by RC Boldt
“I want it all, Nico. Don’t treat me with kid gloves.”
Lips flattening, he eyes me hard. “If I hurt you…” He swallows audibly, and his brows descend in a harsh line.
“You won’t.” I say this with complete confidence, willing him to believe my words. When he makes no indication that he plans to move, I try to urge him on.
Reaching between us, I cup my breasts, and he lifts, watching me as I sweep my thumbs over my nipples. Cinching my legs tighter around his waist, I rock my hips. “I don’t want you to hold anything back.”
Jaw clenched tight, he darts his attention between my eyes and where I’m caressing my breasts. Finally, he grunts, “Fuck,” before pumping his hips, giving a powerful surge deeper.
Incinerating heat spreads through my body like an out-of-control brushfire at the sight of the tendons in his neck jutting out. My body blazes, burning for him as he fully relinquishes his hold on his restraint.
He drops his head, raking his teeth along my neck, nipping and licking and planting messy kisses. His breath puffs against my skin as he works his body, giving powerful thrust after thrust, laying siege to my body.
I reach for his biceps, clutching them while I work my hips in tandem to his thrusts. Electrifying lust skates down my spine while my body pleads for more, and I feel myself grow slicker.
Rough hands travel down my body before he secures my hips and grinds against me, working my clit. My body clamors for a release that’s barely in reach, every muscle in my body straining for him to grind the root of his cock against me in one more perfect motion.
My voice is a barely audible whimper, but it’s laden with need. “Oh, God, yes.” My muscles go rigid before my entire body quakes and I pulse around him over and over.
The power and speed of his thrusts intensify, and when I mold my palms over his firm, muscled ass, he goes wild. His hips punch deeper while he rakes his teeth along the side of my neck.
His hold on my body borders on desperate as he drives deep and hard. His body goes impossibly stiff a second before I feel him spill inside me, my inner muscles instinctively clamping tight around him.
A grunt falls from his lips before he slumps over me, yet he’s still mindful of his weight. Leaning on his forearms, he speaks against my ear, his voice breathless. “You did me in.”
His words surprise a little laugh out of me. I skim my fingertips along the dips and curves of his muscled back. “Likewise, Mr. Alcanzar.”
He raises his head, voice a deep rasp. “Yeah?” Nico’s features hold a boyish quality.
I give a partial shrug, schooling my expression to one of nonchalance. “I mean, it was okay. You know…for starters.”
His eyes narrow. “For starters, huh?” He draws closer, and the slight shift alerts me to his still semi-hard state. Nipping playfully at my bottom lip, he murmurs, “For starters just ain’t gonna do.”
“No?” I whisper against his mouth.
“Nope.” He eases himself off me, careful of the condom, and I instantly miss his comforting weight. Standing at the side of the bed, he holds out a hand to me. “Shower time.” His eyes dance with both mischief and affection. “Gotta prove I ain’t just for starters material.”
I let him help me up from the bed, barely containing my grin.
Minutes later, he proves it…tenfold.
52
Olivia
Friday Morning
Ducking inside the classroom storage closet before my first class of the day, I pull the door closed. I thumb open the old flip phone that’d been discreetly affixed to the underside of my office desk drawer, hidden by hard copies of grade reports.
Discovering the innocuous plain white Post-it note on today’s date of my office desk calendar made me aware the phone had been deposited. On the note was a brief reminder, penned in neat capital letters.
ORGANIZE HARD COPIES OF GRADE REPORTS
I’d immediately run the note through the office shredder.
Now, as I press send to call the only number stored in it, even while my heart twists painfully at what I must do, I wait until I hear the audible sound of the line being picked up.
“I’d like to reserve space for Sunday evening. In the new wing, if possible.”
The businesslike tone on the other end replies smoothly, without a trace of hesitation. “We can certainly accommodate your needs. How many will be in attendance?”
I close my eyes, attempting to calm my thundering heartbeat, and swallow hard before answering. “Aside from myself, three others for certain. I’m not sure how many other individuals might also choose to attend. I’ve already forwarded you the list of requested amenities.”
Drawing in a deep breath, I add quietly, “I’d like to voice my concern that one of your employees seems to have been in contact with a rival business. He can be rather…unpredictable, so it’s best if you’re prepared for this.”
A barely perceptible beat of silence greets my response.
“We’ll plan accordingly.”
“Also,” I quickly add, “I will personally require the necessary equipment.”
“Understood. Please keep us updated if anything should change. A representative will be in touch with you this afternoon.”
When the call ends, I stare down at the cell phone in my hand as if it alone is the traitor in all of this. As if it’s betrayed me. But that’s not the case.
If it were, my heart wouldn’t be crumbling within my chest.
53
Olivia
Friday Afternoon
I may be dragging today due to my meager amount of sleep last night because of Nico, but I have no regrets whatsoever. We spent the remainder of the night exploring each other’s bodies with a natural ease I’d never experienced.
My stomach tightens at the thought because I doubt I’ll experience that again. The clock is ticking, time working against us, and if I had the power to slow it down, I would do it in a heartbeat.
In desperate need of a second latte, this one with an additional shot of espresso, I lock my office door and dart across the wide, paved walkways linking the campus buildings to the closest café.
Stepping inside the air-conditioning, a refuge from the typical Miami midday heat, I breathe a sigh of relief. A nagging throbbing behind my eyelids alerts me to an oncoming stress headache, but I welcome the discomfort it brings. I may not regret last night with Nico, but I will regret what’s to come on Sunday.
While I wait in line alongside impatient students scrolling on their cell phones or taking selfies, I send up a silent plea to the universe, Let it not be him. If he’s the one to show up today, I have no doubt it will exacerbate my stress headache tenfold.
Of course, my plea goes unanswered. The worst part is, I can’t be sure whether my earlier message will be disregarded or whether we’re all pawns.
Goddammit, I’m so tired of this shit.
Moving into the designated space where other patrons await their coffees, I somehow manage to suppress my look of distaste when he steps up beside me.
“Heard you’re overseeing a new project.” With a meaningful pause, he adds, “A big one.”
I don’t bother looking at him. From my periphery, I see he’s still in his preferred nerdy TA attire—lanyard with pens clipped to it and crooked eyeglasses perched on his nose.
“That’s right, Charlie.” If he thinks I’ll make this easy for him, he’s even more of an imbecile than I originally thought.
He gives a disapproving grunt. “Big projects usually mean they need all hands on deck.”
“That they do.”
A barista calls out my name, sliding the coffee cup across the counter. I step up to retrieve it, turning abruptly in hopes that Charlie will be too disgruntled to bother with me.
Of course, that’s a pipe dream.
He steps in front of me, blocking my exit, eyes dark with irritation. “I got us a table, Professor. Surely, you can spare a moment to speak with me about the project.”<
br />
I grit my teeth. “Fine.”
He gestures to a table a few feet away where his messenger bag sits. I settle into a chair, and he takes one opposite me, glancing around before planting his piercing gaze on me. As usual, a pompous air cloaks him.
He thinks I’m not astute enough to pick up on things—specifically his little slipup during his visit the other day.
“How much are they paying you?”
Unease dashes across his features, but it’s gone in an instant, serving as the only indication I caught him off guard with my question. “What’re you talking about?”
Assessing him thoroughly, it’s as though I’m sitting opposite a complete stranger. He’s become a wasteland of treachery and deceit.
When had it happened?
I steel my spine, knowing what needs to be done. It’s time to throw down the gauntlet.
“How’s Evie these days?”
At the mention of his soon-to-be ex-wife, his jaw clenches tight, eyes narrowing to slits. And not simply because I’m going against protocol.
I run my fingertip along the ridge of the coffee lid, casually observing the patrons milling around the café. Though I don’t spot them, it would be naïve of me to assume I’m not being watched by any of Nico’s men. “If I’m not mistaken, last I heard, she was divorcing you. Demanding a hell of a settlement, too.”
The edges of his eyes tighten, and sharp creases bracket his mouth. The fingers of the arm resting on the table ball into a fist.
Serene expression in place, I ensure my tone matches it. “I wager a settlement like that would dry a man out.”
He firmly stamps his lips together, his eyes boiling with fury.
I take a sip of my coffee and glance around the café. “Tell me this, Charlie. How’d you learn about the shooting?”
His blue eyes turn frosty like his tone. “You know word gets around fast with the locals.”
Not exactly a clear, concise answer, but I’m not surprised. This asshole’s going to make me lay a goddamn trap. Even though my gut doesn’t need more convincing, my brain does. Protocol requires it.
Goddamn this motherfucker for double-crossing me.
An inner voice chimes in with, Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing to Nico?
Shit.
Recognizing a dead end when I see one, I shift gears. “I’m sure you’ll agree it’s wise to see how the competition runs things. After all”—I lean back in my chair, exuding an air of confidence—“I am the prodigal daughter.”
He remains silent, but I know I’ve hooked him, so I continue.
Lips curving into a confident, knowing smile, I lift a shoulder in a casual half-shrug. “I’d like to be involved with the family operations after this, since I’ll soon be bringing something considerable to the table.” I arch an eyebrow pointedly. “If you can pass on that message, I’d appreciate it.”
His mouth twists as if he’s just tasted something rancid. “I’m not a damn messenger.” With a stare dripping with suspicion, he taunts in a low, lethal tone, “I think it’s a little too late for you to join the family business, Wright. You chose your side. With your fuckboy.”
And you chose yours, I muse silently. Arching an eyebrow, I take a quick sip of my latte. “Did I?” Sliding my chair back, I rise with my coffee in hand. “It’s been lovely chatting with you, but I have a class to teach.”
Before I can stride away and put much-needed distance between us, he shoots out a hand, his fingers capturing my wrist in a tight grip. I stare down at it pointedly before pinning him with an icy glare. My words are calm but firm. “Kindly remove your hand.”
He doesn’t. Instead, he tugs on it, and in order to avoid a scene, I step closer to him. I’m only slightly appeased that I’m the one peering down at him as he remains seated.
His voice is a hiss, barely audible above the din of the bustling café, but the threat laced in it is unmistakable. “Don’t fuck with me, Wright. I’ve got too much riding on this. I’ll make sure you regret it.”
“Then this is goodbye.” I stay silent, my gaze unwavering, clashing with his. A part of me that refuses to be suppressed mourns this—the choices he’s made, the man he’s become, and the line he’s drawn.
The line he fucking launched himself past.
“I have a class to teach.”
He relinquishes his hold. Without another word, I leave him sitting there, but the weight of his eyes boring into my back stays with me for the rest of the day. Which is both good and bad.
Good, in that it serves as a reminder of what’s at stake.
Bad, because now I know with certainty he’s not to be trusted. But this isn’t the worst part.
It’s the ominous premonition that the worst is yet to come.
54
Nico
“Got somethin’ for you to see.” Rafe hands me his cell phone, and I stare down at the image on the screen. “Guys just sent this over.”
It’s a photo of Olivia in one of the coffee shops on campus. She’s surrounded by students and a man holds her wrist. From the angle the photo was taken, it’s clear that he was the full recipient of her razor-sharp glare because her body language shows clear irritation and anger. That mouth of hers is set in a firm line, and anger flames from those expressive eyes.
That’s my professor, all right. Feisty as hell. It’s almost enough to make me smile…except this motherfucker thinks he’s got the right to touch her.
My voice is low, but my anger mounts rapidly. “Hold up a fuckin’ minute.” Rafe had told me some TA had been sniffing around Olivia. He’d spotted the name on the guy’s university lanyard, and it’d been easy to find him on the university’s math department webpage. Charlie Murphey. A math geek. Nothing noteworthy on him.
“That’s the fuckin’ TA.” My eyes cut to Rafe’s, and fury courses through my veins. The fuck is he doin’ touchin’ my woman?
I study the photo and swipe the screen to see the two others that show Olivia striding away from the man, chin up, shoulders back, looking confident as hell. Knowing her, she probably handed him his ass. And rightly so.
Fuck. If she doesn’t mention it to me, I’ve got to respect that she’s handled it and doesn’t want me involved. Even if my blood boils at him thinking he had the right to touch her. Olivia could never be an obligation to me—she’s far more than that—but hell if I’m not feeling overwhelmed by the shit compiling right now, demanding I stay on top of it.
I hold the phone out for Rafe, and he pockets it. His expression tells me there’s more bad news, and his words confirm it. “Shit’s gettin’ worse. We gotta find the source that’s leakin’ info to Santilla.”
I blow out a long breath. I’m so fucking tired of this shit. “I’ll find ’em and deal with ’em myself.”
Rafe hesitates. “Even if it’s her?” A challenge is posed in his question.
“Yeah,” I answer quietly while tension bleeds into my body, radiating to every inch. “Even if.”
Even if it’s her. Even if it fucking twists my insides to think that she might be trying to pull some shady shit. Because I’ve got too damn much riding on this to have anyone fuck it up.
Even if she makes me wish I had the kind of life where a woman like her and a man like me could be together.
Even if.
55
Olivia
Saturday
I’ve worked out and showered, and Nico still hasn’t returned from whatever business he had to attend to with Goliath. It’s a gorgeous day, so I decided to see if Carlina was free.
Me: Want to meet for lunch at Koko Kabana?
Carlina: I would, but I have a blind-ish date. A girl in my Pilates class fixed me up with her brother-in-law. I trolled his Instagram and he’s cute, but we’ll see if he chews with his mouth open or something.
Me: LOL. Well, good luck and keep me posted.
Carlina: xo
So, here I am, waiting to be dropped off at the restaurant to have lunch alone. On
e of Nico’s guys, Marcus, is behind the wheel, navigating his way through the congested Miami traffic.
“You’re more than welcome to join me,” I offer. He’s planning to sit in the restaurant’s bar while I’ll be in the dining area—within view, of course. I thought the man might soften up to me enough to have a full-fledged conversation over a meal.
But no. Marcus is a man of few words and grunts—literally.
“No, thanks,” he replies curtly. I don’t take offense because he uses the same monotone for everything. But this time, he actually tacks on an under-his-breath mumble that sounds like, “Boss’d kill me.”
I lean forward in my seat. “Excuse me?”
But all he says is, “We’re here,” and pulls into a parking space.
The instant I exit the vehicle, I’m slapped in the face by the oppressive humidity and hurriedly stride up the walk to the Koko Kabana with Marcus lagging a few feet behind. I can practically taste the ahi tuna tacos already.
Because they’re prone to having a lengthy waitlist for their general dining area, I called ahead. As soon as I offer my name, the hostess escorts me to a little two-seater table overlooking the Miami Riverwalk—and within Marcus’s line of sight as well.
I order a mojito and ahi tuna tacos and pull my phone from my purse. A new research article has just been published, and I’m eager to read it since it pertains to the study of the criminal mind.
Once I’ve finished my lunch, I nurse a second mojito and circle back to a particular quote from the researcher. “Criminal roots can be changed.”
