by Eve Langlais
“Maybe she’ll change her mind.”
Luiz gave him a look, to which Philip shrugged and grinned ruefully. “Actually, I imagine she won’t.” Carla’s obstinate nature wouldn’t let her.
“How is she getting home?”
“She’s probably looking up bus schedules, but I was thinking of driving them.”
“Of course you will. Just like you’ll remain there as coach until the final game.”
“You still want me to do that?”
“The children need someone to guide them.”
There was more to it than that. “You’ve not yet given up on Carla and the boy.” Philip scrubbed his hair. “I am not lying to them anymore.”
“Never asked you to. But I do expect you to keep an eye on them.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“Not good enough,” Philip snapped.
“Then quit if you don’t like it. I have nothing more to say on the matter.”
Oliveira might be done, but Philip wasn’t. He’d find out why his boss was acting so out of character. He’d go back tomorrow with Carla and Nico. Try not to think about the fact that he only had days left to convince Carla he wasn’t an asshole, which, for some reason, ranked high in importance.
Of course, the whole convincing part might take time, which was why he found himself outside her bedroom door, fist raised to knock. Wondering what he’d say. If he’d even get a chance to speak.
Chapter Twelve
Carla left Nico alone to watch a movie and went to her room to pack. Whether Philip and his boss agreed or not, she was heading home, even if she and Nico had to take the bus.
She refused to stick around, even though what Mother dug up on Oliveira made him out to be a decent guy. Self-made billionaire, he’d started out as the son of a farmer in a mountainous Brazilian town. He’d inherited the farm and then had the good fortune to discover that parts of it had a metal ore running through it. Oliveira’s riches snowballed from there.
He married the daughter of a prominent banker. A love match, by all accounts, seeing as how he never remarried after his wife’s death from breast cancer.
Oliveira had one son. Dead. Victim of a high-speed crash. An athlete who’d made it big in the world of soccer and let it go to his head. Booze, drugs, and the fast life.
It appeared Oliveira had spoken the truth when he said that he had no family, which made his decision to start a foundation to help kids more plausible. It didn’t mean she excused his creepy way of watching Nico. Was he a closet pedophile? Did he show benevolence to the world so that he might ingratiate himself with boys?
A little snooping meant she’d discovered that she and Nico were the first prospective academy people to stay here. The staff claimed Oliveira rarely had guests. Even Philip only occasionally spent the night. He’d been working for the man for close to seven years now.
Seven. As to his usual position? Not a coach or a teacher at the academy, but Oliveira’s guy Friday. According to gossip, the boss was constantly sending Philip on errands around the country, and sometimes out of it. A glorified messenger boy by the sounds of it.
And a fine liar.
She should have known the moment they pulled up to the mansion that something was off. Well, the blinders were off now. She wouldn’t stay here a moment longer than necessary.
I’m going home.
Might as well since Aunt Judy had seen and heard nothing during her stay. No strange vehicles parked on the road. No more stray shootings. The van was fixed and left unmolested in her driveway.
Which was a relief. Nico was safe, their cover still secure, and yet, Carla angrily packed. To those unfamiliar with that act, it involved stuffing her things, without folding, rhyme, or reason into her luggage. She couldn’t even explain why she was so pissed. Because she sure as hell was over the fact that Moore worked for Oliveira. Good for him. She had secrets, too. Even bigger ones.
The knock had her tucking her gun nearby. She padded to the door and opened it warily.
Moore stood outside and arched a brow. “Can I come in?”
“If you’re here to sell me on staying, then you can forget it. I’m going home.”
“You’re still peeved.”
“What gave it away?” she snapped.
“Don’t be mad. I came clean and told you.”
She snorted. “Only ‘cause you knew I would find out.”
“I don’t see the big deal.”
“The big deal is, you dragged me to Oliveira’s place and lied. Your boss hates guests.”
Philip rolled his shoulders. “Hate’s a strong word. He has no time for fake people.”
“Yet he invites two strangers into his home. Why?”
“I don’t know why. He won’t tell me.”
She heard the exasperation. Perhaps, finally some truth. “Is he a pedo?”
“What?”
“You heard me. Any rumors that he likes the boys? Any payoffs to families to keep their mouths shut? Come on, you’re his right-hand man. Surely, you’d know. So, tell me, is he into little boys?”
Philip gaped at her, mouth opening and shutting. “Are you fucking kidding me? Oliveira is not a pedophile.”
“But he likes kids.”
“So do most people. That doesn’t make them predators.”
“Then his actions don’t make sense.” Carla turned away from him.
“How has he wronged you? By being nice? Offering Nico the opportunity of a lifetime?”
“What’s he want in return? Because I don’t believe for a moment he does this out of the kindness of his heart.”
“Geezus, Carla. What the fuck made you so suspicious of people? Do you think I’m a perv, too? After all, I volunteered to coach.”
“Are you?”
“Do I have to kiss you again to prove I’m not?” he snapped.
Maybe. That wasn’t what she said, though. “Kissing me proves nothing.”
“What kind of fucked-up childhood did you have?” he asked.
“The kind that included an abusive, alcoholic father.”
Moore’s hands clenched by his sides as he seethed. “Did he hurt you?”
“He hurt all of us. But not in that way.” Her dad was too drunk to perform, a blessing according to her mother. However, his fists never faltered.
“Your experience with one douchebag shouldn’t taint everyone.”
“It wasn’t one experience, though. Nico’s father was, in many ways, worse.” She put a hand on her cheek. “I still can’t feel the skin here even though the fracture healed.”
“He hit you.” Philip seemed dumbfounded.
“Among other things.” Carla shrugged.
“Good thing he’s dead,” Moore growled.
“Why? What is a gringo like you gonna do? Lecture him?” she snickered.
“I’m not a pussy.”
“Nor are you a gangbanger. Matias was the lowest of the low. A killer. You wouldn’t have stood a chance against him.”
“You might be surprised. I’m tougher than you think.”
She eyed him. “Doubtful.” She turned her back on him. “You should leave. We have a long trip tomorrow.”
He grabbed her and whirled her to face him. “I’m not leaving yet. We’re not done.”
“There’s nothing left to say.”
“Who said anything about talking?”
He mashed his lips to hers, and she thought about biting them. Nipped the bottom one, in fact. But in a way that sucked it into her mouth.
A good thing the door was shut because she shoved him against it and devoured his mouth. All day long, she’d been simmering.
Angry at this man.
Angry at herself.
She had so much emotion pent up inside.
Arousal, too.
Moore made her feel things. Brought her body to life, and after she went home tomorrow, she wouldn’t see him again. Wouldn’t get a chance to tear off his shirt, the buttons
flying as she gripped the fabric and tore.
She didn’t want to regret not having this chance to sate the need inside her. The throbbing between her thighs.
His fingers wrapped her hair, and he tugged her from his mouth. “What’s happening?”
“You are going to fuck me.” She nipped his chin, and her hand cupped his groin.
“I thought you were mad at me.”
“I am. Very mad. Which makes me horny. Now, are you going to keep asking stupid questions, or are you going to do something about it?”
“I don’t want you to hate me.”
“Then you’d better be good,” she said before sucking on his lower lip.
He growled. “You are…”
“Fucking amazing. I know. Now, shut up and kiss me.” Their mouths met in a hot clash of breath and teeth. He went from being pinned against the door, to her being stripped of her shirt and bra, her back against the wall, and his mouth latched onto a nipple.
He sucked. And Carla bit her tongue lest she cry out. The door was closed, but she didn’t want anyone to hear.
Wanted to pretend he didn’t set her on fire. But he touched her as if he knew how weak her control was around him. His every caress, kiss, and suck was determined to drive her wild. She panted as he played with her nipples. Bucked as he pulled down her pants and put his hand on her.
When he found her mouth again with his own, his fingers played with her, finding her wet and hot. He rubbed her honey against her swollen nub, and she cried out into his mouth, her hips gyrating against his hand, needing more.
“Fuck me,” she gasped.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” he countered, even as he helped her wrap her legs around his waist. He kept her pressed against the wall, one arm holding her body while his free hand guided his cock to the opening of her sex. He teased for a moment, rubbing the swollen head against her nether lips.
Fucking teased her.
“Give it to me,” she demanded.
He thrust into her, the thickness of his cock filling her. Stretching her. She dug her fingers into his shoulder and used it as leverage to bounce herself. He helped by putting his hands on her ass, cupping her cheeks, and she threw her head back at the exquisite sensation of her cunt tugging at his prick.
She let him control their pace, especially since he’d found the angle that brought sharp jolts of ecstasy each time he hit it. His deep strokes were hard. Rhythmic. Her orgasm coiled inside. A tightly wound spring that got more intense each time he rammed in his cock.
“Yes. Yes.” The only word she could manage to hiss.
As for him, he panted. His breathing ragged as he ground into her, his fingers digging into her flesh as he rammed into her harder, faster.
On the edge of bliss, she opened her eyes to find him staring at her.
Intense.
Intimate.
And still, he pumped her, his cock slamming in and out of her until her body tightened around him and she came. Came with her head thrown back, her mouth wide-open in a silent scream.
Her body racked with pleasure that left her limp in his arms.
Weak.
Vulnerable.
He took advantage, placing soft kisses on her temple.
The nerve.
Yet, for a moment, she wanted to give in. Wanted to stay within the confines of Philip’s arms.
Weakness!
She shoved away from him, extricating herself from the intimate joining, feeling the cooler air of the room kissing her dewy skin.
She flipped her hair back and dug deep to find herself: tough Carla, the one who fucked and moved on. “Thanks.”
“Thank you,” he replied in a husky tone, moving towards her.
She danced out of reach. “Oh, no you don’t. We’re done.”
“Done?” His tone was flat. “You’re kicking me out?”
“Well, yeah. It is my room. And I was going to bed.”
“You want a bed, we can do a bed,” he growled.
“I’m going to be alone.”
“So that’s it? Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am?”
She could hear the hurt under the seething anger. “I had an itch, you scratched it. This changes nothing between us.”
His lips pressed tight. “It changes everything, Carla. And you know it.”
“Don’t be one of those guys. I hate clingy.”
“It’s not clingy to want to care.”
“Except I never asked you to care.” Words that sounded false for some reason. For a moment, in his arms, she’d felt what it might be like to be cherished. She’d liked it.
Which was why she shoved him out the door and leaned on it.
Eyes closed.
Heart heavy.
Caring too much.
Don’t make that mistake again.
Chapter Thirteen
The following day, Carla had her bags by the door and ate her breakfast in near silence. Nico chattered enough for all of them. Oliveira had joined them, and every time he directed a word at Carla, she gave him a look.
Philip’s boss tried only once to convince her to stay. With a direct stare that would have shriveled most men, she replied, “Thanks for the offer, but I think Nico and I should go home. He’s got a big game coming up that he can’t miss.”
Then, Oliveira made the mistake of saying, “Nico performed very well yesterday. I’d like—”
“I don’t think your school is a good fit.”
To which, Nico blustered, “But, Mami—”
“No.” Said quite firmly. She stood and placed her linen napkin on the table. “It’s time to leave.”
Anger and disappointment warred for predominance on Oliveira’s face. He wasn’t used to being ignored.
Nico tried once more. “I like it here.”
She didn’t speak. A pointed look at Nico brought a sigh from the kid. He stood more slowly, but rather than leave right away, he held out his hand to Oliveira. “Thank you for letting us stay. I really like your house. Your school. And your waffles.” Then he hugged the older man before fleeing, leaving Oliveira gaping.
Carla, on the other hand, didn’t hug or thank Oliveira. She glared. “I ever catch you lurking around my kid, I will bury you somewhere in the desert.”
Philip wasn’t entirely sure she was kidding.
She left, and Oliveira grumbled, “She is very stubborn. Doesn’t she realize the opportunity I’m offering?”
“She does, she just doesn’t care.” Philip shrugged.
“I only need a few more days,” his boss complained.
“I don’t think a few more days would have convinced her. I should go.” Before Carla made good on her promise to take a bus.
The luggage was already loaded, and Nico in the backseat, headphones on, head bopping, when Philip emerged. Carla leaned against the car and arched a brow. “Any last-minute attempt to change my mind?”
“I don’t think there’s much point, do you?” There was no sign of the passionate woman he’d held in his arms the night before. Had it truly meant so little to her? Would someone give him a kick in the ass for giving a damn she didn’t?
“Your boss is hiding something.”
On that, he didn’t disagree. The strange part was Oliveira not sharing it with him. “We all hide parts of ourselves.”
The response earned him a sharp look. “Is this your way of admitting you’re still lying to me?”
“Everyone is allowed to have some secrets.”
“Is this your way of making yourself seem mysterious?”
“I am what you see. A man doing the job he was trained for, muddling his way through life. What about you?”
Her lips twitched. “I am an undercover assassin for a secret organization that offers vigilante services to eliminate shitheads.”
He laughed. “I totally approve of the vigilante part. But I have a hard time picturing you as an assassin.”
“Because girls can’t be killers.”
“On the contra
ry, man or woman, I think we all have that capability.” Some, more than others. “But even you have to admit it’s a stretch going from soccer mom to ultra-spy.”
“I don’t spy. I kill. For money.” She smiled and laughed, one of the first genuine ones he’d heard from her. “Can you imagine what the other parents would say?”
He snickered. “That you have a vivid fantasy life. I don’t suppose it comes with lingerie?”
“Black spandex, mostly.”
“Still sexy. I’ve love to see you in it.”
She arched a brow. “Is that your way of asking for a repeat of last night?”
“Would you say yes if it were?”
Before she could reply, Nico rolled down his window. “Are we leaving?”
“Yes.” She cast Philip a coy look before getting into the car. Did the glance mean that she was interested in another go? He couldn’t exactly ask with her son in the back.
Philip got into the driver seat, and once they got on the road, he pulled a sly move. He slid his hand onto her thigh.
Then he waited.
Would she fling it off or…?
Her hand came to rest on it.
Lightly.
He turned to look at her, only to find her facing the window. She didn’t say or do anything else, but that hand stayed there. It made him feel…pretty damned good.
Hence why he kind of expected an invitation in when he finally pulled up outside her place. Instead, once he’d helped them unload, and she’d dumped everything inside her front hall, he was surprised when she faced him and said, “Thanks for the ride. Bye.”
She went to enter, but he snared her arm. “That’s it?”
“Were you expecting something else?” She arched a brow. “I have a kid, remember? Which means I am not going to invite you in for a sleepover. I don’t need Nico asking questions.”
Which Philip could understand. It didn’t help his frustration, though.
“I want to see you again.” Naked. Skin flushed. Panting. Coming...
She closed the door and leaned on it. “Listen, Moore.”
“My name is Philip.”
“Last night was fun. But I’m not into the whole relationship and dating thing.”
“Why not?” he pushed. “And don’t give me the bullshit about all men being scum.”