The Assassin
Page 20
With a helpless moan, she pulled his shirt up and over his head, greedily biting his lip before kissing him again. Her fingers swiftly and surely unclipped the holster from the small of his back and tossed it and the pistol aside, then began unfastening the button-fly of his shorts. She got distracted after undoing only a few buttons, and instead drew a long, strained groan from him with one slow, talented caress.
“I—aw, jeez—I can’t—” Panting, he unwrapped her fingers from his hard-on and pressed her hand to the sand. Immediately she reached for him with her free hand, and he did the same with it. His blood was pounding and his temperature had redlined and he couldn’t even see straight, but damn it to hell, he had no problem with thinking straight. “We can’t . . . I don’t have any condoms.”
She smiled the sweetest, loveliest, wickedest smile and freed one hand to remove the purse slung bandolier-style around her neck. It was a tiny thing, big enough for a lipstick, a key, and some cash. “I do.”
And a condom. The plastic crinkled as she drew it out.
The sudden tensing of her muscles was the only warning he received before she flipped him onto his back, then rolled over to straddle him. With her hips rubbing hot and steady over his erection, he was at her mercy.
Her blouse was sleeveless, fitted, and pale blue. She unbuttoned it and let it fall to the ground, revealing breasts large enough to fill his hands, nipples hard and swollen, and skin that same smooth coffee-and-cream all over. As she sat on his cock with nothing but a few layers of material between them, she reached back to pull the band from her hair, then combed the braid loose. With curls falling down her back, moonlight gleaming on her skin, and wooden beads around her throat, she looked like some primitive goddess—earthy, sensual, greedy—and she was killing him with every move, every look, every breath.
He’d never been so willing to be anyone’s sacrifice.
Her skirt fastened on the side from waist to hip, then fell open the rest of the way down. She undid the large wood buttons, swept it aside, then bent to press a line of kisses to his rib cage. Her hair made his skin ripple as it swayed with each kiss, across his ribs, down his belly. When she mouthed his cock through the denim, he damn near came. His vision went dark and sweat popped out along his forehead. He wanted to be inside her—without the damn condom—wanted it now, all night, forever.
“Fuck me, Selena,” he gritted out, everything in him so tight and hard he might explode.
“Such language.” She made a tsking sound as she laid the condom packet on the ground between them, slid out of her panties, then lay back on the sand, incredibly, beautifully naked. “You fuck me, Tony.”
The vulgarity coming from a woman he hadn’t heard swear before made him even harder and hotter. He kicked off the rest of his clothes, rolled the condom into place, and lowered himself onto her. He fucked her until they were both trembling and hurting, until their skin was damp with sweat and their breaths came in rugged, ragged gasps, until every sensation was a raw scrape, as much pain as pleasure. He fucked her long and hard, coming more times than the condom was good for and feeling her match him orgasm for orgasm.
The last one drained him. He sank to the sand beside her, struggling for one deep breath, able to hear little over the pounding of his heart. But he was aware of her. Every nerve, every muscle, was attuned to her softness and heat against him.
When he managed to open his eyes, she was looking at him, solemn and innocent and sensual. “I thought your father didn’t tolerate swearing in front of women.”
“He’ll never know unless you tell.”
“I won’t tell on one condition.” Rolling onto her side, she combed her fingers through his hair, then let her palm rest against his cheek as she brushed her mouth across his. “Take me home, Tony,” she murmured, “and fuck me again.”
When William had suggested that she sleep with Tony, Selena had been hurt at the proof that he thought nothing of prostituting her for his own gain. In the dawn stillness Saturday morning, she was feeling pain of a different sort— tenderness between her thighs and around her nipples. Tony was a passionate lover who gave as good as he got— maybe even better. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt so thoroughly satiated. Maybe never.
He was still asleep, lying on his side facing her. He’d pushed the covers down past his waist, giving her the chance to admire what circumstances and need had denied her the night before. His chest was smooth, nicely muscled, not like Montoya’s, less defined but more appealing. There was a faint bruise on his ribs—left over from his run-in with the guy who’d given him the black eye or a souvenir of last night’s run-in with her? “Fierce” wasn’t her normal operating method, but last night hadn’t been exactly normal. She had never wanted a man the way she’d wanted him, had never felt that need to possess, to claim and own.
She considered easing the covers away so she could see what she’d only felt the night before—his flat belly, his lean hips, his long, muscular legs, and his long, strong—
Before the word even formed in her mind, she noticed the swelling that raised the sheet, and that quickly, the mere consideration became a temptation almost too strong to resist. She was managing, though, until a sleepy, husky voice murmured, “You keep looking at me like that, and you’re gonna have to do something about this.” Reaching down, he adjusted his erection, an image that sent a tingle straight through her, then he opened his eyes. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“Waking up with an erection?”
“Nah, I have those all the time. I meant waking up with you. I half expected to find out it had all been one truly erotic dream.”
“I’m nobody’s dream,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice the wistfulness that seemed so obvious to her.
“You’ve been in my dreams practically since we met.” He yawned, stretched, then rolled onto his stomach, pillowing his head on one arm. “Do you always wake up so early?”
“Always.”
“Why?”
She could give a dozen answers that didn’t come near the truth, or no answer at all. When she opened her mouth, though, the truth surprised her and slipped out. “Habit. Rodrigo, my mother’s husband, liked to drink late into the night, then stumble back to consciousness somewhere around noon. Every hour I was up and about before that was an hour when I wasn’t his target.”
Tony’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes darkened a few shades. “He beat you.” He said it flatly, the lack of emotion somehow conveying great emotion.
“Often enough.” The desire to brush it off, leave the bed, and get started on the day was strong. Confiding in anyone was difficult. Doing so with no clothes, no attitude, to hide behind, she felt as vulnerable as the little girl Rodrigo had abused. But she forced herself to remain where she was, to continue breathing slowly, steadily, to meet Tony’s gaze.
“How often?”
“The serious beatings didn’t happen more than once or twice a month.” Unless she’d gotten in Rodrigo’s way, or things weren’t going as he wanted, or someone had taunted him about the black brat her mother tried to pass off as his.
Apparently, her dismissive tone didn’t set well with Tony. His jaw tightened, and his voice was hostile as he asked, “And what about the funny beatings? How often did they happen?”
She sat up, stuffing pillows behind her back, tucking the sheet beneath her arms. “I’m not being flippant, Tony. When you routinely get beaten until you’re afraid you’re going to die, getting backhanded across the room or shoved off the porch doesn’t seem such a big deal. I can’t remember a single day that he didn’t hit me, but he only tried to do serious damage once—”
“Or twice.”
“—a month.”
Now he was scowling at her. “Why didn’t your mother leave him?”
“He was her husband.”
“You were her daughter.”
“She needed him.”
“You needed her.”
“I didn’t matter.�
� The words were out before she realized it. She would have taken them back if she could, no matter that they were true. She hadn’t mattered, not to her mother or anyone else. If Rodrigo had killed her, no one would have cared, except possibly the other kids, since he would have needed a new outlet for his rage. She had been dispensable to her family and everyone in her life since then, including William.
Including Tony?
As if he read the thought, he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her down onto the bed, sliding her body half under his. “She should have protected you,” he said fiercely, his nose inches from hers. “She should have killed the bastard. You were the only one that mattered. You are the only one . . .” His words ended in a harsh kiss that took her breath away and spread quivering, tingling heat all through her body.
He left her only long enough to retrieve a condom from the night table, then they fucked again. Such a lovely, coarse, great-sex word, she thought drowsily when it was over, when they were sprawled across the bed again instead of across each other, when the air that surrounded them was heavy, charged, and smelled of lust and intimacy and satisfaction.
She was lying sideways across the bed, her hair hanging over the edge, her eyes half closed as the ceiling fan cooled the sweat that dampened her body. “What’s on your schedule today? Detective work?”
“Huh-uh. I’ve got to do a few things over at my mom’s.” Beside her, he opened one eye to peer at her. She pretended not to notice. “Mom’s making linguine for lunch, and you’re invited.”
Amazing how quickly her stomach could tie itself in knots. She hid the anxiety with a smile, though, as if the words she was about to say didn’t sting. “What? You Ceola kids have a standing invitation to bring all strays and sex partners along when you visit?”
His gaze narrowed. “No. I told her I had plans with you Thursday night, and she said, ‘Oh, good, bring her with you Saturday. I’ll fix linguine and we’ll chat while you cut the grass.’ ”
There was no reason for the rush of pleasure that tried to break free. So he’d told his mother he was seeing someone. Big deal. It was a sure bet he hadn’t told her Selena was just visiting and not about to stick around.
Frowning, she faced him. “What plans? I didn’t invite you out Thursday until after you left your mother’s.”
“I was planning to ask you, but you beat me to it. You were just more eager.” He said the last words with a grin, though, that made objection impossible. “So how about it? Lunch and chitchat with my folks? You won’t really have to say much. Mom’s a big talker. So is Dad . . . though these days he might be living in another decade inside his head.”
She touched his hand, just briefly, when his expression turned grim. “I’ll think about it. Right now I need a shower and clean clothes. What time are you leaving?”
“Around eight-thirty.”
“I’ll let you know.” She stood and looked around, locating her skirt half under the bed. After buttoning it around her waist, she found her blouse hanging from the dresser, and one sandal in the middle of the floor, the other in the doorway. The only thing she couldn’t find was her panties, and they—
“When you threw them aside last night, they landed in the lake, remember?”
Her skin flushed. She did, indeed, remember. It was the first time she’d ever lost her underwear on a date. She wasn’t convinced it would be the last.
Fully dressed—more or less—she stood at the foot of the bed. Tony was still lying there, all brown skin and muscle, looking lazy and relaxed and too handsome for her own good. “I—” Couldn’t think of a thing to say. Thanks? Sorry? Forgive me? Help me? “I, uh, will let you know.”
He let her get as far as the door before he spoke. “It won’t make a difference.”
“What won’t?”
“Whether you go. Whether they like you. Whether they care about your race. It won’t make a difference to me.”
He believed that. She wasn’t so sure, but then, she’d had experience with the situation.
But she didn’t point that out—or that, in the long run, it didn’t matter, because she wasn’t staying and he wasn’t leaving and the odds that he would survive her or forgive her were too minuscule to calculate. Instead she smiled, said, “I’ll be back soon,” and wiggled her fingers in a wave before going.
At the front door, she reached for the knob, then stopped. “Tony? What about the alarm?”
“The code’s seven-six-nine-nine,” he called down the stairs.
Her stomach knotted again, and her hand trembled as she punched in the numbers. Ask and ye shall receive . . .
Inside her own house, she headed upstairs to the bathroom. After her shower, she squirted a dollop of lotion into her palm and let her thoughts drift back to one of the happier times in her life, when she was sixteen and living at her Swiss boarding school, where she’d made her first black friend ever. J’niece had taught her that the right emollients would banish the ashy skin tone that plagued her. Had told her all about wigs and weaves and sleep-pretty pillows to protect both hair and styles. Had shown her how wrapping her hair in silk scarves at night would prevent breakage.
Even though Selena’s own hair wasn’t so coarse as to require the scarves or pillows, for a time she’d used one or the other regularly. It had made her feel closer to the father she’d never known and the big, loving extended family he surely must have had—the family she’d been convinced would have loved her if they’d only known she existed.
J’niece had made her appreciate her own café-au-lait skin, though she’d also envied her friend’s darker skin. There was no question J’niece was black, no doubt she belonged in the black community, while Selena had never belonged anywhere. Too black for the Latin community, too Latina for the black community, and too much of both for the white.
And Tony said it didn’t make a difference.
And even seemed to believe it.
Before she could consider how much she wanted to believe it, the cell phone rang. She stood motionless, one foot propped on the mattress, and watched it as if merely staring would tell her who it was and what he wanted.
Of course, she knew who it was, and what he wanted. Since she wanted nothing to do with him or his demands at the moment, she returned to lotioning up. A moment later the ringing started again, and a few moments later, once more. Finally she answered.
“What are you doing?” William demanded without a greeting.
“I just got out of the shower. Did you call earlier?”
“This is my third time. I want to see you this morning. Meet me at—”
“No.”
The silence on the phone was sharp with danger. She swallowed hard. Never in fourteen years had she flatly refused one of his demands. Even turning down his job offers had been handled more delicately, dancing around the issue, delaying, making excuses. But never had she simply, plainly said “No.”
Maybe if she had, she wouldn’t be in this position.
“What did you say?” His words were pure ice, cold enough to burn, sharp enough to scrape her nerves raw. That voice meant disaster, but before it had always been directed at others, never her. That was the voice for warnings and threats that would soon be made good. People died after hearing that voice.
Instead of answering, she changed the subject. “I got your message Thursday night. Next time, try picking up a phone. It’s easier on the hired help.”
“I don’t know—”
“Please show me enough respect not to lie.”
There was a brief silence, followed by a chuckle. “You left some vicious bruises on his hand.”
“I could have killed him.”
“He could have killed you, if that had been his directive.”
“But then who would kill Detective Ceola?” she asked sweetly. With her next words, though, her voice was as icy as William’s had been. “You brought me here to eliminate a problem from your life. That’s not going to happen if you keep interfering.”
“I have plans with Detective Ceola this morning.”
“Cancel them.”
“No.”
The silence this time was longer, and tense enough that she fancied she could hear the connection humming with it.
Finally he asked, “What are these plans?”
“We’re going to his parents’ house—”
“No.”
“But—”
“I said no, damn it! Stay away from his family, Selena. That’s an order.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so. Do you require any further reason than that?” He waited a moment for her response, but when none came, he sighed heavily. “Sometimes you disappoint me, Selena. That you can question my judgment after all I’ve done for you . . . all I’ve given you . . . What kind of thanks is that? I treat you like a daughter, but no beloved daughter would disappoint her father like this.”
In a gentler tone, he continued. “Forget meeting with me. Tell Detective Ceola you can’t go with him this morning. Give him any excuse you want. Just send him off with a kiss and a smile, and then use the time to search his house. What about the code to the alarm system? Have you learned it yet?”
“Yes, this morning.”
William chuckled. “See? For the pleasure of having you in his bed, he was willing to compromise his own security. Now, when you kill him, he’ll have no one to blame but himself. Renege on the invitation to visit his parents, then do a thorough search of his house while he’s gone. I’ll expect a report as soon as you’re finished.”
“Yes, Uncle,” she said dutifully, because it was what he expected. “What if he comes home before I’m finished?”