Primal: London Mob Book Two

by Michelle St. James

  Jenna looked out the window as the city fell away behind them. It was almost an hour before they got off the highway, and after a series of turns, they entered a long stretch of dark road. They might have been hurtling through space for all that Jenna could make out on the other side of the glass. The darkness was vacuous, and she could only stare into the emptiness, wondering where they would end up and how long it would take to get there. She wasn’t worried. Whatever happened, they were with Farrell, and that meant they were safe.

  For now.

  They slowed down twenty minutes later and turned onto a wide gravel road. Jenna peered between the front seats, but it did little good. All she could see was a strip of road leading upward into hills she could sense more than see.

  A few minutes later, they crested a hill and an enormous stucco villa came into view. The clock on the Rover said it was four am, but nearly every window in the house was illuminated from within.

  Someone was expecting them.

  Leo pulled the car around a granite fountain trickling water at the center of a circular drive, stopping in front of wide terrace steps. Farrell opened the door and stepped out of the car, then reached inside for Lily, who mumbled in her sleep as he settled her on his shoulder. Jenna slid out after them while Leo got their things. They were still making their way up the stairs when the double doors opened at the front of the house. A small, rotund man stepped onto the terrace, speaking in rapid fire Italian.

  “Mr. Black! Così felice che hai fatto in modo sicuro.”

  “Ciao, Ernesto. Si tratta di Jenna, e questa bellezza di sonno è mia figlia, Lily. Ho intenzione di prendere in braccio. È tutto pronto?”

  Jenna was surprised to hear Farrell speak in Italian. She looked around, taking in yet another of Farrell’s luxurious, hidden properties and wondering what other secrets were still hidden from her view.

  “Yes, of course. All has been prepared per your instructions, Mr. Black.” This time the man spoke in accented English, casting a glance at Jenna.

  “Thank you, Ernesto.”

  “Hello,” Jenna said, holding out her hand.

  “Hello, Signorina…?”

  “Please, call me Jenna.”

  “Oh, no!” Ernesto shook his head. “I mustn’t.”

  “Signorina Carver,” Farrell offered, already halfway up a set of elaborately carved, granite stairs.

  “Signorina Carver!” Ernesto said, clearly relieved. “Welcome to Tuscany.”

  Jenna smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Per favore.” Ernesto gestured to the stairs, and Jenna trailed behind Farrell and Lily.

  They reached the second floor landing and continued down a long, tiled hall, sconces casting a soft glow from the walls on either side. When they came to the end of it, they turned left and continued through a series of turns that emptied them out into yet another one. She was becoming disoriented when Farrell finally stopped at one of the doors. He bent to open it, still carrying Lily in his arms.

  Jenna stepped behind him into a large bedroom. A giant iron bed sat against one wall, a marble lamp with a pink shade casting soft light across yellow walls that might have stood there for a hundred years. A shelf was loaded with books, and Jenna caught the titles of several of Lily’s favorites. There was Miss Spider and Don’t let the Pigeon Drive the Bus and Harold and the Purple Crayon — all there, kept company by an array of dolls on the next shelf and a table stacked with crayons, colored pencils, sketch pads, and coloring paper. Sheer curtains blew softly back from open doors. Beyond them, Jenna could just make out the carved granite railing of a balcony.

  Her heart hurt as she thought of Farrell, alone in the big house, making sure everything was just right for his daughter. How long had it taken him to put it together? How long had he been planning a home for them here?

  He set Lily gently on the bed and tucked her feet into a layer of blankets.

  “Should I leave on the light?” he asked, turning toward Jenna.

  Farrell Black didn’t show weakness. Ever. But she saw it in his face now — love and vulnerability, the need to do the right thing by their daughter even if it meant admitting he didn’t know what that was. She swallowed against the lump in her throat.

  “I think so,” she said. “Just in case she wakes up.”

  Farrell nodded, then tenderly kissed Lily’s forehead. He stood, meeting Jenna’s gaze, and she had to force herself to breathe, to avoid drowning in the eyes that always seemed to see her too clearly. That always seemed to see too much.

  She’d done everything possible to put distance between them. Had moved across the sea. Had avoided him for five years. Had summoned the strength to leave him again after the shootout in Cornwall. Had somehow managed not to go to him in London when doing so would have been so easy.

  Too easy.

  But here they were, together again, the rest of the world light years away.

  Like it was destined.

  “I should shut these,” she said, turning to the open doors.

  “It’s not necessary,” he said behind her. “The grounds are crawling with guards.”

  She turned to him in surprise. “I didn’t see anyone.”

  “That's the idea.” He crossed the room, stopped in front of her, close enough that she could reach out and touch the hard plane of his chest, that she could be in his arms if she took one step forward. “I’ve spent the last three months reviewing the security protocols for every one of my properties. What happened in Cornwall will never happen again. You’re safe here.”

  She wanted to be reassured by his words, wanted to tell him that she wasn’t scared. It would have been a lie. Farrell could fortify his estates with more weapons than the British navy, but he would always have enemies.

  She nodded, knowing how much it meant to him to believe she felt safe. “Where should I sleep?”

  “Follow me.”

  He led her to a door at one end of the room. She followed him through it and she saw that it was a big bathroom, complete with two sinks and a wide, deep tub with claw feet and bronze fittings. A walk in shower stood on one side of the room. Next to it, the water closet was visible behind a half-open door. He walked past it to another door. When he opened it, she saw that it led into another bedroom.

  “I thought you'd like to be near Lily,” Farrell said. “The bedrooms connect through the bathroom. Of course, if you’d prefer a more private arrangement, I can have you moved. There are more than enough rooms here.”

  She shook her head around a twinge of disappointment. Did this mean Farrell wouldn’t try to make love to her? Did she want him to make love to her?

  She was being stupid. She’d spent the last three months enforcing self-imposed rules of distance from Farrell. Now, at the first sign of crisis, she was ready to throw it all away? Jump back in his bed?

  The idea sent a rush of heat between her legs. She walked farther into the room to take her mind off the idea of being back in his bed. Of feeling his mouth on her breasts, her belly, between her thighs. Of opening her legs wide to him, allowing him to drive into her with the kind of force that stole her breath.

  She wrapped one hand around the carved wood of a thick four-poster bed in the middle of the room. The wood looked old, and not the kind of old she was used to seeing in faux antiques. This looked like it had been in the villa for centuries, with the kind of worn patina that couldn't be faked. The bed was covered in thick linens. She knew if she ran her hands over them, they would be cool and soft. Satin sheets peeked out from the coverlet, and she had to fight against an image of Farrell kneeling between her legs, his mouth closing around her clit while she clutched at the deep red satin.

  She moved beyond the bed, avoiding his eyes. The room was painted in the same soft yellow as Lily’s room. She ran her hands along them, enjoying the rough feel of plaster, so different from the drywall in her flat. These walls were solid. Permanent. She could almost believe nothing could touch them here.

  “There’s a televis
ion here,” Farrell said, opening the doors to a massive armoire at the center of a small sitting area complete with a sofa and two chairs. “We don’t have channels, but I’ve had the cabinet stocked with movies for you and Lily.”

  She caught a glimpse of the titles as he shut the doors — Finding Nemo, About Time, The Notebook, Snow White. All favorites of either her or Lily. Had he arranged it all in the few hours since they were attacked in the alley? Or had he always known they would end up here? That their arrival in Tuscany was as inevitable as her return to his bed?

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Lamps cast a soft yellow glow over the room, and she walked to the arched windows that stretched almost all the way to the ceiling, the wood soft and glowing in the faint light. Thick curtains hung from rods near the ceiling, the luxurious fabric hanging a good twenty feet from top to bottom and pooling on the aged wood floors. Beyond the glass was only blackness. She wondered what it would be like in a couple of hours when the sun came up.

  She was still staring at the darkness when she felt his presence behind her, so close she could tip her head back and rest it against his chest. She had to struggle to breathe around the desire slowly boiling in her veins. His presence was a tornado, threatening to suck her into its center where she would be lost for good, thrown far from where she stood. Then she would only be able to wonder how she got there, wishing she had held tight to something while she’d still had the chance.

  She held her breath as he bent his head to the exposed skin at her neck. His breath was a whisper, and she pressed her legs together, trying to ignore the pulsing at her center, the call of his body to hers. She knew what it would feel like when he entered her from behind. Could almost feel the exquisite drive of him pushing into her. He would grab her breasts, pinch her nipples, slip a hand between her legs to thumb her clit while he fucked her.

  She let her head fall back as his lips touched her neck. It was more than a kiss. It was a brand. A promise. She ached for his hands, waited to feel his arms snake around her waist, cup her breasts, now heavy with desire. She would be lost to him then, but she was already more than willing to surrender.

  His lips lingered, and she sighed as his tongue darted out, hot and slick against her skin. She was still waiting for his hands on her body when he lifted his head, nuzzled her neck.

  “Goodnight, sweet Jenna.”

  And then he was gone.

  9

  Sunlight was streaming into Jenna's room when Lily jumped on her bed the next morning.

  “Where are we, Mummy? Is Daddy here?” She bounced on her knees, her hair tousled, eyes bright.

  Jenna smiled. “We’re at one of Daddy’s houses,” she said. “And yes, he’s here somewhere. How did you sleep, love?”

  “Good,” she said, scrambling down from the bed.

  Jenna turned onto her side and watched as Lily went to the big windows. She’d taken a cool shower before climbing into the giant bed the night before, her body still aching for Farrell’s touch. She was alternately annoyed and proud of herself for not turning to him. There was no doubt in her mind that if she had, he would have swept her into his arms, carried her to the bed, taken her with a vengeance. Instead, she’d lain in the dark, trying not to imagine him next to her. He’d been in her dreams, touching her, commanding her. She ached in her core, ached to be filled with him, which was exactly why she’d stayed away these past few months. When he wasn't near she could downplay his effect on her. Could convince herself she was stronger now. Wiser. All of which went out the window the moment he stepped into the room.

  “Mummy!” Lily breathed. “It’s like magic!”

  “What is, darling?” Jenna got up, padded on bare feet to the window.

  “All of it.”

  Taking in the scene below the window, Jenna couldn’t disagree. The grass beyond the villa gave way to verdant hills rimmed with scrubby mountains in the distance. Two small buildings were visible from their vantage point. Ernesto stood outside one of them with a small boy, feeding chickens. Beyond them, goats freely roamed the grass. Something sweet drifted to her on a warm breeze, and when Jenna looked beyond one of the outbuildings, she saw what looked to be a grove of oranges.

  “Can I go outside?” Lily asked, looking up at her, eyes bright. “Please, Mummy?”

  Jenna laughed. “As soon as we get dressed and find you some breakfast.”

  “Okay, but hurry, Mummy,” Lily said, already heading for her room.

  “You’re quite the little task master,” Jenna muttered, moving to her suitcase.

  She lifted the case onto a luggage rack near the closet, then unzipped it and removed a pair of simple black cigarette pants and a peasant blouse. Her eyes drifted to the closet, and she walked over to the doors on a whim, unsurprised to find it filled with a variety of clothing in her style and size. Farrell never left anything to chance, it seemed, and she was almost positive Lily’s bedroom would be stocked as well.

  She let her hands drift over the fabric in the hangers — soft cashmere and silk, crisp cotton and linen — before closing the doors and returning to her own clothes. She needed to remember who she was without Farrell. Who she was when she was just Jenna Carver, doing the best she could, not showered with gifts from the man who seemed to own her heart — lock, stock, and barrel — however hard she tried to hold onto it.

  She slipped on her clothes, washed her face, brushed her teeth, and went into Lily’s room. She couldn’t help smiling when she found Lily dressed and ready to go in a floral patterned dress that had seen better days and her favorite red Mary Jane’s.

  “Well, don’t you look lovely?” Jenna said, digging Lily’s hairbrush out of her pink suitcase. “Come on, now. Let’s comb your hair.”

  “No ponytail!” Lily said as Jenna ran the brush through her silky chestnut waves.

  “You’re the boss,” Jenna said, setting the brush aside. She handed Lily her toothbrush and toothpaste. “Go in the bathroom now and brush. Then we’ll go in search of breakfast.”

  Lily skipped into their shared bathroom, and Jenna listened for the sound of running water before walking to the bureau. She opened the top drawer, then the one under it. When she was done searching the dresser she went to the closet.

  She’d been right; Farrell had outfitted the room with all of Lily’s favorites — not only books and dolls and puzzles, but patterned dresses and leggings and sweaters so soft Jenna had to resist the urge to run them across her cheek. She was still rubbing a pair of thick velvet pants between her fingers when Lily returned from the bathroom.

  “Now can I see the goats?” she asked.

  Jenna picked her up and kissed her cheek, then set her back on the ground. “Breakfast first, then goats.”

  They left the room, stepping out into the hall. Jenna took Lily’s hand and started moving, trying to remember the twists and turns that had brought them to the private suite of rooms the night before. Was Farrell’s room nearby? Or had he taken a page out of Jenna’s book by distancing himself from them on purpose?

  She’d begun to think she was lost when she heard voices. She turned left, then right, following the murmur until she came out on the second floor landing at the top of the staircase. Below them, two women discussed the merits of the local farm market versus the larger markets in Florence.

  Jenna blinked, wondering if she was seeing things. “Mrs. Pendleton?”

  One of the women turned, and a smile broke across her face as her gaze landed on Jenna and Lily. “Why, there you are!”

  “Mrs. Pendleton!” Lily ran down the stairs, throwing herself into the older woman’s arms.

  Jenna laughed. “I think someone is happy to see you.” She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and smiled. “I'm happy to see you, too.”

  Mrs. Pendleton smiled. “No happier than me, I assure you.” Her expression softened, and Jenna knew she was remembering the shootout in Cornwall, Jenna’s hasty exit the next day. The
y had all been in danger that day, but Mrs. Pendleton had seemed as solid and resolute as ever when it was all over. Jenna felt foolish in comparison. She’d had only one instinct in the aftermath.

  Run.

  “How have you been?” Jenna asked.

  “I’ve been very well, though I’m quite a bit better in Italy than in England.”

  “I know what you mean,” Jenna said. She turned to the other woman. “Good morning. I’m Jenna Carver.”

  The woman smiled. “Good morning, Signorina. I’m Carmen, Ernesto’s wife. I take care of the house for Signor Black.”

  “You do a wonderful job of it,” Jenna said, letting her eyes travel the big foyer. “It’s lovely.”

  The woman named Carmen blushed like a school girl. “Grazie.”

  “I think Lily would like to meet the goats after breakfast,” Jenna said. “Would that be all right?”

  “Of course,” she said. “My boy, Anthony, is out there now with Ernesto. I’ll see to the chickens and have them come get the child.”

  “Thank you,” Jenna said.

  She nodded and left through the front door. Mrs. Pendleton held out her hand to Lily. “I think we need to get some breakfast in that tummy of yours, Lily. How about an egg in the basket?”

  “Yes, please!” Lily said.

  Mrs. Pendleton started walking, then turned to Jenna. “What are you doing back there? You don't think you're going to get away without eating breakfast, do you?”