Dirty Ties
Page 30
I looked down at my seatbelt. Evidently, he didn’t want me to move. My heart squeezed. I still needed to say good-bye to—
Collin stepped out of the cockpit, his blue eyes locked on mine, his lips tilted in a lop-sided grin. He sat beside me and embraced me in a tight hug. “We’re not saying good-bye, hooker.”
I hugged him back, nodding against his neck, fighting like hell to hold back my damned tears.
He leaned back and tugged on the braid draped over my chest. “I’ve arranged everything for your arrival. There’s a change of clothes for both of you.” He jerked his head at the bags on the floor by the door. “Benny took care of the passports, citizenship paperwork, and your new identities.”
“Thank you,” I said, my throat closing up.
He reached inside his suit jacket and removed a folded sleeve of papers. Unfolding them and flipping to the last page, he pointed at the signature line at the bottom. “I had this drawn up yesterday.”
Divorce papers. I stared at his signature with blurry eyes and sensed Logan approaching from the front of the plane.
Collin handed me a pen. “This is the last of their control. We’re free, sweetheart.”
I accepted the pen and signed. No hesitation, despite the torrent of emotions my heart was battling. “I’m leaving you. Alone.”
He slipped the papers back in his jacket and cupped my face. “I have Seth. And you’re not leaving me. You’re leaving them.” He pressed a kiss to my lips and stood. “I’ll see you in one month, and that villa better have decent bedding or I’m staying in a hotel.”
I huffed, a smile yanking on my lips. “Love you, you fussy pain-in-the-ass.”
“Love you too, you crazy bitch.” He stared at me for a moment, his smile so full of love and devotion. God, I was going to miss him.
He turned toward Logan and gave him a one-armed hug. “Take care of her.”
Logan nodded, his eyes burning with intensity, his jaw rigidly locked. “With every breath.”
Then Collin was gone and Logan was buckled in beside me. My head fell against his shoulder, my hands reaching for his, and somewhere between zero- and forty-thousand-feet, I passed out.
I woke to a dim cabin, the whisper of air through the vents, and Logan’s lips on my neck. He unzipped my leather jacket, removed my seatbelt, and helped me out of the rest of my clothes.
There was no staff on board. Only us, and the pilot, and ten hours of downtime. He’d already changed into a t-shirt and a pair of exercise pants. His blond hair hung in dark, wet strands around his ears, and the scent of soap breathed from his skin.
“Did you take a shower?”
He kissed my lips. “Yeah, it’s too small for two people, but I’ll help you with yours.” His golden eyes glimmered in the soft illumination of the ceiling lights.
I glanced at the rear of the cabin. “No bedroom on this one.”
He shook his head, his lips twitching. “There’s eight chairs and a couch to try out.”
I stared into his eyes, fell into them like a dream. Only I wasn’t dreaming. We were on a plane. Flying to Italy. Wealthy beyond imagination. No more Trent. No more murder and revenge.
I kissed him, pressing my lips all over his face, his persistently-arched brow, his whiskered jaw, his sinful lips, and leaned back. “It’s over.”
He dipped his head and spoke against my lips. “No, baby. It’s beginning.”
A breeze drifted in through the sitting room window, warm and salty, filling my lungs with a weightless kind of peace. We’d lived in the beach-front villa for nine months, yet every time I took a breath, it was like inhaling the sea for the first time.
Life was different here. I didn’t own a pair of high heels. Never slept or woke in an empty bed. I didn’t work twelve hour days. Hell, we had enough money that neither of us needed to work again.
But we found something we loved. Pro racing in Italy was a big deal. Some of the most successful world superbikers were born and bred here. We didn’t aspire to compete in the Grand Prix and travel the world. We just wanted normalcy and a passion to keep the mind busy. Racing in the beginner and intermediate classes gave us that.
And the really convenient part? Anonymity. We walked through the security gates wearing our helmets, we raced the circuit, declined the interviews, and left without showing our faces. The perfect job for two people who couldn’t reveal their identities.
Identity was important to Logan, so much so he’d spent several months researching his biological mother. He confirmed Ella Flynt was a reporter who vanished a few months after his birth, but he couldn’t find anything that linked her to a sister or a son. After a long and unproductive investigation, he decided to put his past behind him and accepted that his questions surrounding her death and his adoption to Maura had died with her.
I stood from the wicker couch and searched for the remote control as the yapping voices of news commentators buzzed from the TV. I needed to follow Logan’s lead and put my past behind me, as well. It seemed like all these damned newscasts talked about was Trenchant’s corrupt executives and the missing persons, Trent Anderson and Kaci Baskel.
God, how the media loved this story, constantly debating the intricacies of the scandal and tagging the company leaders as wicked and evil. The speculation about what happened to Trent and me was rampant and varying, but most believed we were killed off by one of Trent’s criminal partners.
I found the remote under a throw pillow, powered off the TV, and stared at the blank screen.
The trial against Nicola Anderson, and Dalton and Kathleen Baskel began two months after Logan and I landed safely in a rural town in Southern Italy. The jury reached its verdict four months after the opening arguments.
Collin hadn’t messed around, and the pressure from his legal team led to confessions by our parents and seven others within the company. Sentencing would begin next month. Each faced a minimum of life in prison.
Since arriving in Italy, I’d floundered through a flurry of conflicted feelings about how everything played out, but I had no regrets. My parents were alive, locked away, no longer hurting people. I couldn’t visit them, not as a missing person. But I didn’t want to. They were my starting line. Collin, Benny, and Logan were my future.
Collin was finalizing negotiations to sell Trenchant Media to its liberal, ethical competitor, Newswide Corp. The conditions of his sell-off was to keep his job on The Anderson Angle and to publicly announce his sexual orientation. I was so fucking happy for him.
I tossed the remote on the couch and strolled through the open space of the villa, my bare feet slapping on the tiles. Wide stucco archways separated the rooms, the walls and furniture in various shades of yellow and brown. Two-thousand-square-feet of cozy, and it was ours.
And we finally had the house to ourselves again. Collin, Seth, and Benny came and went frequently. Benny left two days ago after a month-long visit. She was headed to Eastern Europe in her quest to devour every corner of the world.
And now I was on a quest to devour my corner of the world and the man who occupied it. I missed him. Pathetic really, since he’d only been holed up for half a day, and that hole was a garage twenty feet from the back door.
I slipped outside, my toes sifting through the warm sand, the sun a blinding ball of fire above the endless aqua of the Tyrrhenian Sea. The nearest neighbor was a five minute walk along the beach that might as well have been five days. We never saw them or anyone on this remote stretch of golden sand. We were learning the language, but Logan preferred the privacy. His protectiveness of me required it.
I shielded my eyes with one hand and quickened my gait to the garage. The doors stood open, and the whir of a power tool droned from within. Inside, I found him bent over the seat of his new BMW S1000RR, the muscles in his back flexing with the exertion of the drill in his hands.
The whirring silenced, and he straightened, turning to face me. The drill hung from his hand, his other lifting to wipe the sweat from his brow
. His workout shorts hung low on his narrow hips, his blond hair flopping in random directions of chaos. And Jesus, the cuts and ridges of his bare chest made my fingers tingle.
He looked like a sun-soaked surfer, with his lusciously-tanned complexion, his chiseled jaw covered in scruff, and the smile on his gorgeous face so easy and carefree I couldn’t help but return one of my own.
“Did you get the fairing repaired?” I leaned to the side to check out his work and didn’t see any cracks in the plastic.
“Yeah.” He pushed a hand through his hair, the V of his abs contracting with the movement. “Only took four hours.”
“Mm.” I glanced at the silver Ducati parked beside his bike. “I fixed the cracked fairing on my bike in three hours.”
“Then you can do the next one.” He grinned, and his hand lowered to the waistband of his shorts. His thumb hooked beneath the elastic, dipping the black material an inch lower, taunting me.
Then it inched lower, and lower, my attention glued to the indentions in his hips, following the carved muscle with the descent of his pants. When I looked up, his eyes locked on mine, wanting me.
My body moved toward him, mindless in its need to close the distance.
He set the drill on the stool behind him and met me halfway. His hand lifted to my face, his fingertips sweeping along my jaw and down my neck. Maybe his body was mindless, too. We couldn’t share the same space without touching one another.
I tilted my head back and stared into his golden-green eyes, my voice breathy. “Are you hungry? I fixed a hot mess of cheese and tomatoes and stuffed it in some bread.”
He laughed, low and sexy. “You made panini?”
I shrugged. “I made something. Looks edible.” Cooking wasn’t my thing.
“Yeah, I’m hungry.” He gripped my waist and whirled us through the garage in some kind of modified form of the foxtrot.
My hair swung around my shoulders, my hands locking behind his neck. I moved my feet in an effort to keep up, laughter tumbling from my lips. That lasted all of three seconds before he spun me to a stop with my ass against his bike. His fingers dropped to the fly of my jean shorts, releasing the button, the zipper, and dragging them down my legs. My panties followed, his eyes never leaving mine.
Warm air brushed my exposed flesh a moment before he broke eye contact and buried his mouth between my thighs. My head fell back, and my fingers flew to his hair, my body writhing against his lips. He sucked hard and licked fast, his tongue unbearable in its assault, his hands sliding up and down my legs.
My thighs trembled, and my inner muscles clenched. He caught the piercing between his teeth and sucked hard again. Licked, flicked, sucked, over and over. When his fingers entered me, the ache between my thighs burst into a cascade of rippling pleasure.
I moaned my release, pulling on his hair and rocking against his face. His lips left my pussy and moved over my hips, up my ribs, his hands lifting my t-shirt and pulling it over my head as he stood. No bra, and God, he took advantage of that, his mouth covering every inch of my chest, licking and sucking and biting my nipples.
He stepped back, his mouth wet, and the fire in his eyes threatened to buckle my knees. “Are you happy?”
Same question he asked me every day, and I always gave the same honest answer. “You are my happiness.”
He held my gaze as he dropped his shorts, then his briefs, freeing his thick, hard cock. His smile lit up his face, the embodiment of pure, raw bliss. His and mine. I would never get enough him.
Then he was on me, and his kiss was so fierce and deep-reaching, he had to hold me up, his arms locked behind my back and his cock prodding for entrance between my legs. He kissed me until I ran out of air. Until the world fell away. Until it was just him and me and the racing of our hearts.
Eventually, he released my mouth, shifted to straddle his bike, and pulled me into his lap. With my back to his chest, he spread my legs, bent me over the gas tank, and pushed inside me in one, long thrust. “I love you,” he half-laughed, half-groaned.
The sound of his voice and the meaning of his words curled warmth through my chest. The furious thrust of hips, however, hardened my nipples and quivered my muscles around his driving cock.
“Love you too,” I said with the same choked laughter.
He kissed and licked along my spine, over my shoulders, his hand in my hair, guiding my lips to his. Then he tucked us into a forward lean, my chest flat against the tank, his hips pressed against my backside. “Together, Kaci.” His head dropped to my back. “Always you and me."
His hands gripped my hips, but it was his love pulling me tight against him, holding me, protecting me, giving me a life so damned full I could never want anything more in it. Two bodies fused as one.
“Always.”
BENEATH THE BURN
DELIVER (DELIVER #1)
VANQUISH (DELIVER #2)
DEAD OF EVE
TAKE THE HEAT (ANTHOLOGY)
To my critique group—Author Dana Griffin, Author Lindsey R. Loucks, Lindy Winter, Jill Bitner, Ann White, Kathryn Sparrow, Cristen Abrams, and Aries75—for once again saving my ass. All of you have such an incredible grasp of the craft, and I feel so honored and privileged to be on the receiving end of your advice. I can’t thank you enough for sticking with me through the holidays, for keeping up with my godawful timeline, and for remaining both tough and encouraging through the entire project. I value you immensely.
To Author Gemma James, for beta reading on the road ,and for being there when I have questions or simply need an ear to whine to. You’re an amazing talent, and your friendship is an incredible gift.
To my proofreader, Lesa Godwin, for scrambling at the very end to clean up my typos. I cherish the fact that someone in my family is editing my stuff, and you do it with the utmost detail and the biggest heart. I friggin’ love you.
To my best friend, Amber, for being my sounding board, my promoter, and the organizer of my life. You’re the strongest person I know, and your strength pushed me through some of the toughest weeks. I would be a goddamned mess without you.
To my family, for your endless support, care, and understanding through my twenty-hour workdays. My daughter, for all your back massages while I typed away. My son, for sneaking into my office just to give me a hug. My husband, for forcing me to eat when I didn’t have time. You guys are my reason, my heart, and my everything.
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author, Pam Godwin, lives in the Midwest with her husband, their two children, and a foulmouthed parrot. When she ran away, she traveled fourteen countries across five continents, attended three universities, and married the vocalist of her favorite rock band.
Java, tobacco, and dark romance novels are her favorite indulgences, and might be considered more unhealthy than her aversion to sleeping, eating meat, and dolls with blinking eyes.
You can follow her at pamgodwin.com
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Other Books by Pam Godwin
Acknowledgments
About the Author
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