Hard to Hold

by Incy Black

  He pressed his spine deeper into the wall behind him. Her movements, confident, unrushed—toward him—disturbed the air. Fuck. He could practically smell the tears she was trying to hold back. Pure against the scent of body heat and torrid sex.

  Her small hand found his and tugged gently. “Come back to bed. I know you’re scared, but I’m not. Not of you. Not of the future. Not if you’re a part of it.” Her words were soft, but the tug on his hand insistent. “I need you, Nick. I can’t do being alone. I love you. Do you hear me? I. Love. You.”

  She released his hand and turning her back, returned to the bed. “I know you, Nick. Better than anyone. And I love you. Think about that. Think about me, then think about you. What kind of man you must really be, for me to have made you the center of my universe?”

  She leaned sideways and clicked off the bedside lamp plunging him into solidary darkness.

  He heard the soft rustle of cotton sheets, a pillow being plumped. Then, a sigh. A long, sad sigh.

  His heart thundered and kicked against his ribs.

  He waited a good twenty minutes before crossing back to the bed. Then, forcing himself to relax, he lowered himself down beside her. On top of the coverings. Right now, the last thing he needed was skin-on-skin contact. Not with her. He felt too ashamed and too damned defenseless.

  She didn’t awaken and protest when, a few hours later, he slid his arm around her and pulled her close, pillowing her head on his chest. Pathetic, but he wanted her near, wanted her softness, needed her safe.

  The ache intensified when he slid his hand low to settle on the small mound shaping her lower belly. Damn it, he wanted them both safe.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Too early the following morning, she damn near gave him a heart attack slinking into the kitchen, her hair all pillow-tousled and her eyes still slumber heavy. To her, the sleep vest and short-shorts might have seemed innocuous enough, but her security detail must have had a field day—every bloody morning.

  “The men are changing shift, but they’ll be through shortly, so do you think you could go and put some proper clothes on, Anna?” Even to his own ears he sounded strained.

  “Why? They’re used to seeing me like this.” Elbow on the counter, she dropped her head onto her hand, still fighting drowsiness. “They’re civilized. They also know I’m not fully awake until I’ve had toast and tea.” She yawned. “They usually make it for me, and yes, that is a hint.”

  No fierce looks of resentment about what had happened. No stinging barbs thrown his way to add to the weight of his guilt. This was Anna as he remembered. Always moving forward. Never looking back. Her way of coping. No yesterdays—no regrets. Christ, he envied her the freedom.

  He killed the annoying what-ifs and nagging “if onlys” pricking his mind and dragged his eyes away from the silky, slender length of her legs, the hint of bottom cheek peeping from beneath the hem of her shorts. “Both will be waiting for you, just as soon as you’re fully dressed,” he said evenly.

  “Jeez, you sound proper…and territorial. I’d be flattered if it wasn’t so damned annoying.”

  He grinned at the sulk in her voice, crossed, and lifted her from the stool, his hand beneath her elbow. “Go.”

  She returned his admonishing, gentle slap on her behind with a sharp dig to his ribs.

  He was still laughing when her security detail traipsed in. The surprise—maybe even shock—on their faces stoked his irritation. He knew they called him “DMW”—Dead Man Walking—behind his back, but hell, he wasn’t that bad. He wasn’t so deadened that he’d forgotten how to laugh. Or maybe he had. The sound had seemed kind of unfamiliar. And he had a nasty suspicion hell would freeze over, before anyone heard him laugh again.

  Fuck, but was he going to miss her. The pain had already started. Like a poisonous node. Growing slowly. Swelling. Christ, how long would it take this time for his chest to explode?

  He gave himself a savage mental kick. Time was wasting. He couldn’t afford self-indulgence. He’d only fold—and then in private—when Anna was safe.

  By pilfering the laptop and going online, she had broken terms. He needed to confront her about it, or she’d feel free to bypass his edicts again. Something he couldn’t allow. Not now he’d made his decision to order her into witness protection. She’d hate it, definitely fight it. His last job for the Service would be to make sure she obeyed.

  With a mug for her in one hand and a plate of toast in the other, he killed the men’s salacious grins with a single grim look before setting out to head her off at the pass. If he and Anna were about to take chunks out of each other, he’d prefer they do so in private.

  Anna sailed down the corridor toward him, all jaunty with a spring in her step.

  He spread his arms wide to forestall her and cursed as the hot tea slopped onto his hand. “In the study. I want a word with you.”

  “Thought you might,” she muttered, changing direction to lead the way.

  He tried not to notice the fluid sway of her hips beneath the flirty, pale gray linen, nor the temptation of her shapely legs again, this time left on display by the short hem, the dainty pink toes he’d licked and sucked the night before. Damn it, was she doing it deliberately? She knew she was in trouble. He wouldn’t put it past her to resort to dirty tactics to distract him.

  She perched on the edge of the desk. To his relief, her inner strength radiated. Christ, she was going to need it.

  He set the tea and toast down beside her with a thunk and went for distance, moving a good eight feet away before turning to confront her.

  “Want to share what you learned from your little foray on the Internet, Anna?”

  “Lose the death-ray glare, and I’ll consider it.” She lifted a triangle of toast, and with the tip of her tongue, lapped to catch a fall of melting butter.

  His cock took an immediate interest. The vein behind his eye began to throb, forewarning of a colossal headache. Some things never changed. Managing Anna had always been part pleasure, part pain.

  …

  Anna raised the mug to her lips for a sip. She watched his gaze shimmy up her legs and swallowed a grin. Nick was on edge in a way that went beyond the need to read her the riot act. That would make him careless, less guarded when he answered the question she had for him. “What’s the connection between Antila and some place called Devil’s Whim?”

  Her pulse skipped a beat as he vibrated annoyance. “It’s not a place. It’s a yacht. More a cruise liner he purchased for his own exclusive use. Why?”

  If he barked at her like that one more time, she’d reconsider sharing. “Because he calls it all the time. Every day. Twice a day. I know because I hacked his cell phone records. And I don’t mean for the number he gave me, which I then passed on to you. He’s got more phones than British Telecom.”

  She heard him grind his teeth.

  “I know. So does the Service. Four teams work around the clock tracking every call.”

  His God-give-me-strength tone was beginning to sorely piss her off. “And yet you’ve never asked yourself why he calls his yacht all the time?”

  “For an update from the captain, I imagine. Devil’s Whim is Antila’s pride and joy. No doubt he likes to keep a very close eye on it.”

  She crinkled her nose. “No, that doesn’t sound right. Antila employs only the very best. Those he trusts absolutely. He wouldn’t need a daily update. Who else is on that boat, Nick?”

  “Aside from the crew, no one. Antila doesn’t entertain; all his business dealings are conducted on shore. The yacht is his private sanctuary and he guards it jealously. Why?”

  She heaved an exaggerated sigh. No wonder they called it women’s intuition. “Because, if we take you out of the equation, because you’re an exception, men only make that number of calls and of that duration if they’re speaking to someone special. My guess would be Antila has a love interest secreted away on board that yacht of his.”

  He took a moment, a very brief moment
in her opinion, to consider her suggestion, then dismissed it. “It would be on record if he had a woman.”

  She tried really hard not to look triumphant. “Exactly, which is what made me suspicious. He’s a very attractive man, suave, sophisticated, and I’ve no doubt he could turn on the charm if he wanted to. And before you suggest it, he certainly isn’t gay. I noticed the way he kept looking at me. He’s definitely into women.”

  His scowl deepened, and she had to smile. Nick really couldn’t help himself. He’d always hated it when other men scoped her out.

  “It’s not often that international agencies cooperate fully, we’re too competitive, but when it comes to Antila, we’re a bloody fraternity. If he had a woman, we’d know.”

  “Not if he didn’t want you to. He’d be behind bars by now if he wasn’t brilliant at covering his tracks.” She jabbed the air with the triangle of toast she’d been nibbling. “I’m telling you, he’s got someone special tucked away. And I’m fairly certain he made reference to a woman when I first met him.”

  “And you’re only telling me this now?”

  “I just made the connection last night,” she mumbled, pretending an interest in her cuticles to cover the heat stinging her cheeks. She hated being deficient. Nick had once admired her for the acuity of her mind.

  The long silence dragged. She dared not look up. She could stand most things but not his disappointment. Not in her.

  “Looking for a job, Anna?” he teased unexpectedly. “I’m sure the Commander wouldn’t hesitate. He’d like nothing better than to sic someone like you on the enemies of the realm.”

  Her head shot up. It wasn’t like Nick to let her off the hook. He was one of the most unforgiving bastards she’d ever come across, and yet here he was trying to reach out to her. “Did you just pay me a weird kind of compliment?”

  He turned to stare out the window behind him. “I married you, Anna. I thought that was endorsement enough. Hell, if it was pretty words you wanted, you should have told me. I’d have taken lessons.”

  She laughed. “Wouldn’t have worked. You’re too thickheaded. And I never asked for pretty words.”

  “No, but you probably needed them occasionally.”

  His regret floored her. She didn’t know how to respond. To buy time, she set her toast aside and dusted imaginary crumbs from her fingertips. She couldn’t keep up with his sudden switches between professional agent and surprisingly sensitive man—who she still didn’t recognize. Suddenly flustered, she ducked behind the protection of off-the-cuff flippancy. “If you’re going to chase this lead down, can you make it fast? My inner devil wants some relief. All this confinement is—”

  “Necessary, Anna… If Antila does have a woman, why did he need you?”

  His choice of words stung. She wondered whether he even realized how much. “Beats me. Maybe he should have asked you for a reference first. You’d have soon put him straight,” she said tartly.

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Stop bringing us into everything.”

  “I can’t. You’re here as a constant reminder, and you’re the one who cuddled me last night. Not the other way around. I was…mortified.”

  Just for a moment, he was speechless, and then he grinned. “Really? I thought for a wild moment you were up for round two. From the way your fingers kept toying with my chest, especially my left nipple—”

  “I was asleep, damn it.”

  “So how’d you know I was cuddling you?”

  It was her turn to lose the power of speech.

  “Want to get back down to business, Anna? And I’m talking as a professional, not a male, so you can stop blushing.”

  She shot him what she hoped was a castrating look. “Fine by me. Just so long as you remember the way to your own room in future. After all,” she pianoed her fingers at him, “we wouldn’t want these to go a wandering again would we?”

  “Certainly not over anymore keyboards, not if you want to live—or had you forgotten Antila isn’t the only psycho after you?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Actually, for a blissful moment there I had. Thanks for reminding me.”

  He heaved his shoulders, then fixed his hand to the back of his neck as if it ached. “We’ll have to move you to a new location just in case.”

  Her mouth dried. “If that’s supposed to give me peace of mind, think again, because I don’t think it’s going to be enough. I got a really bad feeling about all this, Nick, and I warned you my instincts were sharp.”

  Nick grimaced. “Okay, then let’s put those instincts of yours to good use. In the control room. Let’s get you online, Anna. I want every damn thing you can dig up on Antila’s love life. Right down to the size of his co—”

  “Don’t you dare finish that word,” she warned him. “I’m having a hard enough job not getting sick at the thought of that man, without you calling his…his…man-bits to mind.”

  …

  A day later, his arms stiff at his side, Nick stared unseeing at the view of London’s skyline framed by the huge window making up one wall of the Commander’s office.

  That he had just received the bollocking of his life hadn’t touched him. But hearing himself speak aloud, the request that Anna be placed in witness protection, had sucked the light from his world.

  “For God’s sake, take a seat, Nick. I need a moment to think this through.”

  He didn’t want to sit, but he complied anyway. Crossing to the leather bucket chair, he dropped into its clutch and yanked the lapels of his creased suit jacket into place. Creased because he’d walked the lone, damp night, his shoulders hunched in indecision, before turning up at HQ.

  “Why Anna? Antila doesn’t make mistakes. So why choose a woman with a connection to the Service, a woman who couldn’t do low profile if she tried? It doesn’t make any sense.” The Commander tossed aside his pen in disgust and let it lie when it skidded across the surface of his desk and fell to the floor.

  Nick dug into the inside pocket of his jacket and leaning forward, slid a photo in front of his boss.

  The Commander looked confused. “Anna?”

  “No, Not Anna. Antila’s wife. Antoinette Borosky-Antila.”

  All color ebbed from the Commander’s face. The names of certain crime families could do that to man.

  “Anna dug deep,” he continued. “Deep into the darker layers of the Internet as only she can. She connected with someone willing to confirm Antila has a wife.” He leaned forward and stabbed the photo with his forefinger. “Her.”

  Finding the back of his chair again, he forced his teeth to part, his jaw to relax. “When that photo was sent through—which incidentally decimated my budget and put a nasty dent in Anna’s own financial reserves—she had to go throw up. The resemblance between the two women is striking. She thought she was looking at herself in twenty years’ time.”

  The Commander stared hard at the photo and then set it aside. “So, Antila’s fixated by women of a certain type. Remarkably beautiful women. But that doesn’t explain his obsessive need to have a son.”

  His stomach began to churn. Antila and Antoinette’s history was as tragic as it was grotesque. “According to Anna’s source—an elderly doctor looking cancer in the eye and desperate for redemption before he passes—Devil’s Whim is a floating asylum. For Antoinette Borosky-Antila. Who is, apparently, crazier than a sack full of monkeys. Antila adores her. But that didn’t stop him insisting she be sterilized after the death of their baby. Possibly from SIDS—sudden infant death syndrome—but, and this is where it gets really nasty, Antoinette’s involvement can’t be ruled out. The Borosky brothers are behind the attacks on Anna. Her being pregnant with Antila’s heir is too much of an insult to their sister.”

  Nick arched his eyebrows at the oath the older man spat.

  The elder statesman of the Service swiveled his chair and stared at the same view that, moments before, had preoccupied Nick. When he spoke, his voice was laced with regret and weary resign
ation. “You’re right about the need for witness protection. It’s Anna’s only hope. Her child’s only hope. Both will be carrying a target for the rest of their lives. I’ll make the arrangements immediately.”

  The Commander swiveled back to face his desk, his face slightly gray round the edges. “You going with her, Nick?”

  He held the Commander’s flat stare without flinching. “With respect, Sir, I think Anna’s future is precarious enough without adding me into the mix. Don’t you?”

  His boss pushed upright and crossed to a large bookshelf. Lifting free a volume of War and Peace, he pulled out a bottle secreted behind it, and retrieved a couple of glasses, which he then thumped down on his desk. He poured an inch of amber liquid into both. “I understand that love can make a man blind. I hadn’t realized it could also make him stupid. Anna needs you, son, and you need her. Christ, when are you going to accept that without her, you’re not a fraction of the man you used to be?”

  Son? His blood fizzed. His veins began to corrode. He lunged to his feet and headed for the other side of the office. To put as much distance between himself and the Commander. The man was damned lucky his head was still attached to his shoulders.

  “Pissed you off, haven’t I, Nick? You feel like punching me right now, but you won’t. Because you are nothing like your father. If you were, you’d have put me through the plate glass window over there, and I’d be lying five floors down, dead in the street by now. What’s that tell you?” The Commander held forward a generously filled glass and gestured for him to approach and take it.

  He didn’t move. Not a muscle.

  “You were the best damn assassin we had, Nick. Controlled. Efficient. Rational. Except for that one time. And damn it, man, had I been there to hear that fucker threaten Anna the way he did, I would have killed him, too. So would the majority of the men—and women—in this building.”

  “They wouldn’t have beaten him to pulp.”

  “Only because they weren’t madly in love with her, but he’d still be dead. Tell me something, Nick. Is it yourself you can’t forgive…or, is it Anna? Because putting her into witness protection will be a hard punishment for you both. And for what? Loving each other to the point of distraction? That’s not a crime. In this dirty, violent world in which we live, it’s fucking salvation.”