“She’s a threat.” Dmitri glowered at him. “She looks like an assassin.”
Jericho had known Dmitri ten years, ever since the Russian had appeared as one of the former Jericho’s new recruits. Recognizing something of himself in Dmitri, that drive for revenge, Jericho had befriended him and eventually, after the Russian had ended up saving his life after a job gone wrong, he’d revealed his plans to the other man. It had been a risk, but he knew he couldn’t do it on his own, that he needed help.
The risk had paid off and Dmitri had become the only other person he trusted in the entirety of the empire he’d claimed for himself. Yet even so he kept his real identity as Theodore Fitzgerald hidden. No one knew that and no one would. If only to keep Violet safe.
Jericho turned his attention to the city outside the windows of the limo. “Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind.” He’d in fact been thinking about it all night.
From the moment he’d left his house to the moment he’d left the club, his head had been completely full of her. Of Temple and the mystery she represented.
A woman who’d fought him, had managed to get not only one but several hits on him. Who’d then let him tie her up and screw her on the couch—and she’d definitely let him. If she hadn’t wanted him to do that to her, he had a feeling one or the other of them would be dead now, he had no doubt. Yeah, she was definitely lethal. But if she’d been there to kill him, she’d had ample opportunity and yet hadn’t made a move.
Yet. There’s still time.
“She wants information,” he said, keeping his gaze on the city as the car maneuvered through the narrow streets. “Which makes me think she’s not going to do anything until she gets it.”
“What kind of information?”
“Well, if the Lychenkos hadn’t been such pains in my fucking ass, I would have found out.”
He’d had to spend all night in the club reassuring and soothing Vassily’s ruffled feathers. The older man had started to make a big deal of the fact that he’d threatened to cut off Vassily’s nephew’s hand purely for the sake of a woman, that Jericho himself needed to know who his bastard lieutenant was threatening. Jericho didn’t reveal that the bastard lieutenant wasn’t actually a lieutenant at all, but Jericho himself—his real identity had to stay secret. But when Vassily had started threatening to pull his family’s support from the American venture, he’d had to do something.
It was trouble he didn’t need, not now, not when he’d worked so hard to get the Russians on board in the first place, and as much as he needed to figure out the mysterious Temple, he couldn’t afford for the Lychenkos to pull out. Luckily, pouring as much vodka down the older man’s throat as he could, while making sure his nephew forgot about the threat to his hand with his pick of the club girls, had seemed to do the trick.
“Give her to me,” Dmitri said. “I’ll find out what she’s up to.”
“No.” The answer was automatic. “She’s mine.”
“She’s dangerous.”
Jericho finally lifted his gaze from the city and met his bodyguard’s disapproving dark stare. “So you keep saying. But like I keep saying, the answer is no.” He didn’t want to examine why he felt so possessive of her, but nevertheless, he felt it. As if she was a secret he’d discovered, a wonderful, terrible, exhilarating secret he wanted to keep to himself, if only for a little while.
A deep thrill twisted in his gut, the excitement of the earlier fight with her and the explosive sex afterward lingering like a smoldering fire in his bloodstream. Ready to catch alight again at the slightest touch.
Dmitri snorted. “You should have put her under guard if she was a threat, not choose her for the night. There were other girls who could have used rescuing.”
Yes, that was true. He could have. But he hadn’t and there were no good, altruistic reasons for why he hadn’t done so. He’d chosen her because she was different. Because he was intrigued. Because he wanted her.
You can’t afford to think of yourself. You know this. You’ve always known this.
He did. But this was only one night. And he hadn’t taken anything for himself for a long time. Besides, she was a threat and he needed to find out the extent of that threat, especially if his bodyguard was right and she was aiming for him.
He had no problem with dying. He just didn’t want to do it before he’d managed to do what he’d been preparing for these past sixteen years.
“Those other girls will be rescued eventually,” he said, eyeing the other man. “What exactly is your problem with her, Dmitri? Do you want her? Is that it?”
Dmitri’s frown became ferocious. “No.”
“Good, because you can’t have her.”
“I’m your bodyguard. My job is to protect you. And she is—”
“Yes, yes. She’s dangerous. I get it. But you forget I’ve managed to survive for years in a job that hasn’t exactly got a high survival rate. I think I can outlast one small redhead.”
Dmitri’s frown didn’t lift. “You want her,” he said flatly.
Well, Jericho supposed it was obvious. “So?”
“You haven’t wanted a woman in years.”
Goddammit. Dmitri was too fucking observant. “Again, so?”
“She’ll distract you, get under your guard.”
Dmitri meant well, Jericho knew that, but still. The man was crossing the line. “Noted, Dmitri.” He held the Russian’s gaze. “But the subject is now closed. Understood?”
The bodyguard grunted in response, his expression even more disapproving.
Too fucking bad. It had been years since Jericho had felt challenged. Christ, years since he’d been able to get it up for any woman at all, and now he’d found one he could get it up for, he wasn’t letting her go so easily.
Besides, if she was here to kill him, as Dmitri seemed to imply, then the best way to keep an eye on her was to keep her close. Friends close, enemies closer and all that bullshit.
First, he’d find out who she was. Second, he’d find out what this information she wanted was. Third … well, then he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. But he had an idea it would involve more of her beneath him, more of him inside that sweet, tight little pussy of hers …
His cell rang.
Dmitri continued to glower, while Jericho pulled out the phone and looked down at the screen. Fuck, it was Roth, one of his lieutenants. And if he was calling directly, it meant this was not going to be good.
Hitting the accept button, he answered the call. “What?”
“It’s Elijah Hunt,” Roth said without preamble. “He’s started taking down some of the Southern network.”
Anger flared, unexpected and hot. Fuck. Fuck. Hunt had been Evelyn Fitzgerald’s right-hand man until Fitzgerald had been murdered and Jericho should have had the asshole killed weeks ago, but he’d left him alone for one reason and one reason only: Violet. Jericho’s sister, whom he’d tried to save and who, as it turned out, had preferred to ally herself with Hunt instead of him.
A stupid move not to kill Hunt, as it turned out. What the hell was the guy doing? He’d gotten word that Hunt was taking over, filling the power vacuum left by Fitzgerald’s death, and Jericho been gearing himself up for the fact that he was going to have to open negotiations with the prick.
But clearly the man wasn’t there to take over Jericho’s asshole of a father’s empire for the sake of power. He was there to end it.
This shouldn’t come as a surprise. Violet wouldn’t be with him otherwise.
Jericho ended the call without another word, throwing the phone down on the seat beside them, then looking out the window again. The sun was stretching over the Seine, turning the water into a sheet of silvered glass.
“What is it?” Dmitri asked, picking up on his anger.
“It’s Hunt,” he replied shortly. “Looks like he’s started dismantling the American network.”
There was a silence. Then Dmitri said, “We have to stop him.”
&nbs
p; “Yes.” He didn’t say anything more because there wasn’t anything more to be said.
They did have to stop him. Because if any of Jericho’s painstakingly built alliances heard that the American trafficking networks were under threat, they’d pull out. The Russians especially wouldn’t hesitate, not when they were already looking for an excuse to leave, and if they went, then so would the others.
He’d lose them all. Everything he’d been working toward for so long.
Ah, fuck, this was the worst news possible. If they pulled out, if the network of alliances he’d slowly built over the past sixteen years started disintegrating, he was screwed and so was his plan.
“Organize my jet,” he said after a moment. “I’ll want to leave for the States as soon as possible.”
“A personal visit?” Dmitri’s gaze narrowed. “Again? Are you sure that’s wise?”
No, it wasn’t. Not so soon after the last visit. He didn’t like revealing himself to too many people because the more people who knew who he was, the greater the chance of one of them taking him out. The man who’d been Jericho before him had built up quite a smokescreen of rumor and misinformation, all designed to hide his real identity, to make killing him as hard as possible, and when Theo had taken over, he’d carried on the tradition.
But he didn’t have much of a choice now. There was the option of sending someone to take Hunt out, yet that would involve hurting Violet, who was in love with the guy. And he didn’t think he could do that.
Good to know there’s still some of your conscience left.
Maybe that was a bad thing, though. Maybe this would have all been a lot easier if he’d gotten rid of his conscience the way he’d gotten rid of so many other aspects of himself.
It’s not too late. You can still order a hit.
“No,” Jericho murmured, watching an early-morning jogger keep pace with the limo for a little while. “It’s not wise. But sometimes the personal touch is needed.”
“I can take him out for you,” Dmitri offered. “That would solve things.”
It would. So many things. Then he could move in, put one of his men in Hunt’s place, take control finally of his father’s empire, put the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle in place.
And you would hurt Violet more deeply than anything else would. How does that make you different from him?
The jogger was a woman, with short, spiky blond hair. If he squinted, he could almost pretend it was Violet the last time he’d seen her, with her hair cut short and despair in her blue eyes.
Violet, who’d flung herself between him and the gun Hunt had pointed at him.
Violet, who’d tried to save him, despite the fact she’d known who he was and what he’d become.
He couldn’t tell her the truth about what he was doing, because that would put her in the firing line if the shit hit the fan, and there was no way he’d do that. Even if she thought he was a monster.
So? You are.
Yeah, he was. But not today.
“No,” he said, as the jogger fell behind the limo. “I’ll handle it myself.”
Dmitri was silent, but Jericho could feel his disapproval. Too goddamn bad. His way was the only way and it remained so while he was in charge.
What about Temple?
Thoughts of his sister vanished as the fire in his blood woke to aching life.
Shit, yes, that was a situation that needed seeing to before he left and quickly. Which meant he and Temple were going to have a little chat. And she was going to tell him everything. Who she was, where she came from, and what she wanted. And if she wasn’t going to give him the information willingly, then he’d make her.
Excitement, desire, and a wild exhilaration he hadn’t felt for years clenched into a tight, aching knot.
He wouldn’t use force this time. Oh no, he had a far more effective weapon in his arsenal. She wanted him, that much had been obvious, which meant he could use it against her. Could use her desire and pleasure to get what he wanted from her.
And he would.
Because if she had indeed come here to kill him, then all bets were off.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Temple came awake almost instantly, every sense on high alert. Her training had drilled the response into her so often and so hard that by now it was reflex, her subconscious sending her signals to wake whenever it registered a threat. The threat could be as subtle as a change in temperature or the slightest noise, even the whisper of a breath on her skin.
She didn’t move, not wanting to give away the fact that she was awake, trying to figure out where the threat was coming from.
She was in the big bed in Jericho’s room, having decided that sleep was more important than pacing the floor, waiting until he got back from the club, because who knew what he would do when he returned? Whatever it was, she’d need all her energy and concentration, and she wanted to make sure she was ready for any eventuality.
Keeping her eyes closed and her breathing regular, she extended her awareness into the room, trying to figure out what had woken her.
And there it was, the warm scent of cinnamon and sandalwood, exotic spices and heat.
Jericho.
He was back.
Something tightened inside her, a deep pulse between her thighs.
She ignored the sensation, concentrating instead on trying to pinpoint where he was, listening for the faint sound of his breathing.
“I know you’re awake, Sleeping Beauty.” The rough sensuality of his voice wrapped around her, the mere sound of it making goose bumps rise all over her skin. “So stop trying to pretend.” And then she felt long, strong fingers wrap around her ankle beneath the quilt.
It took every ounce of her control not to kick and twist, to just lie there and let him hold her. But she wasn’t fighting this time. Or at least, not yet.
Instead she rolled over slowly and opened her eyes.
He was standing near the end of the bed, that dangerous, almost savage smile turning his bruised mouth. Obviously he must have dressed after leaving her earlier because he wore a black business shirt unbuttoned at the throat and rolled up to his elbows, a casual look for a man who was anything but.
The bruises on his face were darkening, and it hit her weirdly, almost like a punch to the gut. She’d put them there. She’d marked him. And she didn’t know why that felt so satisfying, but it did.
His green eyes glinted with the gold of molten coins, the heat in them connecting with that deep pulse between her thighs, making it clench. Making it twist. Stealing her breath and setting her heartbeat racing.
Jesus. You want another round.
She swallowed. No, she wasn’t going to do that, not this time. She was aiming for something different and less … intense. Less explosive.
Gazing sleepily at him, she stretched like a cat, watching his gaze drop to the movement of her body beneath the quilt. “Hmmmm. Have you been dealing with the Russians all night? Poor you.”
There was a dangerous edge to his smile. “They weren’t very happy with my treatment of poor Anatoly.” He reached out and took a corner of the quilt in his free hand. “But don’t worry.” With one hard movement, he jerked the quilt entirely off her. “They’ll live.”
She’d kept his shirt on as she’d crept beneath the covers earlier, and now it was all she could do not to grip the edges of the cotton and pull them closer around her. Which was ridiculous. Since when had nakedness bothered her? It hadn’t the night before, or at least not much.
Yet now, strangely, she felt exposed.
Irritated with herself, she didn’t move, forcing herself to remain still as that hungry green gaze roved over her. “I’m not worrying. I’m just annoyed that you woke me up at the crack of dawn then took away the quilt.”
He laughed. “You’re my prisoner, kitten. I can do whatever the fuck I want with you.” His grip on her ankle tightened as he began to draw her slowly down the bed, pulling her toward him. “Besides, we have some unfinished bus
iness.”
She went lax, not fighting him as he tugged her down to the end of the bed then loosened his hold on her ankle. Excellent. This put her in a good position to try a little something on him. A little something that should make him lose his mind while giving her all the power.
Temple sat up, leaning back on her hands, letting the fabric of the shirt part so he got a glimpse of her pussy. That should distract him for a moment. “Oh?” she murmured. “You mean the information I want?”
Sure enough, his gaze dipped between her thighs. “I mean, the answers you’re going to give me.”
Slowly she eased herself upright. He stood right in front of her and she didn’t hesitate, lifting her fingers to trace the heavy, hard outline of his cock beneath the black wool of his pants. And she heard the almost soundless intake of his breath. Saw the almost imperceptible tightening of his muscles as she touched him.
She tipped her head back, looking up into his beautiful, bruised face, meeting the heat in his eyes, feeling the flames of it lick her too. “Just answer one question and I’ll give you everything you want.”
One corner of his mouth curled. “Everything I want,” he echoed softly. “If everything I want is a blow job, right?”
Temple let her fingers move over the sensitive head of his cock, pressing down harder against the material. She didn’t take her gaze from his, trying to concentrate on what she was supposed to be doing and not on the fact that he was so very, very hot. And very, very hard. She smiled back. “Isn’t that what every man wants?” She lifted her other hand, reaching for the fastening of his pants. “Just answer the question and—”
His hand closed hard around her wrist, his grip nearly painful. She stilled. The curl to his mouth was gone, a muscle ticking in his jaw. His expression was intent, deadly, and for some reason it made the excitement, the deep thrill of desire, twist even tighter inside her.
“There will be no questions.” The rough heat in his voice had her catching her breath. “Not for you at least.”
She stared up at him, trying to gauge him. He wanted answers himself, that much was obvious and understandable. Especially given the bruises on his face. Unfortunately though, it looked like he wasn’t going to let her distract him the way she’d planned.
In Bed With the Billionaire Page 11