by Lisa Childs
That was why the doctor had taken care of Frank—because Frank had taken care of him. Now Frank had to take care of Milek Kozminski. He had made it a rule to only kill if he was getting paid for the hit. It was never personal for him. He never killed out of anger or passion.
Until now...
He wanted Milek Kozminski dead and not just so he could get to the little redheaded assistant district attorney. He wanted him dead because Kozminski had shot him. Despite his dangerous job, Frank had never been shot before. The only real danger he had faced was getting caught. But no one had ever come close—until Milek Kozminski in the hotel parking lot.
“You’re lucky,” the doctor said. “A few more inches and that bullet would have struck your heart. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Frank was lucky.
But Milek Kozminski wasn’t. Frank wouldn’t miss the next time he shot at the younger man. He would make sure he put a bullet right through Kozminski’s heart.
* * *
A twinge of pain struck Milek’s chest as he remembered how he’d spent the past year, thinking he would never see Amber again. That he would never be able to hold her. To kiss her...
And now she was here—in his arms, in his bed. Emotions overwhelmed him: relief, joy and passion. And love...
He had never stopped loving her. Even when he’d believed she was dead. His hands shook as he held her head, his fingers tangled in her hair. He moved his mouth over hers, deepening the kiss—parting her soft lips. He slid his tongue inside her mouth, tasting her sweetness.
She reached out, pressing a hand against his chest. But she wasn’t pushing him away. She was caressing him, tracing his muscles through the thin material of his T-shirt. He wanted to take it off—wanted to take off her clothes, too.
He wanted nothing between them. No clothes. No secrets. No resentment or guilt.
The only thing he could realistically manage was to remove the clothes. He’d hurt her too much to expect anything more. He hadn’t even expected her kiss. She’d meant it only as a thank-you, though.
Nothing more.
He knew that, but he couldn’t summon his better judgment. It was gone. And he was barely hanging on to his control. He couldn’t pull back. He had missed her too much and for far too long.
When he reached for her sweater and started lifting it up, she didn’t stop him. Instead, she raised her arms so he could pull it up and over her head. Damn. She was beautiful—more beautiful than he’d even remembered. And he’d thought of her so often—like this. In his bed, her skin flushed with desire. Her breasts threatened to spill over the cups of her bra. They were fuller than he remembered. He reached behind her and released the clasp, setting them free. Then he touched them. With just his fingertips first, sliding them over the silkiness of her skin the way he sometimes slid them through paint on the canvas when he couldn’t get just the effect he wanted with a brush.
But no matter how hard he’d worked on his art, he’d never created anything as beautiful as she was. Her nipples swelled and distended even before he brushed his thumbs across them. When he did that, she moaned and bit her lip. He leaned down and brushed his mouth over hers.
She parted her lips for him and her tongue darted out, across his lips. But he didn’t deepen the kiss. Instead, he lowered his head to her breasts. He pressed kisses against the swells before closing his lips around one of those tight nipples.
A soft cry slipped through her lips, and she arched her back, pressing her breast against his mouth. He flicked his tongue over the point, teasing her.
She reached out and grasped his T-shirt again. Then she pushed her hands beneath it, sliding them over his chest and then lower when she reached for the buckle of his belt. His body tensed, his erection pressing painfully against his fly. He had to have her—had to be inside her.
It had been too long. So long that his need for her had built to a level of desperation.
Her hands trembled against his buckle, so he gently pushed them aside. And he stood up to deal with his clothes, pulling off the T-shirt and undoing the belt to drop his pants next to the bed. When he turned back to her, she’d done the same, so she lay naked before him.
“This is a bad idea,” she murmured—almost as if she were talking only to herself.
But Milek knew it was a bad idea, too. She was in danger. He could afford no distractions. But the condo was safe. He and Garek had installed the highest tech security system available—one even they hadn’t been able to crack. And his gun sat on the table next to the bed—within reach if he needed it.
He didn’t need it.
He only needed her.
His voice gruff with desire, he forced himself to ask, “Do you want to stop?”
He regretted the question the minute he’d uttered it. He didn’t want her to change her mind. He wanted her to want him as much as he wanted her.
She bit her lip again. Apparently she had changed her mind. Despite the tension painfully gripping his body, he forced himself to step back. He understood why she couldn’t make love with him; she couldn’t trust him—not after how badly he’d let her down.
But then she reached for him. Rising up on her knees on the mattress, she slid her arms around his neck and tugged his head down for her kiss. Her lips clung to his, nipping at them—teasing him until he opened his mouth. Then her little wet tongue slid inside, stroking over his.
He fought to hang on to his control so he wouldn’t ravage her. But his body was tense to the point of breaking. He had to have her. Now.
But he wanted to know she was certain—that she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. So he kissed her back, sliding his tongue in and out of her mouth the way he wanted to slide his erection in and out of her body. He throbbed and pulsed, demanding release.
But he summoned patience. And tenderness.
He caressed her, trailing his fingertips along her shoulders and down her back to the sweet curve of her hips. They were fuller now than they’d once been. He found her even sexier.
She moved closer, rubbing her body against him. “Milek...”
He heard the desire in the break in her voice. She wanted him.
And her passion incited his even more. But he held tightly on to his control. And he made love to her slowly. He kissed every inch of her skin. Her lips, her cheeks, her throat...
She fell back against the bed and shifted against the sheets as he kissed her shoulders. Then her breasts...
He took his time, teasing her nipples. Moans slipped between her lips. And she reached for him again. But he moved away. If she touched him...
He might lose control.
And he wanted to please her instead. He moved his head lower, and he made love to her with his mouth. He kissed the slight mound between her legs. Then he flicked his tongue over the most sensitive part of her.
She arched off the mattress and shuddered. “Oooh...”
The taste of her passion overwhelmed him. He had to have her...
So, hand shaking, he fumbled in the bedside table for a condom. He rolled it on before moving between her legs again. Then he pushed gently inside her.
She writhed beneath him, struggling to get closer. Her legs lifted and wrapped around his waist. And she clutched at him with her hands, her nails nipping into the skin of his back.
Sweat beaded on his upper lip as he struggled for control, struggled to keep the rhythm slow and gentle—even while his body urged him to go fast and frantic. He slid in and out of her.
And his control slipped a bit with each light thrust. He moved inside her, pushing a little deeper. She arched and her inner muscles clutched at him.
He moved his hands, sliding them over her body. Reaching between them, he teased her nipples with his thumbs. Then he moved his hand lower, so that his thumb could stroke another part of h
er.
She clutched at him and panted for breath. Then a shudder rippled through her body, and he felt the hot rush of her orgasm. He slid slow and deep, prolonging her pleasure. Then, finally, the tension inside his body broke, and he took his own pleasure.
He cleaned up quickly before coming back to his bed. He’d been afraid she might have left it. But she lay in it yet—as if too satiated to move. That didn’t mean he was welcome to join her. He’d been lucky she’d let him touch her at all after how he’d treated her five years ago.
He hesitated beside the bed. She opened her mouth. But he couldn’t hear what she said because a sharp wail rent the silence—deafening in its intensity.
Her eyes—green again, since the dark contacts lay on the table beside his gun—widened with fear. She raised her voice and asked, “What is that?”
She was already out of bed, already reaching for her clothes—while Milek had his gun clutched tightly in his hand.
“Fire alarm?” she asked.
“No.” It was worse. So much worse. While he’d been distracted making love with her, someone had tried to breach the security system. What if they’d actually made it inside? It had to be a professional. Frank Campanelli?
Chapter 7
Just over a year ago, Stacy Kozminski-Payne had had hired killers trying to murder her. But that was over—it had all been a case of mistaken identity—her husband’s for his twin brother. Once that had been cleared up, she had thought she would never find herself staring into the barrel of a loaded gun again.
She swallowed hard. Her own brother held this gun. She knew he’d been upset with her. But...
“Damn, Stacy!” he said as he pulled the gun away from her face. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded.
“But what the hell are you doing here? How did you break in?”
Irritation flashed through her. He and their older brother, Garek, thought they were the only ones their father had taught the family trade. But he’d shown her, too—how to pick a lock. She probably wasn’t as good as they were. Undoubtedly they would not have set off the alarm the way she had. She held up her lock pick kit before dropping it into her purse.
“You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you,” he said. But he holstered the gun. He wore only the shoulder holster—no shirt. And his pants looked as though he’d pulled them on quickly and hadn’t bothered with the button.
Then she looked beyond him—to the doorway to the master bedroom. A woman stood there. She had dark hair that was tangled around her face—a face Stacy had thought she would never see again.
That face was pale with fear; her eyes were wide with it, too. She had probably thought the person who’d made her run a year ago was who had broken into the condo.
A twinge of guilt struck Stacy’s heart. Maybe she shouldn’t have broken in. Her husband didn’t even know she’d come here. He was with Garek and Candace—trying to track down Agent Rus. They thought he could explain everything.
“I called,” Stacy told her brother. “And called and called. But you didn’t answer.” Her stomach churned with all the emotions she’d felt since her husband had told her about those empty graves. She was afraid, too, and angry and confused. “And you didn’t return any of the voice mails I left you.”
Milek shoved his hand into his hair. His hand shook slightly. He was obviously feeling all the things she was and probably much more.
She glanced at Amber again. Her friend was dressed. But her clothes were wrinkled—as if they’d been on the floor and had been hastily pulled back on.
Stacy remembered doing that herself—when she and Logan had first gotten together. But Milek and Amber weren’t together. After their breakup, they hadn’t spoken to each other for years.
She wanted to ask about that. She wanted to ask all the questions burning in her mind. But what was in her heart—the heart that had ached for the past year—had compelled her to break into his condo. Unlike the others who’d thought Milek had taken Amber and their son and run, Stacy had known he would come home.
Just as he had when Garek had been in trouble...
If she and her brothers had learned anything from everything they’d gone through, it was that there was safety in numbers. The family was stronger when they worked together.
If only Amber had realized the same thing instead of going off on her own...
Instead of letting them all believe the worst.
She must have misread the situation between Milek and Amber. Maybe Amber had fallen asleep in her clothes. And Milek might have been in the shower. But his hair wasn’t wet...
They couldn’t have been together—because Stacy doubted Milek would ever be able to forgive Amber for letting him believe she and their son were dead. Amber was her best friend, but Stacy wasn’t certain she would ever be able to forgive Amber.
“Aunt Stacy!” The shriek rang out from the other side of the condo—from the hall leading to the guest bedrooms. Then there was a flurry of movement as the little boy ran toward her. “Aunt Stacy!” He leaped onto her and flung his arms around her neck. “I missed you.”
Tears stung her eyes. “I missed you, too, sweetheart.” So much...
* * *
“She hates me,” Amber said. She didn’t blame Stacy, though. She hated herself for what she’d put her best friend through. Stacy had barely been able to look at her.
But Amber couldn’t look at herself right now, either—not after what she’d done with Milek. What had she been thinking?
She hadn’t been thinking—not at all. She’d only been feeling. So much desire...
Need.
For the past year she had felt so alone. So isolated. Maybe that was all she’d needed—human contact. Human closeness. And she had never felt as close to anyone as she’d felt to Milek—when they were making love.
She’d felt close. But she didn’t think Milek had felt the same; she felt as if he’d held part of himself back, which she could understand if he was angry with her for faking her death. But she suspected he might have always held part of himself back from her.
He hadn’t spoken to her since then or since Stacy had left the condo after tucking Michael back into bed. That entire time Milek had been on his cell, returning the voice mails the others had left him.
“You think she hates me, too,” Amber concluded. That was probably why he hadn’t replied—because he hadn’t wanted to confirm her fear.
He was off his phone, so he must have heard her. Not that she had his full attention. Maybe she had none of it. He’d dressed. And now he reached for his leather jacket.
“Where are you going?” she asked. Fear constricted her heart.
“I need to meet with Rus,” he said.
She shook her head. “You can’t trust him. You can’t trust anyone.”
She wasn’t certain she should even trust him. It had been a bad idea to come back to River City with him—for so many reasons. It was an even worse idea than making love with him had been.
“I have to talk to him,” Milek said. “I think I might’ve hit Campanelli in the hotel parking lot.”
She released a shaky breath. “It could be over...”
He shook his head. “Not until we find out who hired him.”
Of course she knew that. The assassin who’d killed Gregory and was trying to kill her was only doing his job—a job someone else had hired him to do. Who?
She’d spent the past year pouring over old cases, trying to come up with more suspects for Agent Rus to investigate. But had he really investigated the names she’d given him?
She reached out to Milek, grasping his forearm. The muscles were rock hard beneath her fingers. “Please...”
“You’ll be safe here,” he said, mistaking her fear for her own safety instead of his.
She was scared of being left alone in the condo, though. She was scared for her son’s safety more than her own. Because someone wanted her dead, he was in danger, too. It wasn’t fair; he was an innocent child.
“How can you say that?” she asked him. “After Stacy broke in...”
“I’m not leaving you alone.”
A noise sounded from the security panel—just a soft buzz, no piercing siren this time. And the heavy metal door slid open to another Kozminski.
Only a year had passed since she’d seen him last, but Garek looked different to her. Like Milek, he was more muscular, but there was something newer than the muscles. There was a happiness about him that even his current concerns couldn’t hide. Then she noted the wedding band on his finger.
Garek—the consummate playboy—had gotten married? She couldn’t believe it. Milek had been engaged before him—before his sister—but he was the only unmarried Kozminski.
Because he’d broken their engagement...
Garek spared her only the briefest of glances before focusing on his brother. “You still have a hell of a lot of explaining to do.”
She was the one who’d caused all the problems. Not Milek. She opened her mouth to defend him, but Milek was already replying.
“I brought you up to speed on the phone,” he told his brother. “Now I have to see if Rus found out anything new.”
“Have him come here, then,” Garek suggested.
“No.” The word slipped out of Amber’s lips. She didn’t want Agent Rus near her and Michael—not until she knew for certain he hadn’t betrayed her to Campanelli. “And you shouldn’t go see him alone.”
Milek shook his head. “You’re wrong about Nick Rus.”
Garek nodded his agreement. “Nick’s a good guy.”
The Kozminskis probably trusted him because the FBI agent was related to the Paynes. But he hadn’t been raised with them. He’d just shown up in River City right before Gregory had been killed. Was that just a coincidence?
“I’ll be fine,” Milek said.