It would be a good way to welcome myself back to New York. Celebrate in a JFK stall. Maybe a service closet because no one was expecting me until the next morning anyway. I shot a smile at Legs, who was currently stretching, standing to the overhead compartment to retrieve something. Another move she made that told me she was good at game-playing herself. She wore a fitted skirt and a flowy blouse with a cinched waist. It made that glorious body look dangerous, and I was in the mood to be a little reckless. Legs looked around the cabin, shrugging to herself when no flight attendant approached, and pulled open the compartment, grabbing what looked like a small wallet.
Legs turned to face me, adjusting something in her seat that brought her body facing me. She moved her gaze from the blanket she pretended to fix, right to my face. I held that sharp gaze a full six seconds, examining the planes of her pretty face. The smooth, young skin, the pronounced angles of her chin, and the thin top lip dwarfed by a bottom lip that had no business being that full and that damn sexy. Green eyes, from what I could make of them and perfectly trimmed, arched brows. She was just this side of being too polished, too well put-together, but that only added to her appeal. I felt a deep-down craving to muss her perfect hair and smear her lipstick, all over my stomach and…
Legs stood straight, grabbing her small bag before she left her seat. Hips in a tempting sway as she walked toward me. I got an up-close look, and my suspicions were confirmed: fucking glorious, gorgeous, and definitely interested. No one looks at a perfect stranger the way she looked at me. Not unless they were attracted, and holy hell, did that look promise she was a shit-ton more than attracted.
Her gaze went primal, hungry. The way she let her eyes glide over my face, right down to my lap, told me all I needed to know. She was biding her time. Maybe waiting for me to make a move, speak just a little to encourage her. But I was good at the game, remember? You don’t show your hand so soon after the game has started.
When she swept by my seat, close enough to reach out and touch my shoulder, I moved, leaning my seat back, smiling at the heat I felt from her stare as I closed my eyes. I caught her perfume as she moved by me —a fucking delicious scent that made me want to dive right between her thighs—and I licked my lips, wondering if she spotted the movement, hoping it frustrated her that I was playing distant.
The smell of her perfume disappeared, and I moved the smile off my face, making a mental note to thank my new boss Raquel for the shot at the crime beat in one of the most prestigious papers in the country—and the first-class ticket. I felt like a king, comfortable, smug at having caught the attention of such a gorgeous woman, but then one of the flight attendants went around the plane, asking for final requests, and I knew we’d be landing soon.
Since I got the job offer, there’d been an acute sense that something was off. Something that made me a little suspicious. I was a great writer. I was even better at researching and pressing leads for information, but I wasn’t the best. Not just yet. So why did I land this gig? And in New York, of all places?
It was probably stupid to be paranoid. Likely even more asinine to listen to my big brother’s warning before I left Seattle.
“Watch your back, Kiel. That family has a long reach.”
He meant the Carellis. He meant the past.
Five years ago, Cara Carelli had jerked me into her criminal world with her mouth and hands, with her warm thighs and hotter pussy. She’d driven me away from who I was and any semblance of who I wanted to be. I’d loved her. I’d have done anything for her.
I’d been a punk kid just finishing up a journalism degree at NYU. She’d been the troubled source I ran into while trying to break a huge story. That story ended up with me getting the shit beat out of me and her brother and her father’s goons laughing at me as I bled out on the pavement. She’d told the cops I was a stalker. She’d told her family she didn’t know me at all. None of those things was true.
I knew Cara. I knew exactly where she lived and how she tasted.
It took years for me to get my head on right. It took a lot of liquor and days of listening to my brother tell me what I’d done wrong and how not to do it again.
Cara had lied, and when I’d left New York after graduation with my killer story a bust, my internship done, and my heart ripped to shreds, I promised myself I’d never go back.
And here I was. About to land in the one place I told myself I never wanted to be again.
What the hell was I doing?
“You know.” I heard, moving my head to the side when that familiar perfume filled my sinuses again. “I have a two-hour layover.”
“Is that so?” I slid my arm behind my head, blinking my eyes open to see Legs staring down at me. She nodded, pressing her lips together, looking hungry. The brunette rested an arm on the headrest of my seat, and I pulled on her wrist, examining her left hand just to have something to do. She let me take her fingers, press them against my palm. Her skin was soft, supple like her body, and her nails were long, shaped but neat. “I might be able to help you fill your time.” I sat up when she pulled her hand away, pretending to be a little wary of me. Then when I turned toward her, resting on my elbow, she fought a smile. “I might be able to fill a few things.”
A quick blush crept across her face. She didn’t frown or seem at all put off by my innuendo. I got a noncommittal shrug for my effort before Legs returned to her seat, shooting one final glance my way before the captain came on the overhead speaker, informing everyone to return to their seats.
“Your glass, Mr. Kaino?” The flight attendant held out her hand, and I nodded, slamming back the contents of my whiskey, licking my lips clean before I handed over the glass, throwing the woman a wink for her trouble. But my head was still in the game and working out how to be smooth and subtle, just to see where Legs wanted to go.
Central Park was the first thing you spotted when you descended toward New York. It went on forever, miles and miles of lush green in the center of buildings that seemed to stretch and reach beyond anything you could see. There were skyscrapers and landmarks all clustered tightly together, and in the middle of all that, the massive park. Just the sight of it brought back picnics with Cara and the lies that spilled from her mouth.
Legs spared one final glance my way, eyebrows up in a silent question, and I grinned, moving my chin down to answer her. It was on, and I had every intention of starting my life in New York inside this beautiful, welcoming woman.
“Enjoy your stay,” the flight attendant said, slipping something into my hand as I left the plane. I guessed what it was before I hit the jetway, fisting the wad of paper with a random phone number as I moved into the airport.
Legs was four feet in front of me, hips swaying, fluffing her hair as she moved toward baggage claim to grab her luggage. There was one small bag waiting for her. I didn’t have anything but the duffle on my shoulder, but I waited, hanging back as she grabbed her suitcase, pretending to be more interested in my phone than the beautiful woman who slipped through the crowd, tossing a curious glance at me.
Kane had texted about my flight, and I winked at Legs, not watching the screen. I sent my brother a quick “just landed” text before I walked behind the woman, catching up to her as she headed toward a hallway sealed off with an “Employees Only” sign haphazardly taped to the wall. I focused on the slow tap of her heels and the roll of her suitcase wheels moving ahead of me and not the vacant hallway or abandoned cleaning equipment around us.
Legs disappeared through the last door on the left, and that gut instinct of worry returned.
The woman stood against an empty wall, hands tucked demurely behind her back as she waited for me. She’d already taken her shoes off and moved her bag to the side.
Two steps from her, I paused, securing her hand against my chest when she held up her palm. “How do you know about this place?”
Legs shrugged, and there was a playful smirk moving her top lip. “I know people.”
“You don’t kn
ow me,” I told her, licking my lips when she curled her fingers around my collar.
“I’m about to.”
A small release of sweet, bourbon-tinted breath and I grabbed Legs by the back of the neck, stumbling just a little when that full mouth dropped open and she offered me her tongue. She hummed against my mouth, seeming to get a thrill at how I held her, how tightly I fisted her skirt in between my fingers when she stepped closer.
“Shit…you taste so good,” she told me, as though she were surprised. She didn’t pause for long and gripped my hair, moving my face closer, pressing her whole body against mine. “Better than I thought you would.”
Her hair was thick lush, and I twirled it between my fingers, using it to guide her head to the left as I licked a path along her neck. “You taste exactly like I thought you would. Sweet.” I nibbled at the dip beneath her throat, then up to her ear. “Succulent.” Teeth tugging on her lobe, I released the smallest growl. “Hot.”
“Ah…”
Legs was a beautiful woman, and despite how my mother had raised me, despite what I knew was right and wrong, I was about to fuck her in an empty bathroom at the JFK airport. It made no sense to want this woman, but I did. She reminded me of…
“Antonia!” I heard, and the woman in my arms broke away from me, pushing me back against the wall like she wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near me.
“I…”
Two oversized men stood in the center of the room, stoic and stern, but neither of them had called her name. The sound of clicking heels met us from behind those men, and they broke apart, moving aside, and the clicking got louder.
Cara stood in front of us, looking fierce. More beautiful than I’d ever seen her, but she paid no attention to me. She glared at Legs, her face tight with anger. “I told you to get him here,” she said, taking two more steps that put her right in front of us. “I never said you could try to fuck my husband.”
Tension moved between my shoulders at the sound of her voice, and that feeling I’d had all day burned inside my gut like a virus. Cara moved her head, gesturing for Legs to leave before she faced me. There was something cool and detached in her features, and just that look was warning enough. I should have bolted for the door.
Fucking hell, I should have listened to my brother’s warning.
But I hadn’t, and just then, Cara faced me, keeping her features stern and her eyes dull.
“Hi, Kiel,” she said, reaching out a hand to adjust my tie. “Welcome home.”
2
Kiel
Two big assholes, not a neck between them, stood watching me. Maybe they wanted me to back up, because their sheer size was something that might make a regular guy get a little worried. I wasn’t a regular guy. Don’t let the tie or the NYU degree fool you. I could start—and finish—shit no matter the size of the asshole coming at me. My brother taught me to stand when you could and walk away when you couldn’t. Two against one, all the exits blocked, I knew well enough to stand my ground.
Cara’s goons were strangers. At least, their squat faces weren’t familiar. Definitely wasn’t her brother. I remembered the exact structure of her brother’s features and the faces of every meathead her father employed. I’d seen those faces twisted up in fury as they screamed at me, threw threats and promises my way that still made my fists tighten when I thought of it. But the two men blocking my exit weren’t familiar.
“They don’t speak English,” Cara explained when I shot a glare at those roughnecks, asking who they were with a twist of my chin in their direction. “I hired them.”
“I don’t care.”
That stung her. At least, that’s what I picked up on when she flinched at my reaction ten seconds after Legs, or I guess Antonia was her name, hurried out of the room. “I know things didn’t end well with us,” Cara tried, and I shook my head, disregarding her with a quick flip of the bird as I made like I would follow Legs’s lead. But the meatheads blocked my path. Their expressions, all hapless and angry, told me they hadn’t liked me flipping off their boss.
Outnumbered or not, I felt my anger swell high enough that I got in the mood for a scuffle. Cara always made me want to hit something. Just then, it was the assholes crowding me when I tried to walk away.
“You boys want shit to get messy?” I asked them, knowing I couldn’t take them all on my own, but not caring about that fact. Instead, I loosened my tie, readying myself. “Not real happy about getting busted and bruised, but fuck it. I haven’t had a good tussle in weeks.”
I dropped my jacket, tossing it onto the duffle next to the wall, and popped my neck just before Cara took hold of my arm, turning me to face her. “Like I said, chooch. They don’t speak English.” Her olive complexion brightened, those high cheekbones accentuated by a deep pink color.
“Fine,” I told her, pulling out of her reach. I didn’t bother commenting on the insult she’d flung at me. It was a habit she hadn’t gotten rid of, but she could call me a jackass all she wanted. That wouldn’t stop me from leaving. “Tell them to get out of my way.”
“I need to talk to you.” She curled her arms tightly. Her toned bicep flexed before she took two steps back when I grabbed my duffle and jacket, stuffing my loose tie into my pocket. Her mouth was tight, as though it took her more composure than she had not to scream because I wasn’t immediately falling at my knees in front of her. Those black eyes of hers widened, lashes blinking fast as she watched me. I hated that she was still so beautiful. Even with the frown breaking from her twitching mouth, those thick, pink lips smoothing together, and the shift of her attention from my face to the room around us, she still was fucking beautiful.
“We can’t…” She waved a hand around the bathroom, nose curling as she spotted the empty urinals and stalls with no toilets inside them. “I’ll take you to your hotel. We’ll talk there.”
One thing I learned about Cara Carelli in the brief months we’d been married: you don’t argue. Not about the small shit anyway. You gave her what she wanted and then got the hell away from her. She’d come back and want something else, but it was that first request that meant the most to her.
She wanted the upper hand.
She wanted the game to start in her favor.
She wanted you to know she could get anything she wanted from you, no matter how stupid the request.
This would be the only one I’d give her.
Her gaze was like a lick of fire as she watched me shrug on my jacket. Each movement she seemed to memorize, but I didn’t watch her, not when I straightened my collar or fastened the open buttons on my shirt. That stare was something I remembered. It was something that burned like a snake bite pushing venom into my veins. It was something you had to ignore, or it would set your entire body ablaze. I gave up loving that burn a long time ago, but the scars would likely never heal.
I didn’t bother acknowledging her goons as I gripped my duffle and nodded toward the door, waiting for Cara. Seemed like I was always waiting on Cara.
She managed a nod, an action that took her a second to accomplish; an action that made her look unsure and nervous.
I gave her one look, catching the way the sharp glint in her eyes lessened and how her face relaxed. She was shooting for friendly, or at least, not bitchy. That was the closest any Carelli got to friendliness. Cara wanted something. She wanted me to give it to her. I inhaled, wishing for a do-over.
Wishing like hell my path had never crossed Cara’s.
A jerk of my head and I nodded toward the door, ignoring the way her mouth twitched, like she was happy I wasn’t putting up a fight. “Lead the way.”
3
Kiel
There were two cars, both S-Class Mercedes, black, and not remotely subtle. One dipped with the combined weight of the two meatheads when they ambled inside. Cara sat next to me in a Benz that matched the one in front of us. At least she hadn’t used the limos. That would have gotten us more attention than the quick escape we were able to make from the airport
with those grunting assholes clearing a path for us.
She didn’t ask where I was staying. Didn’t say much at all as we pulled away from the airport and the stone-faced driver navigating the ridiculous sedan slipped into traffic, following the lead of the car ahead of us. Cara didn’t speak, and I damn sure wouldn’t. But I couldn’t ignore the sweet, seductive whiff of her perfume filling the cab of the car. Chanel. Rich. Tempting. A scent that had distracted me the first time I met her. The first time I’d hassled her into giving me a lead on the story I was chasing.
Outside the window, New York went by in a blur of sound and light. So much was familiar to me. So much of it made me feel like a stranger to the city I’d called home. I’d been a kid the last time I was here. I’d been a kid in love with a girl who was no good for me.
The same girl who turned her back on me and let her father send me packing, running for home like a dog with a limp. But some things hadn’t changed, like the slip of the sun sinking into the river and the dance of light that reminded me of the clear, inky black night back home in Seattle. Here, you couldn’t make out the stars, not like you could back home, but the skyscrapers and buildings peppered all over the city created its own kind of universe. In the center of it was that smell and the woman next to me. I told myself I hated both, and maybe, deep down, I did. But something inside me stirred and warmed when Cara shifted in her seat, leaning to her side as she did. She wore a fitted dress and three-inch heels that made those toned calves of hers flex when she stretched her feet.
I closed my eyes, trying to ignore that intense feeling that rattled my insides. It was lust, pure and simple. Cara wasn’t some typical mafia princess. She fit no stereotype. She was smart, she was ruthless, and my God, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
Nailed Down: The Complete Series Page 17
