Savage Love

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “I thought we had this conversation last night?”

  “But we didn’t really have it, now did we? We didn’t go deep. We didn’t get past barriers. Do you know what I dreamed of last night?”

  His brow furrows. “That—I killed Wes.”

  “I dreamt that you saved me, Rick. Stop seeing everything through cracked lenses. And don’t tell me I see you through rose-colored glasses. You can kill but you are not a killer. Those are two different things.”

  He inhales sharply and then to my shock, he throws away the blanket and stands up, straightening to his towering six foot five inches, his hard, naked body, knotted and tense. Without another word, he walks into the bathroom, but he doesn’t shut the door. The shower comes on and I have a flashback to another night, when his first patient had died on the table, with no fault of his. He’d gone to a hot shower and some part of me had felt it was to wash away the tears he didn’t feel he could afford, emotions he felt were dangerous in an operating room.

  I give him a few minutes, as I did then, five, but not quite ten. Then and only then, I stand up and walk into the bathroom to find him just as I had that night, sitting on the floor of the shower. I don’t even hesitate. I walk to the shower, open the door, and step inside. His head is back against the wall, his eyes shut, and he doesn’t look at me. I go down to the floor with him, slide between his legs, my hands on his knees.

  His head lifts, torment in his eyes. “What if I am a killer, Candace?”

  That question tells me why I had that nightmare. It was my mind telling me how tormented Rick is over his past. It was my mind warning me that no matter what promises we’ve made to each other, his torment was, is, still a cross we must bear together. “Then I’m in love with a killer, but you’re not a killer.”

  “You have no idea how many people I’ve killed.”

  “I have a good idea.”

  “You saw ten missions, Candace. I ran thousands.”

  “I’m aware of that fact. I can do the math but what good does that do either of us?”

  “It became who I was. It became all I was. Killing. It was a part of me.”

  “It was your job.”

  “It was a part of me,” he counters.

  “You’re a part of me, Rick.”

  I’ve barely spoken the words, and he’s pulling me into his lap. I settle on top of him, my legs straddling his hips, his hand sliding under my hair to my neck. His lips a breath from my lips. “You are a part of me, too. The good part of me.” His mouth closes down on mine, and he drinks me in, consumes me, owns me with that kiss. That’s the thing about Rick Savage. He consumes me inside and out, and while yes, it’s terrifying to have any one human have that much power over you, it’s also the best damn feeling I’ve ever known.

  What follows is slow and sensual. Intense and raw. The way we touch. The way we both moan when he anchors me and lifts me and I slide down the hard length of his erection. The way our bodies move. The way we touch and kiss.

  A long time later, we stand under the shower, and suds each other up, but we don’t speak, not with words. There’s a shift between us, a renewed intimacy. I can almost feel our bond secure, the locks that once bound us together, unite and settle into perfect, snug closure once again. I don’t know why, despite every talk we’ve had prior to this one, we needed what erupted between us this morning, but we did. In the aftermath, we’re closer for it. Stronger for it. It’s a good thing too because we have battles ahead of us. Starting with Saturday night. The night of my father’s extraction. The night Rick faces off with Tag. The last night I have to pretend to be Honest Gabe’s future wife.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Savage

  Coffee, Candace and a hotel room.

  It’s not Coffee, Candace, and home, but it’s a damn good second. We spend the hour after our shower, with both of us half-naked, sipping coffee and sharing a bathroom. Once she’s dressed in a black sweater and a snug pair of black jeans that hug her ass almost as well as I do, I’m left shirtless and in need of a shave.

  For the first time in years, Candace sits down on the counter in front of me and lathers up my face. “Let’s see if I remember how to do this,” she teases, foaming me up, and I don’t miss the way her fingers linger over the scar on my face.

  I catch her hand and kiss it. “It makes me more human,” I say solemnly. “It reminds me there are those you kill and those you save.”

  “And that, Rick Savage, makes that scar dangerously sexy.”

  “And therefore, you want to lick me all over.”

  “Actually,” she says, “I do. If you survive this shave.” She holds up the razor. “Let’s test my skills. Like I said, I’m out of practice.”

  She reaches for my face and I catch her wrist. “Because you never did this for Gabriel.”

  She snorts. “He didn’t trust me with a blade.”

  “Actually,” I say. “I don’t remember you being all that good with a blade.”

  Her green eyes twinkle with mischief. “But you, Rick, loved to live dangerously then and now.”

  I ease in close and nuzzle her neck, that natural scent of hers, mixed with the floral shampoo I’d grabbed from her shower, a heady mix that stirs memories in me, so damn many memories. “God, woman,” I murmur, leaning back to stare down at her, my gaze lingering on her recently glossed lips, before they lift. “If I kiss you right now—”

  She presses her mouth to mine and hell yeah, I’ll take that invitation. I hold her close and kiss the hell out of her and when it’s done, she’s covered in shaving cream, and we’re both laughing. “Now I have to redo my make up,” she chides, and when I cup her backside, lifting her with the intent of carrying her straight to the bed, her long, perfect legs wrap around my waist. My damn cellphone rings and a second later, so does hers.

  “Crap,” Candace murmurs. “What if that’s Gabriel and what if your team is warning us he’s up to something? I’m not home. I told him I’d be home.”

  Sighing, I set her down, while silently cursing the power that dweeb of a man still has over her and us. She twists away from me and hurries into the bedroom where her phone is buzzing.

  I scowl at the idea of her talking to that man and grab my phone from my pocket, to find Adam calling. “We’ve got shit to talk about. Unless you’re naked—spare me that shit—come to the door.”

  “Do you have anything to tell me about Gabriel calling Candace as we speak?”

  “No, but from your foul tone I’m sure we’ll discuss it soon.”

  “Let yourself in.” I hang up and turn around to find Candace in the doorway, my shaving cream still on her face and mine, as well.

  “It was him and now he’s texting me. Did you know what it’s about?”

  “No,” I say. “The call wasn’t about that little pussy Gabriel.”

  “Rick,” she hisses, a chide in my name. “What am I going to say about not being home?”

  I grab a towel and wipe my face, and then cross to stand in front of her to do the same.

  “Tell him you stayed with your friend again last night.”

  “I told him I was going home.” Her voice is urgent, panicked.

  “Baby, relax.”

  “I’m not going to relax. And we can’t keep pretending tomorrow night isn’t happening. I know you don’t want me to go to this party with him, but I’m going. You need the cover to kill Tag and your team needs the cover to extract my father. I’m going. The end.”

  I need the cover to kill Tag.

  I haven’t actually told her I was going to kill Tag. Or hell, maybe I did. Maybe that’s how loose I’m becoming with her about me and my perpetual killing sprees. “Will Linda cover for you?”

  “She hates Gabriel and wants you and I back together. Yes. She will, but what if he’s watching her house? And I told him I was feeling better and headed home.”

  “Tell him that you forgot something at her house and you two started watching a movie and it got so late you were j
ust not up to driving home.”

  She swallows hard. “Right.” Her fingers drag through her hair. “I’m not thinking straight but what if he’s watching her house?”

  “That possibility is exactly why I don’t want you at the party, but for now, assume he’s not.”

  Her cellphone rings again and she glances down. “It’s a client. I’m neglecting my work, but I can’t talk to him right now.” She declines the call.

  I cup her face. “Relax, baby,” I say again. “I got you and I got this.”

  “Tomorrow night’s important Rick. It’s the night that delivers you and my father back to me.”

  The tremble in her voice, the heartache in her eyes, guts me. I did this to her. I left her. I let Gabriel come into her life. “Baby, I’m already here. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Killing Tag and his men is dangerous. I don’t want Gabriel to touch me. You know this. God, I know you know this. I don’t want to pretend to love him. But one night, two hours really, in a public place with that man, is a small price to pay to have you and my father with me for the rest of my life.”

  And one night could strip her away from me forever, but this isn’t a battle we can fight right this moment. “Let’s do this,” I suggest. “We’ll plan out how to make tomorrow go well, together, after you call him back. Buy us time. Tell him you still feel under the weather.”

  “Rick—”

  I kiss her. “Do this for me, baby. Leave it open-ended and then we’ll talk. Okay?”

  Her cellphone starts ringing again, and she glances at the number. “It’s him.”

  “Take it.” The door to the hotel room opens and before she can react, I say, “It’s our people. I told them to come on in.”

  “Our people,” she whispers.

  I stroke her hair. “Our people, baby. Answer the call.”

  She inhales and punches the answer button. “Hi,” she says sweetly, so damn sweetly that I have to turn away from her. I cannot stand the fucking idea of her talking all lovey-dovey to that unworthy limp dick bastard. I press my hands to the bathroom counter, lowering my chin to my chest. She’s right. Tag is dangerous, but then so am I. And Tag’s no fool. He wasn’t wrong about me wanting to kill Gabriel. I do. I’d really enjoy killing him and if our team doesn’t find a way to put him behind bars, I will—with a fucking smile on my face.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Candace

  I’m not capable of looking at Rick and talking to Gabriel. I’m just not. I turn away from the bathroom and walk toward the bed, “It’s hard to reach you these days,” Gabriel says, accusation lancing his words.

  “I can say the same of you most days,” I comment tartly and then because a play to his ego is always a good play, I add, “And I suspect that will be true a whole lot more often after you become president.”

  He sighs. “That will be the day. A great day, don’t you think?” He doesn’t wait for my reply. How did I not notice how often he simply dismisses me?

  “How are you feeling?” he asks, a question that might seem to some, as if he cares. Actually, he does. About how me being sick affects him Saturday night.

  “The sickness comes and goes. I went to Linda’s last night to grab something I forgot and had another bout of sickness, so I just stayed. And we watched Pretty Woman which you won’t watch with me.”

  “Oh well hell, thank Linda for saving me.” And thank God, he moves on, seemingly satisfied by my comments. “Do I need to send a stylist to help you with a dress?” he asks.

  “No,” I say quickly. “I’m going to go shop today. I want to pick something that feels like me.”

  “What happens if you have another bout of sickness?” Again, he doesn’t wait for my reply. “No. I think I should just send a stylist. Then you can rest until tomorrow night. Can you be home by three?”

  In other words, he’s already set this up. I glance at the clock that reads ten. “Yes. Of course.”

  “I put in a tentative call and the stylist said she could come to you then. At the mansion. You can just stay there tonight.”

  “No,” I snap. “No, I’m going to be home tonight. I don’t want other people around me and I don’t want to spread germs you might catch. Pick me up at my place for the party.”

  “Do you have a fever?”

  “Not right now. It too comes and goes.”

  “Then you’re right. Stay at your place.” In other words, don’t spread my germs all over his things. “But,” he adds, “I’m sending a doctor to your house as well. Be home at three.”

  “That’s really not necessary.”

  “It most definitely is necessary. End of topic and back to the party. My tie will be flag-blue. I told the stylist you need a dress that’s either blue or red. We need to start showing how patriotic we are. And I met with the head of my big investment group. After this event, we’ll need to step up our public appearances.”

  After this event I’ll be gone, I think. Forever. I just hope that doesn’t mean I’m dead. “Anything I can do to support you,” I say, “you know I will.”

  “And you, my sweetness, will be the most stunning first lady to ever grace the White House.”

  He’s never called me sweetness before. I wonder if some focus group told him it would be adorable to leak to the press, or he forgot he was talking to me, not his campaign manager, otherwise known as his mistress.

  “I’m thinking that you,” he continues, “as the first lady, could design a memorial that becomes iconic.”

  There’s a time when I’d be thrilled and honored at such a prospect. Today, all I manage is a weak, “It’s all very exciting.”

  “It is. Call me when you pick your dress and after you see the doctor. I love you. Get some rest.” He hangs up without forcing me to repeat those dreaded “I love you” words that I’m pretty sure would have caused Rick to lose his shit. I rotate toward the bathroom and find him standing in the archway, one muscular shoulder pressed to the frame, a snug black T-shirt now stretched across his broad, perfect chest. He doesn’t move but his eyes, those deep sea-blue eyes, are fixed on me.

  “I told him I’d be at the house at three to meet with a stylist, and he’s sending a doctor to me. He wanted me to stay at the mansion tonight but I insisted I go to my house. Wes is dead now, so I assumed it was safe for me to go there.”

  He doesn’t speak, his expression unreadable but the lines of his hard body are taut, his jaw still shadowed with stubble, set hard. He pushes off the doorframe and slowly saunters toward me, a panther on the prowl, a predator, in that moment he’s a predator. He’s lethal. He’s a killer, at least a part of him is, but I don’t care. And as crazy as it might seem to someone else, I want him insanely right now. He stops in front of me, but he doesn’t touch me. Goosebumps lift on my skin. I want him to touch me. “I hate you with him,” he says, his voice a low, rough rasp.

  “Me, too,” I whisper, stepping into him, my hand settling on his chest, the thunder of his heart beneath my palm proof that Gabriel’s very existence affects him. I spent years thinking that he didn’t love me. Years believing he never looked back. I was wrong, so very wrong.

  “I want you and me, Rick. I want that very much, but we have to do what we have to do to end this. Let me go to the party. By the time it’s over with, Tag will be gone and so will we. I’ll be on a plane with you to New York.”

  He catches my waist and pulls me to him, pressing his forehead to mine. “I can’t promise not to kill him.”

  “I know,” I say, and my hand settles on his cheek, over the scar he’d gotten that night he killed Wes’s wife, but ultimately that scar exists because my father convinced him to join the black ops team. I’m not sure what to do with that information.

  Rick eases back to study me, his expression probing. “I’m not talking about Tag. I’m talking about Gabriel. If he lays the wrong hand on you, I will kill him.”

  “You’ll be too busy killing Tag.”

  “If you’re trying to convi
nce me you should be at that party, you’re failing.”

  “I’ll be protected,” I remind him. “And the party is high profile. There will be plenty of security present. I need to help you, Rick, and I need my father. If I don’t show up at that party, Tag will know something is up and that puts you and my father at risk.”

  He looks skyward, seeming to struggle a moment before he fixes me in a turbulent stare. “You do not leave that party with him. And I mean you do not leave that party with him. I don’t care if you have to make a scene. Do you understand?”

  Cotton forms in my throat. I swallow hard. “You’re afraid he’s already decided to kill me.”

  “He and Pocher already decided that you’re disposable should you become a problem. We didn’t hear them make the definitive decision to get rid of you, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t made.”

  My heart swishes in my ears and begins to thunder while the cotton in my throat grows more dense. I can hardly breathe. I didn’t love Gabriel, but when I met him, I thought he was a good man. I didn’t expect him to turn out to be a man who planned a hit on my life. No one can expect such things.

  Rick’s hands come down on my arms. “Candy,” he says, softly, and I stare at him, this man who owns my heart and soul, this man who calls himself a killer. And yes, he is, but he’s not a monster. Gabriel is a monster.

  “I need to hear you say it, baby,” he urges.

  “I won’t leave with him. I promise. No matter what it takes.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Savage

  Candace fixes her face while I stand at the window of the hotel bedroom, contemplating going all caveman and shit on her. I could put her on a damn plane and send her to New York. The only reason I don’t is Pocher who lives in North Hampton. He’s a bad news dude, a powerful man with the resources of the Society, which is basically the backdoor government, Washington’s underground. Which is why I need Kane Mendez. He doesn’t just legitimately own the oil industry, and buckets of cash, he’s connected to a drug cartel. And he and that cartel, hate Pocher. Kane Mendez might be dirty, but he’s the kind of dirty we need.