Killian (Dance with the Devil 3)

by Carole Mortimer

  “I can’t hold back any longer, Natalia,” he warned.

  He lost it completely as, instead of pulling back, she sucked his cock harder and deeper until it pushed past the muscle at the back of her mouth and into the tight channel of her throat.

  Killian’s release coursed hotly down his cock in pulse after pulse for long mind-blowing seconds. Natalia swallowed down every drop and continued to suck as Killian’s cock valiantly tried to re-engorge even when he was sure she’d drained him dry.

  “You—” He broke off as a knock sounded on the door, reminding him that Natalia’s father and stepmother and his own cousin were still waiting for them in the other room.

  “I have absolutely no interest in what the two of you are doing in there, but you both need to come here now,” Jericho told them through the locked door. “We know exactly where Asselin is going to be in precisely one hour,” he added for extra incentive.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You’re not going to confront him on your own,” Natalia’s father told her firmly after she’d announced she was going to do exactly that.

  It seemed Jericho had done some checking into the whereabouts of Henri Asselin while she and Killian were in the bedroom, and they now knew that the Frenchman was due to give a press conference in exactly one hour at another one of Paris’s most prestigious hotels.

  No doubt so he could answer numerous questions about “his” sensational new fashion collection!

  Not if Natalia had anything to say about it. And she would.

  “I’m an adult, Papa,” she answered him patiently. “You can all be at the hotel too, but I need to talk to Henri alone—”

  “I’m your father, and I forbid—”

  “And I’m her man.” Killian stepped forward. “Aren’t I?” He lifted one eyebrow questioningly in her direction.

  Natalia felt a flush all over rather than just her face, feeling slightly shy as her gaze met his. “You are,” she confirmed.

  He nodded once before turning to her father. “In that case, I’ll be the one to accompany Natalia when she speaks to Asselin. I assure you, if he does or says anything I take exception to, then he’ll have cause to regret it,” he added grimly.

  Natalia didn’t doubt for a moment that Killian meant every word he’d just said. Leaving her in no doubt that not only would he take exception to the smallest slight Henri might attempt to give her, but that Killian would enjoy making sure the other man regretted his actions.

  “I don’t—” Her father broke off his harsh comment when Carla placed a hand on his arm. There followed a silent ocular communication between the two, the sort only people married to each other seemed to be able to decipher, before her father spoke again. “Killian will accompany you when you confront Asselin,” he finally bit out, obviously not pleased with the decision, but accepting his wife’s advice on the subject.

  “Thanks, Leon,” Killian accepted softly.

  Natalia could only imagine what this concession was costing her father. The two of them had been alone for a very long time, and he’d been her champion all her life. He’d been there for her through every trauma, and to now accept the possibility that Natalia might have another man in her life who meant as much to her, if not more, than he did, must be very hard for any father to accept.

  Even more so for Leon Brunelli, capo dei capi.

  She gave Carla a grateful smile, knowing it was her stepmother’s calming influence on Leon that had tempered his response.

  Carla didn’t say anything, but her raised brows seemed to say that Killian had better not do anything to make her regret that intervention.

  Killian had never felt prouder of Natalia than he did as they approached the room where Asselin was apparently having his makeup applied before going out in front of the barrage of reporters and photographers from media all around the world.

  This morning’s newspapers had been full of photographs of the controversial collection. For several minutes, after witnessing Natalia’s pain at seeing those front-page headlines attributing that collection to Asselin, Killian had doubted Leon’s ability to stand back and let his daughter handle the Frenchman herself.

  Leon was a man of action, the capo di capi, and his tightly clenched jaw and fists when they left him in the lobby of this hotel a few minutes ago were evidence of the restraint he was having to exert to keep from personally annihilating Asselin for daring to hurt and steal from Natalia.

  Killian felt as protective toward her, but he also knew from past experience that if Leon were to confront the Frenchman himself, he was likely to rip the other man into so many pieces none of Asselin would never be seen or found again.

  Leon essentially believed in ruling his Mafia organization with an iron fist. But when that failed to elicit the respect and fear his position deserved, as it had several months ago when Carla was kidnapped, then the people who dared to attempt to undermine his authority or harm what Leon considered his—as he did Carla and Natalia—would be shown no mercy.

  Killian felt the same anger and sense of injustice on Natalia’s behalf. He just hid it better. That would no longer hold true if Asselin even attempted to lie his sorry arse out of this situation. Killian was born and raised in the Irish Mob and had been a part of the Italian Mafia for the past ten years. He knew of ways to kill a man that would ensure no one even guessed the death was from anything other than natural causes.

  But before he resorted to that solution, he wanted to allow Natalia the opportunity to speak to the Frenchman herself.

  Natalia had her head held high as they neared the room where they intended confronting Asselin. She looked beautiful, her hair long and silky, her makeup impeccable. She was wearing a blue gown Killian recognized as being one from her sketchpad and the collection Asselin had shown to the public the previous evening and claimed was his own.

  Killian’s hands clenched at his sides when he thought of how the Frenchman had dared to try to rob Natalia of the respect and fame she deserved. Despite his resolve to let Natalia deal with the other man, he knew that one wrong word out of the French fecker and he really would ensure the other man wouldn’t talk to anyone ever again and would be eating through a straw for the rest of his life.

  “Killian.”

  He shook off his violent thoughts to focus on Natalia and give her a reassuring smile.

  She placed her hand on his arm as she returned that smile. “I’m going to take him down, Killian,” she assured with certainty, “and after I do, you and I are going to have some alone time so that we can dispel the last of the misunderstandings between us. But until we do”—a blush entered her cheeks—“I want you to know that I’m in love with you. That I have been for a long time. And that I have absolutely no doubt I will continue to be in love with you for the rest of my life.” She took her hand away to turn toward the door, her expression one of determination. “In the meantime, let’s go in there and kick some ass.”

  Killian had been rendered speechless, first by Natalia declaring her love for him, and then the firmness of her resolve when she stated she would always love him.

  He didn’t remember anyone ever saying that to him before.

  His mother had died when he was ten, and he barely remembered her now. His father had been a waste of time and space and rarely at home, having left his young son to fend for himself after his wife’s death. Killian had no doubt that he and his cousins loved each other—they’d left Ireland to go to the States together, after all—but men like them didn’t talk to each other about their feelings.

  He reached out to lightly grasp Natalia’s arm before she could open the door. “I love you too.” He spoke those words for the very first time in his life.

  Natalia beamed a smile at him. “I know.” She threw open the door and stepped into the room.

  Killian, initially too shocked to move, was only one step behind her.

  Natalia knew he loved her?

  Natalia smirked as she strode confidently across the sm
all reception room where they had set up a space for Henri to have makeup applied before he faced the media.

  She wasn’t smirking because of the way Henri’s eyes widened the moment he saw her, then widened again when as he took in the gown she was wearing. Nor was she smiling because Henri’s hands were now tightly gripping the arms of the chair he was sitting in. No, her smirk was in response to the totally stunned expression on Killian’s face when she told him she knew he loved her.

  She was certain he did.

  Because no man who wasn’t in love with her would have made love to her and allowed her to make love to him with her father waiting in the adjoining room. Nor would he have challenged her father’s right to defend her the way Killian had earlier, by announcing “I’m her man.” Men didn’t challenge Leon Brunelli, least of all when it concerned his daughter.

  Natalia’s heart fluttered, not because she was about to face Henri Asselin, but in anticipation of the conversation she would shortly insist on having with Killian.

  “Bonjour, Natalia.” Henri gave her a brightly false smile which faltered slightly before he added. “Are you recently arrived in Paris?”

  “Yesterday afternoon,” she answered pleasantly enough. “Imagine my surprise when I attended yesterday evening’s fashion show and saw your new collection.”

  His gaze flickered briefly to the gown she was wearing, an exact replica for one he’d shown last night as being his design. “Many people have expressed surprise at my new collection,” he dismissed airily.

  Natalia glanced to where Killian leaned against the wall beside the door. No doubt Henri, who was used to see her bodyguard at her side, saw little significance in Killian’s presence. Natalia knew better. No one was leaving this room if Killian decided he didn’t want them to.

  She nodded as she turned back to Henri. “The newspapers are once again heralding you as the ‘leader of fashion.’”

  Apparently, Henri was still totally unaware of the danger she and Killian both represented because he preened. He actually fucking preened.

  Natalia eyed him with contempt, disgusted with herself for ever thinking she needed this man’s approval of her designs. “Imagine how much more surprised they’re all going to be when you announce that you called today’s news conference to reveal that Natalia Brunelli is the real designer of the collection they all saw last night.”

  “Leave us,” Henri snapped at the gawping makeup lady.

  Killian politely opened and then closed and locked the door behind her.

  Henri stood to pull the protective cloth from about his throat and throw it down on the chair behind him. “You are delusional if you think I—” He broke off as the sound of a low growl filling the room, swallowing audibly as he finally glanced nervously in Killian’s direction.

  “I should warn you against saying anything to annoy my ‘pit bull of a bodyguard’ when he isn’t wearing a leash,” she told Henri in a deceptively light tone, but reminding him of the comment he once made regarding Killian.

  Her own response to Killian’s behavior wasn’t in the least nervous.

  No, just hearing that warning growl was enough to bring a flush to her cheeks, to cause her nipples to tingle and for heat to flood between her thighs as she easily imagined him doing that as they made love together.

  The glance Killian gave her promised to satisfy every one of her naughty fantasies once they were able to return to their hotel.

  She gave a barely perceptible nod before turning her attention back to the Frenchman. “So what I suggest is that we go out to meet the members of the media together, that you then announce the collection you showed last night was actually designed by Natalia Brunelli—”

  “I cannot do that!” Henri immediately protested.

  “Of course, you can,” Natalia said pleasantly, when really she just wanted to smack his elegantly handsome face for the pain and disillusionment he caused her since telling her her designs weren’t good enough.

  “I will look foolish—”

  “You’ll look even more foolish if you don’t do as I ask,” Natalia said with certainty. Killian might be remaining silent and letting her deal with Henri in her own way, but his eyes were glowing with the depth of his anger. “It’s really very simple, Henri,” she continued. “We face the media together, you tell them that I was the designer of yesterday evening’s collection—or I leave you alone with my pit bull,” she added. “How the hell you thought you could get away with this is beyond understanding. Not only do I have Killian, but everyone knows who and what my father is.”

  The Frenchman sneered his disdain. “American gangsters do not scare me.”

  Natalia was barely aware of Killian moving before he was standing in front of Henri, his hand gripping the front of the Frenchman’s shirt as he easily held the other man several inches above the floor.

  “I suggest you quickly learn some respect when you talk about Leonardo Brunelli,” he told the other man through clenched teeth, their faces mere inches apart. “Leon might be holding back at the moment by waiting in the lobby of the hotel, but that’s only because Natalia asked him to. She didn’t ask for the same restraint from me.”

  Henri’s eyes widened. “Surely you can see I cannot go out there and tell the media they were not my designs after all.”

  “Tell them I’m your protégé, whatever, but you will tell them,” Natalia assured.

  Henri shook his head. “No matter how I spin it, there will be gossip and speculation. I would become the laughingstock of the fashion world.”

  “Better a living laughingstock than a dead liar,” Killian grated.

  Henri’s face paled. “This is Paris,” he blustered. “You cannot bring your gangster ways over here and expect to get away with it.”

  Killian gave a feral smile. “Try me. Better yet, try telling Leon that.” His eyes glittered. “I think you’ll find you prefer my method of persuasion over his. At least my way you might still be alive at the end of today, if slightly damaged. Leon’s way, not so much.”

  Henri gave Natalia a pleading glance. “Order him to release me.”

  She gave a splutter of laughter. “You seriously think anyone can tell Killian what he can or can’t do?”

  “You can,” Killian assured her warmly before his expression hardened as he turned back to the older man. “Except where this piece of shite is concerned.” His voice was hard. “You’re either going out that door to inform the media those designs weren’t yours,” he told Henri softly. “Or I’m inviting Leon to join us, and I guarantee you’ll be leaving his room in pieces small enough to fit into a large…” He gave the other man a sweeping glance. “Medium-sized suitcase,” he amended.

  Natalia wasn’t naive. She knew exactly what and who her father was, and that sometimes he had to order someone killed. He rarely carried out those killings himself, except when it came to the safety and happiness of the two people he cared for the most, namely Carla and Natalia. She had no doubt her father would classify this as being one of those occasions.

  She quirked one dark eyebrow. “So, Henri, which is it to be? Because either way, you’re fucked,” she added with satisfaction.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I thought yer man was going to shite himself before the end of the interview,” Jericho noted with relish.

  He was seated in the front of the limousine next to the driver, Leon and Carla, and Natalia and Killian, seated in the seating area at the back of the long vehicle. The rest of the Brunelli bodyguards were following them in another limo

  “He isn’t her man,” Killian snapped.

  “Because you are,” Leon taunted.

  “Yes,” he challenged.

  The two men eyed each other for several silent minutes before Leon finally sighed. “I think after today, you’ve earned that right.”

  Natalia sat forward to squeeze the hand resting on Leon’s thigh. “Thank you, Papa.”

  He smiled. “Given a choice between having a man like Henri
Asselin as a future son-in-law, and Killian, I’ll choose Killian every time.”

  Natalia’s cheeks blushed a fiery red. “We haven’t discussed marriage, Papa.”

  Pale gray eyes turned in Killian’s direction. “Yet,” Leon added pointedly.

  Killian’s lips twitched at the other man’s silent warning. “Yet,” he echoed dryly.

  Natalia gasped softly as she turned to look at him with wide, incredulous eyes.

  Killian was aware they hadn’t discussed anything as permanent between them as marriage. Even telling each other they were loved hadn’t been done in a romantic way.

  But marriage?

  In some ways, they were perfectly suited for each other, both of them coming from an organized crime background being the most obvious. No unpleasant surprises for either of them. But as Leon’s daughter, there was a huge chasm between them on a financial level, even more so once Natalia Brunelli, fashion designer, became the household name she deserved to be.

  Asselin had obviously given his future serious thought in the few minutes before he and Natalia stepped out in front of the world’s media. Or he had recognized the danger of Leon Brunelli and his bodyguards standing at the back of the room.

  Either way, the Frenchman had immediately informed the reporters that not only was Natalia Brunelli the designer of the previous night’s collection, but he was also announcing his retirement from the fashion industry so that he “could give more time to his family.” As far as Killian was aware, the Frenchman had never married or had children.

  It was also the same claim made by every disgraced politician stepping down from their position. The fickle media didn’t seem interest in questioning Asshole’s premature retirement, but had instead shifted all their interest to Natalia. They made it clear that to them, Asselin was the past and Natalia was the future.

  Natalia had handled the interview like the confident and talented woman she was. She dismissed the questions as to the reason for the subterfuge the previous evening having allowed people to believe the collection was Asselin’s as being Henri’s parting gift to her. Henri had backed up this assertion by expressing his admiration for Natalia as a new and exciting designer for today’s women.