tonight. Do you know anyone who would take us? I will pay well, but the boat needs some speed.”
He considers me for a long moment. “Who is it you’re protecting?”
“A young woman.”
“Will there be any blowback on me?”
I puff out a breath. “Shouldn’t be. So far as I am aware, no one knows where we are right now. I’ve been careful on the way here. No trail. No one following us. The goons that are after her are not nice guys, but here’s the thing. If they catch up with you, which is a huge if, simply tell them we paid you to ferry us to Dubrovnik.”
He raises one thick bushy brow. “That won’t put you in danger?�
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I laugh. “We’ll be long gone by then.”
“I don’t know.” He looks around him.
The guy’s well off; must be with a boat like this. I doubt he needs the money, but most people don’t mind more.
“I can pay you ten thousand euro for a few hours work.”
“Ten?”
“Yep. If not, no worries; there are other boats. I’ll ask around.”
“No, wait.” He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “Okay. This isn’t my boat. I do repairs and cleaning for a few of the guys here. I know how to handle it, though, and the owner is away at the moment. I could do with the money, but you’ve been upfront with me. It’s only fair I am with you. I’m not the owner.”
“I don’t give a shit whose boat it is. So long as you can get us there safely, I’ll pay you.”
“Done.” He shakes my hand.
Then he glances around the dock. “I often take them out for a quick drive to check things are running smoothly, but it won’t do for me to let you both on here at the dock. Too many people who know the owner. There’s a bay a five-minute drive from here. Get yourselves there, and I can get close enough to shore for you to board. Okay? Take the road out of here, turn left onto the highway, five minutes and it is the first turn-off. It’s a long, windy narrow track down to a bay.”
“Great. Thank you.”
“Meet you there in fifteen minutes.” He turns his back on me and carries on wiping.
I stroll back to the car. Might as well look like a tourist needing directions. I climb into the car and turn to Roze. “We have a ride to Dubrovnik. Guy is going to take us in a motorboat. Should take around three hours. You might want to put some warmer clothes on. It will be cold out there. How do you do on the ocean?”
We’re not going far out, and it’s a still night, but if she’s going to be sick, I have some meds I can give her.
“I love the ocean. I love sailing.” She smiles at me.
“You do?” I try to recall if she’s told me that, but at times, I simply let her chatter wash over me, so maybe she did but I didn’t take it in.
“Yes. It’s one of my biggest passions. I want to take a sailing holiday one year. I’ve been taking lessons.”