Running Wilde

by Tonya Burrows

  “Take off your clothes, Vaughn. I want you naked.”

  He sprang up off the bed like he couldn’t comply fast enough and shrugged off his shirt, kicked away his jeans and boots. Then he stood before her, naked, every inch of him gloriously male.

  He dragged her up for a kiss, but she ducked away. She tossed the condom at him. “Put that on.”

  His cock jumped against his stomach. He was long and thick, and he handled himself with a careless roughness as he rolled the condom on.

  The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Now what?”

  “Lie down.” She wanted to be on top.

  Still smirking, he settled back on the bed and pillowed his hands behind his head. Apparently her SEAL liked taking orders. Good thing, because she liked giving them.

  She straddled him again and positioned his cock at her entrance. His smirk faded, and his stomach muscles tensed as she slid down his length, inch by inch.

  Vaughn groaned, and his hands circled her hips, holding her while he surged up underneath her in slow, short thrusts that left her body tingling.

  She closed her eyes, immersing herself in the rhythm that was the two of them joining together until he was buried all the way inside her. She’d never felt so whole as when she was with him. It was something beautiful and special. Something she’d never had before and would likely never have again.

  “Vixen, open your eyes.” His voice was as intimate as a caress, and she did as he asked. “Let me watch you touch yourself. Make yourself come while I’m inside you.”

  She shivered and dragged a hand between her breasts, over her stomach, and down to where they were joined. She was already so sensitive, the light brush of her fingers sent tremors racing through her. She gasped and fell forward, catching herself with her free hand on the mattress beside his head.

  Vaughn tightened his hold on her hips, keeping her steady as his thrusts became harder, faster. “Fuck, yeah. That was hot. Let me see it again.”

  Sensation bombarded her from every direction, fuzzing her thoughts and narrowing her world to the sexy man rocking underneath her, his stomach muscles rippling with each upward thrust.

  She caught her breath and straightened, which drove him even deeper. They both moaned. She circled her hips, taking control of the pace, and he let her, his hands now free to wander and caress and stroke. He cupped her breasts, and his rough thumbs rasping over her nipples while she rode him was one of the most erotic sensations she’d ever felt. She shuddered and lost her rhythm. He drew his legs up, pushed his feet into the bed for leverage, and took over again.

  “Vixen.” His eyes were blue fire, burning her with their intensity as he watched her. “Touch yourself again.”

  When she did, she came unraveled, the pleasure of the orgasm exploding through her. Her body locked down on his. Distantly, she heard him curse, then he sat up and captured her mouth with his, swallowing her cries of pleasure. He rolled her over and tangled his fingers in her hair. She wrapped herself around him—arms, legs, and heart—and held on as his thrusts became shorter, faster, and he, too, lost control.

  “Sage,” he groaned and dropped his head to her shoulder as his big body shuddered over hers with his release. He whispered her name and again…

  Only it wasn’t her name. Not really.

  Her heart split wide open, and tears flooded her eyes. She didn’t want to be Sage to him. She wanted to be someone else, someone…real. God, she was thinking dangerous, crazy things, and her heart pounded with fear of it, but despite everything, she trusted this man. He was safe, and she wanted him to see her for who she was. Her real self. Just this once.

  “My name,” she whispered, “is Dahlia.”

  He lifted his head and stared down at her, but he said nothing for several heartbeats. His damp hair fell into his eyes, obscuring them, and she had no way of reading his expression. Finally, he propped himself up on one arm and cupped her cheek in his hand, his thumb rubbing lightly back and forth across her lower lip.

  “I don’t care,” he said on barely a breath of sound. He pumped his hips again, punctuating his words with shallow thrusts that triggered another soft orgasm. He weaved his hands into the strands of her hair on both sides of her head and held her still for a long, drugging kiss. “I don’t care what your name is. All that matters is you’re mine now. You’re fucking mine, and I’m not letting you run anymore.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  He claimed she was his, no matter what. And oh, how she wished she could be. But she couldn’t, and he deserved to know why. She owed him that much.

  “I’ll tell you now. Everything.”

  He didn’t answer. She was afraid to look at him, afraid of what she’d see in his expression. Or, maybe worse, what she wouldn’t see. But she forced herself to meet his gaze, surprised to see stubbornness etched into the hard planes of his face and a bit of annoyance darkening his eyes to storm clouds.

  “You can tell me or not. It’s not going to change the way I feel,” he said.

  Nerves quivered around in her belly. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

  He grumbled and pushed off the bed. “Let me clean up.”

  She watched him walk into the bathroom, admiring the flex of the muscles in his ass with each step. She couldn’t help herself. The man had a backside to drool over.

  She heard him grumbling some more, muttering to himself as he washed up. Yes, he was definitely annoyed. Strange, since all he’d wanted from her since day one was the truth, and now that she was offering to tell him, he acted as if he didn’t want to hear it. Was he as afraid of his reaction to it as she was?

  Another rabble of nerves took flight in her belly, and she climbed out of the bed to find her clothes. This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have naked.

  Vaughn came out of the bathroom and scooped up his jeans from the floor. Apparently, he’d had the same thought. Then they just stood there, the bed between them, and looked at each other. Moments ago they’d been as close as two people could be, joined in body and spirit. Now, although only a few feet separated them, they might as well have been on different planets for all the figurative space suddenly yawning open between them.

  She sucked in a breath, let it out, and blurted, “My name was Dahlia Bellisario.”

  Vaughn cursed and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I wondered.”

  A blast of surprise left her cold. She blinked. “You did?”

  “When you said you were running from Giuseppe Bellisario, I started putting the pieces together. Everyone knows his favorite son was killed, and his daughter-in-law disappeared shortly after, never to be seen again.” He nodded in her direction. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She sank to the bed as all the years of regret suddenly felt too heavy to shoulder. She needed to unburden herself of it or it was going to crush her. She stared down at her feet, concentrated on tracing the ugly geometric pattern on the carpet with her toe. “My maiden name was Dahlia Grant. I was born in Los Angeles—the accidental baby my parents never really wanted. Dad was always off on one business trip after another, and Mom tried to use me to realize her Hollywood dreams until she realized I had no talent for acting, I had too many curves to be a model, and I can’t carry a tune in a plastic bag, so she lost interest in me fast. I was left to my own devices for most of my teenage years and ended up falling in with the party crowd. Drinking, drugs, sex, skipping school to go out to the clubs every night. My parents didn’t care. Hell, maybe they didn’t even know. They’re…self-absorbed. To say the least.”

  Vaughn sat down beside her, his weight on the mattress sliding her toward him. He put an arm around her and hugged her to his side. “When did Dahlia Grant become a Bellisario?”

  “When she met Marcel Bellisario. He was ten years older, rich, handsome, sophisticated. I was just barely seventeen when he swept me off my feet, promised me the world.” She laughed softly. It was either that or cry, and she’d already spilled far too many tears because of Marcel. “W
e were married three months after meeting. I was so naive, so desperate for love, I didn’t see him for what he was—such an ugly, ugly person.”

  Vaughn’s fingers curled into a fist. “Did he hit you?”

  He was trying not to show any anger, but she could hear it in his carefully modulated tone. She covered his fist with her hand. “Not in the beginning. The first year of our marriage, he treated me like a queen, but halfway through the second year, I got pregnant and things started to change. It was slow at first—so slow I didn’t realize it was happening. An open hand slap, a shove. I brushed it off as stress because his father was putting a lot of pressure on him to take over the family business.”

  Vaughn uncurled his fist and laced his fingers through hers. “Did you know what that business was?”

  “Yeah.” She lifted a shoulder. “Honestly, I didn’t care. Family’s important to the Bellisarios, and I was happy I finally had a family that always took care of their own. The fact they were thieves and killers didn’t even blip on my radar. If anything, I thought being a mobster’s wife was glamorous and exciting. I was so young…”

  She paused, gathered her strength. She’d never told anyone the whole story before, and the recounting of it now hurt more than she ever imagined it would.

  “Go on,” Vaughn said. “It’s okay.”

  It wasn’t okay. And she was afraid that as soon as he heard what had really happened, he’d see the part of her she had to keep hidden. The part she knew couldn’t survive in the light of day.

  But she needed to tell him. Even if it would signal the beginning of the end.

  “I was five months pregnant the first time Marcel really attacked me,” she said. “After we found out it was a girl, we went home and he just…flew into a rage. He kicked me around, threw me down the stairs.” Her gut clenched, the memory still as fresh as ever. “I lost the baby. He told everyone my dog had attacked me and I fell. And they believed him. He even had my dog Sadie euthanized while I was in the hospital. I was so blind to who he really was, I never realized how much he hated my dog or how much he didn’t want the baby until he got rid of them both with one beating. It only got worse from there. The second time I got pregnant, he was happy until he found out it was another girl. Then he put me in the ICU and told everyone I had been in a car accident. I don’t think as many people believed him that time, but he paid them to keep their mouths shut, and they did.”

  “Bastards,” Vaughn said.

  Although her stomach hurt with the memory, she had to smile at the venom in his tone. If he was able, she had no doubt he’d track down every single person who had ignored the abuse and let them know exactly what he thought of them.

  Her knight in not-so-white armor.

  “After I healed,” she continued, “I took precautions to make sure I didn’t get pregnant again. He wasn’t keen on birth control, and I knew he’d beat me if he found me with it, but I had to—” Her voice caught, and it took several seconds before she could swallow down the lump in her throat. Vaughn didn’t say anything, but his lips dropped to her shoulder in a show of quiet reassurance she appreciated.

  “I couldn’t lose another baby,” she continued finally, her voice raw from the years of suppressed pain now clawing at her throat. She never let herself think about her daughters. Never. It hurt too damn much. “I died a little with each of my girls. I was afraid if I went through it a third time—if Marcel didn’t kill me with a beating, losing another baby would. So I started hiding money away, intending to use it to have my tubes tied.”

  “Why not use the money for a divorce?” Vaughn asked softly against her temple.

  “The thought never crossed my mind. Divorce isn’t something the Bellisarios do, so I hid my birth control pills and counted down the days until Marcel went out of town and I could have the surgery. Except the night before he was supposed to leave, he found my pills. Oh, he was so angry. Accused me of being a frigid bitch who refused to give him a male heir. He started hitting me, and I was sure—I knew he wasn’t going to stop until he killed me. We were in the bedroom, on the floor, and he was on top of me, choking me. He kept a gun under the bed. I got a hold of it, pointed it at his head. I didn’t want to kill him. Just wanted to scare him, but it was like he didn’t even see it. He kept his hands around my throat, and he was squeezing so hard. My vision started going gray…so I pulled the trigger.”

  Vaughn was very still beside her. So still, she wasn’t even sure he was breathing. She pulled out of his arms and stood to pace at the foot of the bed. She thought she should feel lighter somehow, like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders now that her secrets were out—but she didn’t. Instead, a bone-deep cold settled over her, and she shivered.

  Vaughn was a man with such an ingrained sense of justice, she was terrified of what she’d see when she looked at him again. If he wasn’t sure about turning her over to the authorities before, he definitely would be now, and his rejection might just rip out the last little bit of her heart.

  Vaughn finally released an explosive breath and stood up, too, blocking her path. He clasped her shoulders, waited until she looked at him. “You killed Marcel Bellisario.” A statement, not a question. His voice was quiet, carefully modulated.

  She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

  “Oh, vixen,” he said softly and dragged her in for a tight hug. “You didn’t need to run. After the hell you’d been through, no court in the country would have convicted you of murder. You were clearly defending yourself, and I’m sure the physical evidence backed you up.”

  “It did,” she whispered and clung to him. Because it felt so damn good to be in his arms. “And I didn’t run. Not at first. After I killed him, I did what I thought was the right thing and turned myself in to the police. One look at me and they knew what had happened. They took me into custody, but it was more for my safety than with intent to prosecute me. Honestly, they were more interested in what I knew about the Bellisario family. The FBI got involved, and they promised they’d protect me, but Giuseppe has friends everywhere. He even once told me that he has a nephew in the FBI. I guess I could have taken a chance, but I was scared. It was only a matter of time before he came after me, so I took all the money I had saved and I ran.”

  “And Bellisario’s been chasing you ever since.”

  She nodded. “He’s come close a couple times. The last time was right before I arrived in DC. I thought maybe aligning myself with someone who had a measure of power in the government would stop him from coming after me.”

  Vaughn grunted. “Except you chose another psychopath.”

  “To be fair, Preston seemed like a perfect candidate. Young, up-and-coming politician with no ties whatsoever to the Bellisarios…but I know,” she said and sighed. “I have really horrible taste in men.”

  “I’ll try not to take offense.” He set her back at arm’s length and smirked down at her.

  She appreciated his attempt at a joke, but it didn’t lighten her mood. Vaughn was the first good guy she’d ever met, but he had to know this thing between them had zero hope of working out. Giuseppe Bellisario wanted revenge for his favorite son’s death, wasn’t going to stop until he got it, and she wasn’t about to put Vaughn or his brothers in danger.

  She opened her mouth to tell him just that, but she didn’t get the chance because he pressed his lips to hers. It wasn’t the kind of kiss she’d come to expect from Vaughn. Wasn’t a battle, but a soft, sweet meeting that stole her breath and her heart.

  “I wish you would have told me this sooner,” he murmured when he drew away.

  She tried for a smile and failed. “Doesn’t take a shrink to figure out I have a boatload of trust issues.”

  “You can trust me. I wish I knew how to prove it to you.”

  Her heart wrenched, and she couldn’t help the sudden rush of tears. “You don’t have to.” She cupped his stubble-roughened cheeks in both hands. “But I don’t want you involved with Bellisario.”

&nbs
p; He again flashed that smile of his, the predatory one with just an edge of mean in it. “I’m already on his radar, and I think it’s time we had another talk.”

  “Vaughn, no. First thing he’ll do is go after your brothers—”

  “Who are all big boys and can take care of themselves.” He leaned in, pressed his forehead to hers, and linked their fingers. “I told you I’m not letting you run anymore. We’ll figure this out. Together, okay?”

  Together.

  It was what she’d wanted since she first turned him down at Jude and Libby’s wedding last fall, and more than she ever could have dreamed of. She rolled her lips together to keep from sobbing in relief that she didn’t have to be alone anymore. “How?”

  “We’ll go back to DC. I’ll call Cam and round up some cops we can trust—” He stopped short and drew away with a groan. “Oh, shit. Cam.”

  …

  Cursing at himself, Vaughn searched his pockets for his phone. Not there. What had he done with it?

  Dahlia sat down on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Fuck.” He rubbed both hands over his face. “Cam should be here by now.”

  Her eyes widened, and she looked at the rumpled bed. “He’s coming here?”

  “No, not here specifically. Atlanta. I was going to meet him.” He spotted his phone on the floor, half hidden under the bed. It must have fallen out of his pocket in his mad scramble to undress. He scooped it up, checked the screen. Sure enough, he had several missed calls from Cam. His twin was probably so pissed off right now. Wincing, dreading the upcoming convo, he called back. It rang only once before the line picked up, and he didn’t give Cam a chance to light into him. “Hey, bro. Sorry, I was busy. Did you make it to Atlan—”

  “It’s about time you called,” Giuseppe Bellisario said amiably.

  Vaughn’s blood froze solid. “Where’s my brother?”

  “Safe, for now. Is Dahlia there with you?”

  Vaughn glanced over at her, watched the color drain out of her face. She knew. Without him saying anything, she knew who was on the phone.