Savage

by Krista Holt

  “What if we just left all this behind. Ran away. Would you come with me?”

  Alarms bells go off in my head, quickening my pulse. “Do you need to run from something?”

  “It’s not like that.” He grimaces. “It’s . . . nothing. I’m just asking for the sake of asking.”

  I swallow hard. “Then you understand why I can’t answer that.”

  “Not really. Don’t you want to run away with me?” His fingers tug at my bracelet. “I meant those words when I said them, back at Stanford. You know that right? Yours. All Yours. Forever.”

  I bite my lip, pushing back the tears that are welling up. “I’m having a hard time reconciling the man who said that with who I’m looking at now.”

  Pain flashes in his eyes, and then it’s gone. My throat gets tight as guilt pricks at me. I want to hurt him. Who does that? Who actively wants to hurt someone they’re so completely, devastatingly in love with. Me. My poor heart can’t take any more punches from him. It can’t. I can’t. I need to protect myself for a minute, gather my wits about me, and just breathe. Just. Breathe.

  “I know things have been tense lately.” I close my eyes, bracing myself against the thick emotion in his voice. It hurts. “But it’ll get better, Reagan. I’ll try something. I don’t know what, but something. It’ll get better. It has to get better.”

  Before I can open my mouth, his phone rings. We stare at each other, ignoring it. But it’s like a bomb, counting down the seconds to explosion with each shrill ring.

  “I’m sorry.” He reaches for it and I turn my back to him, wiping at a tear. I take a deep breath and wrap my arms around my waist, trying to ignore the way my chest physically aches. “I’ll head that way,” Nic says softly, ending the call. He stands from the couch and collects his jacket.

  “You have to go,” I take the words from his mouth.

  He moves toward me, resting his hands on my upper arms. “I would stay if I could.” He squeezes tighter.

  “Please let me know if you can’t make it to the New Years party,” I beg. “Before you don’t show up.”

  “I will be there,” he insists, his face earnest.

  There’s some part of me that wants to believe him. That wants to believe I mean something to him. I was so sure I knew him, knew his heart. I was so sure that everyone who tried to warn me away from him was wrong. But now, I think I should have heeded their warnings. That I should have stayed away. Because all he has to do is touch me, and I forget.

  His hand cups my chin as he looks into my eyes, and I forget the warnings, the opinions. Something about this, him, that’s right. So right. And I want to keep trying.

  “Promise?” my stupid heart asks.

  He kisses me gently, his lips brushing against mine. “I promise.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Nic

  It’s New Year’s Eve, and I’m stuck in a dark room, staring at the clock.

  I should have left over an hour ago to pick up Reagan, but I couldn’t. I had to stay. My call to her didn’t go over well. I told her to go ahead, that’d I’d catch up, but the resignation in her voice cut like a knife. Because I know, I’m losing her. For good.

  It doesn’t matter that I’ve spent the last couple of days figuratively, and at one point literally on my knees, groveling for her forgiveness. She’s grown tired of the chaos that is my life, and I can’t blame her. I’m tired too.

  A muffled shout and Enzo’s labored breathing snaps me back to the present. I check my watch again. My finger taps my leg, keeping time with the second hand. A minute passes, and then another. I’m going to kill someone if this doesn’t wrap up soon.

  I stand as Enzo punches our unwilling conversation partner in the face. My hand tugs at collar of my shirt. It’s too tight, strangling me underneath this heavy tuxedo jacket. I need something to happen. Now!

  “Just tell us what we want to know, and maybe I’ll let you live.” My shout echoes off of the metal walls of the deserted warehouse.

  Much to my disgust, the man strapped to the chair lets out a sob. My sneer matches Enzo’s as we watch him weep. It’s pitiful really, a grown man crying like that.

  “I really don’t have time for this,” I mutter under my breath.

  Enzo rolls his shoulders, stretching the tired muscles. “Go, boss. I’ll take care of him and the mess. I’ll call you if he says anything.”

  “You’re sure?” I question, buttoning my jacket.

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  “Fine.” I walk toward the door. “The second you know anything . . .”

  “I’ll call,” he finishes my thought.

  “Good.”

  I leave, but it takes me longer than I’d like to drive across town. The traffic is heavy on any Friday night in D.C., but it’s New Year’s Eve, so it’s worse. When I get to the Italian Embassy, I hand the keys to the boy in a valet’s jacket, and walk through the door.

  That was the easy part. The real trial will be getting through the evening without being exposed.

  And my luck doesn’t last long.

  “Nicola!” someone greets me loudly.

  “Ambassador,” I offer my hand. “how are you?”

  He takes it, briefly enclosing it with both of his. “I’m well. You? Your father?”

  “Very well, thank you. Your hospitality is appreciated. We never forget a friend.”

  “Of course, of course.” He glances around the room. “Please enjoy yourself. There’s something I need to attend to, but then we’ll talk, yes?”

  My eyes narrow sharply. I didn’t expect this, which means it can’t be good. “Sure,” I agree anyway. “Find me after I’ve had some of your wine. I’m sure I’ll be amendable to just about anything.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.” he replies congenially.

  I dismiss him with a nod and climb the stairs that lead to the ballroom . . . the multi-purpose room . . . the hell if I know. It’s a huge room with a marble floor, chandeliers, and a glass ceiling.

  Stopping at the edge of the room, I scan the crowd for her. She’s surprisingly easy to find. Her back is to me, but it doesn’t matter. She’s like a beacon, drawing me in, and I’m not the only one affected. The man standing across from her is equally captivated. His grin is so wide he’s practically leering at her.

  I work my way through the packed room, and seconds later, wrap my arm around her waist.

  “Sorry, I’m late.” I kiss her cheek, restraining a smug look when the other man’s face falls flat. “Thanks for entertaining her.”

  “Uh, yeah. No problem.” Disappointment colors his words. “It was nice to meet you, Reagan.”

  “You too,” she says, offering him a small smile before he shuffles off to locations unknown. “Was that necessary?” She turns into my embrace, her eyes flaring with irritation. “You practically told him to leave without actually saying the words.”

  I can’t help it; I smirk. And here I thought my “get lost” was subtle. “He was aiming for something that wasn’t his.”

  Her lips pull into a frown. “I am not a toy,” she hisses through her red lips, glaring at me.

  “No, you are not, but you are mine, and I don’t share.”

  I watch her for a second. Most men can’t hold my gaze for long, let alone glare back with promises of violence in their eyes, like she’s doing right now. She’s impressive, I’ll give her that.

  “Trust me.” I brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “You may have been just talking, but he wasn’t.”

  It’s not the poor guy’s fault, really. I don’t blame him for trying. She’s stunning, and tonight is no exception. The black designer dress I had delivered to her apartment this morning fits like it was made for her. The thick straps narrow into a deep V, staying tight down her chest before the skirt skims over her hips and down to her knees. The black and gold heels I’d added to the delivery last minute almost bring her to my height.

  “You’re beautiful, Reagan.” I stare into her deep blue ey
es. “I don’t think I tell you that often enough.”

  Her features go soft, transforming her back into the innocent, beguiling woman I fell in love with at Stanford. I crave it. When we’re not fighting, when she’s not stressed, and I’m paying attention, I get to see it. It doesn’t happen enough.

  “You’re buttering me up for something,” she says softly.

  “Yes and no. You are stunning, it’s true, but I am hoping to entice you into a truce, at least for tonight.” I brush some hair behind her ear. “No arguing.”

  Her mouth twists. “And how exactly are we going to do that?”

  “Champagne.” I swipe two glasses from a passing waiter and hand one to her. “To being blissfully ignorant for the evening.”

  She clinks her glass against mine and raises the flute to her lips, taking a sip. “So, who exactly do you know here?”

  “More people than I care to admit.”

  “Yes, but who?”

  I tilt my head down toward her. “Over my left shoulder is the Secretary of Commerce.” Her blue eyes jump that way. “And across the room, standing on the stairs, is the Secretary of the Treasury. Over there, by the bar, is the Italian ambassador, Andrea Marchetti. Standing next to him is his lackey, Martin DeLuca, and his wife, Rina.”

  “You know all these people?”

  “No. The American officials I haven’t had a need to meet. The others, yes, though Martin doesn’t care for me.” I swallow some of the fizzy liquid.

  “Why? Did you sleep with his wife?”

  I choke. Her eyes watch me carefully as she takes a sip of the rich champagne.

  “No,” I cough. “I can assure you that is not the reason.”

  “Hmm.” She loses interest in the people watching, turning her questioning stare on me. “Where have you been? You were late tonight.”

  “Speaking of which, did you take a cab?”

  “Yes, I did.” Good. She’ll be that much easier to convince when I ask to drive her home later. “Nic?”

  I fight a sigh. “I had a meeting.” She bites the edge of her lip. “Remember, we aren’t arguing tonight,” I gently remind her.

  “I hate that you do that. Disappear.”

  “Let’s not do this now.” I run my thumb over her lip, freeing it from her teeth. “Let’s drink, and you can pretend there are no secrets between us. I’ll pretend that I’m not losing you with everything I withhold. It’ll be a perfect evening, far outside our normal.”

  She glares at me. “And then just like that, you become an ass again.”

  “I know. Trust me, I know.” But she’s working my last nerve.

  Grabbing her elbow, I steer her toward the least crowded place I can find. A column doesn’t provide the most privacy, but it’ll do.

  “Have you ever considered that I shield you from things? Once, just once, I wish you’d give me the trust I’ve asked for. Repeatedly. But you never do.”

  “Maybe we can talk about it when you’ve given me something to trust.”

  I pour the rest of the liquid down my throat. Ignoring the burn, from both the alcohol and words she uses against me. “Not tonight, Reagan. Please.”

  Please. I never say that word to anyone, because it comes with connotations. It implies the request is optional. And it isn’t, not when I’m asking. Reagan is the only one to get it from me. She just doesn’t know it, and I think that might be the hardest part. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know that I bend for her. That I concede to her on so many things. She doesn’t realize it, because I can’t give her what she wants. The truth.

  I try to convey all these thoughts to the woman standing in front of me with just a look. I can almost read her mind, I know her that well, and in this moment I’m a little concerned she’s going to toss her drink at me.

  “Sweetheart.” My lips ghost over her ear, the breath from my words stirs the hair falling over her shoulder. “I don’t know what else to say. I want to be with you and be happy. That’s all I’m asking for tonight.”

  Her chest moves as she inhales sharply. “I hate that I’m willing to change myself for you.”

  “Do you think you’re the only one to do so?”

  “Have you?” she retorts. “Have you changed at all since you met me?”

  “In ways you don’t even know about, love,” I reply. “In ways you don’t even know about yet.”

  A waiter comes by and we hand over our empty glasses, passing on the offered refills. “I don’t want to be here anymore,” she announces.

  I’m not sure if she’s talking about the party, or our relationship. “Do you want to leave?”

  Before she can reply, the ambassador interrupts us. “Nicola!”

  “Ambassador. DeLuca.” The ambassador grins at me while Martin DeLuca gives me a sour look. “This is Reagan Cooper,” I introduce the woman on my arm.

  “Ms. Cooper,” they both greet her politely.

  “Hello. It’s very nice to meet you both.” She smiles. “How do you know Nic?”

  “His family and mine have been acquainted for decades,” the ambassador replies.

  Her gaze compels DeLuca to speak, even though I wish he’d keep his mouth shut. “The Savage and I aren’t overly familiar,” he says bluntly. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s someone else I need to speak to.” He turns, departing without another word and leaving tense silence in his wake.

  The ambassador tries to laugh off his rudeness. “Forgive him. You know how he is, Nicola.”

  “I do,” I reply through clenched teeth.

  Reagan tilts her head to the side, politely biting her tongue in the midst of the awkwardness, but I know, I know, that’s one more thing I’ll have to wade through later this evening. She’ll have questions, and I’ll struggle to satisfy her curiosity. Again.

  I hold back a groan, trying to appear interested as the ambassador drones on about something unimportant. Because, apparently, I can’t forget my life for even one night.

  CHAPTER 32

  Reagan

  I feel ridiculous in this dress and totally out of my element, but Nic, he blends in flawlessly. Tall, dark, and dangerous.

  His tux fits perfectly, hugging his wide shoulders and falling down his back. His usually unruly hair is slicked back, making him appear a touch formidable. But then, he smiles, transforming his guarded expression to one that is viciously gorgeous. It’s the epitome of rugged sophistication and attracts far too much feminine attention for my liking.

  I notice the stares, and I force myself to pointedly ignore the long, lingering ones from multiple women. I don’t like the jealousy it stirs in me. Despite his assurances, he is still largely his own man. When he leaves, where he goes, and who he’s with are all unanswered questions. And while I doubt other women are the reason he disappears at all hours of the day and night, I really don’t like to dwell on the lack of answers. It makes me more suspicious than I already am.

  Nic talks to the ambassador about his children and his last trip home to the Italian countryside like it’s nothing more mundane than the weather. I’ve been thrown into his world, the one he operates in with as much ease as breathing.

  He grew up privileged, surrounded by wealth and connections. For me, splurging on wine that costs more than ten dollars is extravagance. It was a concession on my part to even put on the designer dress and shoes he had delivered to my apartment this afternoon, and I shouldn’t have, because this isn’t me. I don’t fit into this world. His world.

  Nic hands me another glass of champagne, without pausing his conversation. They’ve moved on to soccer . . . or rather, football. I take the glass warily. It’s going down too easily. If I’m not careful, I’ll be waking up with regret tomorrow.

  “Do you mind if I steal him away from you for a moment, dear?”

  I almost choke on the champagne, having zoned out on most of their conversation, I’m not expecting the ambassador to address me directly. “Uh,” I cough gently, clearing my throat. “Of—of course.”

&nb
sp; Nic pats me on the back gently. “You all right?”

  I force a smile. “Sure, Savage.”

  His expression turns dark. Eyebrows pinch together, and his lips press into a firm line. “We’ll talk about that later.”

  “I’m sure we will,” I reply. My tone is sugary sweet, but not the good kind. It’s the substitute variety, the kind that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. “Just add it to the pile.” I tip my glass to them both. “Take your time.”

  They walk away. Nic glances back over his shoulder a few times, making sure I’m still here. I ignore him, polishing off the last of the liquid courage in my glass. I don’t plan on running, not this time. I know what I need to do.

  Wandering through the throng of finely dressed people, I keep an eye out for any of my co-workers, and Martin DeLuca. He’ll have the information I need.

  I snag another glass of champagne from a passing white-gloved waiter as I look around the room. There are too many bodies pressed together to see easily. But, as luck would have it, the man I need to speak to walks right in front of me.

  “Mr. DeLuca,” I call after him.

  He stops. “I’m very busy, Miss Cooper.”

  “I’m sure you are.” I hurriedly take a few steps toward him, not wanting to miss my opportunity. “It will only take a few minutes.”

  “What exactly do you wish to talk to me about?”

  “You don’t like Nic.”

  He snorts. “No, I do not care for Nicola.”

  My heart beats hard, making it hard to speak, but I force myself to utter the one question that might put my fears to rest. Or send them spiraling out of control.

  “Why?”

  “Surely you know. If you’re here with him, seen in public with him, you know. You know what he is. Who he is.”

  “And if I were to say I didn’t?” I look at him earnestly.

  He stands a little taller, taking a step toward me. No more than a few inches separate us. It’s close enough for him to reveal a secret. The noise of the party gets a little quieter, fading into the background. My heart is pounding. I’m so close to getting what I want.