East End

by Nana Malone

  His sharp green gaze narrowed on mine. "Then why do you seem sad?"

  I brushed my hair up my face, pulling it up and tying it into a bun. It gave me something to do under his intense scrutiny. "Um, because while the drive is there for the same reasons, my approach is different. I'm impulsive, too emotional. I go with my gut, and when I can taste a mystery in the air, I cannot let go. That is where Dad and I are the same. The case he was on when my mother died is still unsolved, even today. And he's been after that case for thirty years. Thirty years of chasing a ghost. Dad has never given up looking for him, the one that got away. He’s obsessed about it."

  "That's a long time to chase after something you never catch."

  "I know, right? I'm not sure that I could do it."

  We stopped at a bridge overlooking the water, and I sucked in a sharp breath as I watched a pair of swans swim by. "Oh my God, they're beautiful."

  He nodded. "Yeah, this is actually a manmade canal between a couple of the hotels. But don't get too close. Swans are assholes."

  "You know, I’ve heard that."

  I watched the stately pair swim by with several downy gray awkward-looking babies behind them. When I turned back to East with a smile, his eyes were warm as he watched me, and my belly flipped. "What are you looking at?"

  "A beautiful woman."

  "Pfft, how many women have you called beautiful this week alone?"

  He shook his head. "Just the one. You should probably know something about me, Nyla. I only say what I mean."

  Heat licked at my cheeks, and I directed my attention toward the water. "Yeah, well, I don't have a lot of experience with that."

  "Not everyone is, your boss," he said softly.

  "I know." I lifted my gaze, focusing on him again, and the tension between us pulled tight. Despite my brain giving the command to my feet to turn around and head back on the path they'd traveled, the idiot that I was swayed forward.

  "Nyla, do you know you smell incredible?” he murmured. “I've been thinking about your scent since that first night I saw you."

  "East, this is probably a bad idea," I whispered. But I didn’t step away.

  "I promised I wasn't going to touch you until you asked me to." That deep, velvet voice was a caress, teasing, stroking.

  I laughed. "Why do you have to make this weird? There's moonlight, it's beautiful, and there are some freaking swans, so just kiss me already."

  What are you doing?

  I was in Monaco. It was so easy to pretend. And maybe, just maybe, for a moment, I wanted to be wanted. Was that so wrong?

  Yes, you will regret this.

  For once, I didn't care.

  "I would like the record to show that you asked me to kiss you."

  The smile made my lips twitch even as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine.

  East

  I didn't want to stop. She tasted like sunshine and Sunday mornings and bliss. Hell, I didn't think I could stop. She tasted so fucking good. All those nights I had lain there staring at my ceiling, swearing I imagined her smell, now I knew. I had imagined nothing. She tasted just as good as I’d remembered. I didn't want to take it too far or push too much, but I was like a starving man who had been denied the one thing he’d wanted for too long, and I was reckless. I dipped my tongue inside, searching, tasting. I might have taken the lead, but it was she who owned me. She was the one driving this. It was because of her that I felt this way.

  Alarm bells made the hairs on my neck stand up at attention. My body hummed. But I was too far gone in the kiss to examine why. I just threw myself headlong into her taste and her flavor, and not giving a fuck where we were. Then I felt the hit. Nyla was being jerked away from me. For the first time since being inducted into the Elite, I was grateful for their barbarian training methods, forcing us out into the woods, in the cold and the rain, hungry and tired. Forcing us to learn to rely on our instincts, on our training, because to fight the two men who had made a grab for Nyla's bag, I needed all my wits.

  But even better, as I whirled on the larger man to the left, I saw Nyla delivering several elbows. No qualms, just full lips set in grim determination.

  I wanted to keep her safe. I wanted to tuck her behind me and take both of them on, but Nyla was a goddamn Interpol agent. She knew how to fight. She didn’t need me in there protecting her. That was a recipe for disaster and a path that could get one or both of us killed. So I just focused on the man in front of me. I blocked his attempted hook shot to my temple.

  I blocked wrist to wrist, keeping his arm far away from my body. I delivered a front kick just above his groin, doubling him over, and then sent an uppercut. He was big and meaty. Built like a fucking brick shit house, but I kept up the assault. Kept going. Strike. Strike. Jab. Kick. A knee kick and another hook brought him to his knees, and then I delivered a knee to his face. With a crack and a groan, he toppled over. I whirled on Nyla and her opponent. She had his arm behind his back. He was fighting and twisting, and Nyla grabbed him by the hair and leaned forward. "Stop fighting, or you'll hurt yourself."

  "Fuck off, you bitch."

  "God, you are so rude.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “What do you want?"

  "We were sent to deliver a message," her assailant snarled.

  "You wanted to deliver a message?” she asked incredulously. “You came all this way and ruined a perfectly adequate kiss for a message? You couldn’t have texted it?"

  I threw my hands up. "What? Adequate?"

  Her gaze flickered up to me, and she shrugged. "I mean, as billionaires go, you're okay."

  A smirk played across my lips, but she was already leaning forward, speaking to asshole number two again. "Go on, tell me, what's the message?"

  She had him in a good hold; any movement and he could break his arm. And by her pulling his hair back, he was forced to arch into a position of pain. If he wiggled, he'd hurt himself. "And I told you to fuck—" Nyla tipped his head back just a little bit more, and he howled. Grimacing, he gasped out, "Don’t pursue the case, or we will kill your family."

  Nyla laughed then. "Oh, you must not know who my family is. He has guns that are a lot more terrifying than you."

  Then the idiot fought her hold, and sure enough, he dislocated his own shoulder. He shrieked and cried. From somewhere behind us came a crack, and a stone to the right of us splintered. I grabbed her, tugging her safely behind a car for cover. Frick then used his good arm to push himself up and ran over to Frack and dragged him toward the alley.

  I started to go after them, but Nyla held me still. "Ah, hello, you idiot. Someone's shooting at us."

  "They're getting away. Don't we need more answers?"

  She stared at me. "They have guns. We don't fuck with guns."

  I remembered then that she didn't know anything about who I really was, what I could do, just what I could get away with. To her, I was a guy who wore a suit. A billionaire with the jets, and the cars, and the fun. She didn't know me as one of the most powerful men in Britain, if not the world. She didn't know I was Elite. "Are you okay?"

  She touched her jaw and cheekbone and then winced. "I'm fine. He hit like a bitch."

  I bit back a chuckle. Considering I had witnessed her deliver some grade-A punches to him, I knew what this particular woman could do.

  And then I saw the police lights. Someone in the building must have seen what was happening and called.

  "Are you in the mood to have a conversation about this?"

  She shook her head. "No. I would have to disclose this at Interpol. My father would be called, and I do not want to say a word about this just now."

  I hesitated, then asked, "What did he mean?"

  She frowned. "My father?"

  I shook my head. "No, the guy whose arm you dislocated. What did he mean when he said stay away from the case?"

  "I have no idea. I’m involved with dozens of cases."

  Everything about her read insincerity. And when Nyla Kincade lied, there was
nothing of the usual lightness and buoyancy in her expression. There was no enthusiasm in her look. And I could tell she was lying to me.

  "Something about the painting?" I pushed.

  "I told you, I don't know.” She shrugged. “Besides, that would be an Interpol thing, and you're a civilian."

  "Right, I'm a civilian. Come on, we can either stay here and have a long conversation with the authorities, or we can go have a soak in a tub."

  I unfolded to my full height and reached for her hand. She didn't take it. Instead, she pushed herself up on her own. But when she made it to vertical, she winced. I reached for her and tucked her against my side. "You're not okay. Why are you being stubborn?"

  "Yeah, see, I was trying to do that whole thing where I listen to my body and know what’s going on with it, but I just got my ass kicked.” She waved one hand from her head to her midsection. “All of this hurts."

  "I know. Let's go. It's about time we get you cleaned up."

  11

  Nyla

  "So, do you want to explain to me what the hell is going on?"

  I stiffened at that. "There's nothing going on."

  His chuckle was low as he poured antiseptic onto a cotton ball. Then he leaned forward, and the scent of the ocean assailed me. How could something smell so good and enticing as it pulled me in, tempting me to walk on its sandy shores, to dig my toes in. Come on in, the water is fine.

  I shook my head. "I don't know what you want me to tell you, East. I don't know who they were."

  "They were looking for something. What were they looking for?"

  "Even if I knew, I wouldn’t have the liberty to tell you that. I'm Interpol. You understand that, don't you?"

  "Of course I understand that. I'm not an idiot. But I can't help you if you don't tell me something."

  "Maybe it has to do with my case. Maybe it's related to the forgers," I lied smoothly. Lying was always a strength for me. It was easy. Blank face. Blank expression. Neutral. I'd been wearing a neutral expression so long that half the time I smiled and didn't recognize my face when it showed emotions. "Look, I don't know why we were attacked."

  He nodded then muttered, "I'm sorry." It was so soft, I barely heard it.

  "What?"

  And then he applied the antiseptic.

  I howled. "Jesus fucking Christ, aww that stings."

  "And the lady curses like a bloody sailor. I'm thrilled. Still, I'm sorry. Look, I have to apply this on those injuries, or we could go to the hospital. You choose. I have rudimentary supplies in here, but you might need to see a doctor."

  "I don't need a doctor." I tried to wiggle off the countertop, but his stupid big body blocked my way.

  His green eyes went mostly dark, and his gaze bore into mine. "No. You, Nyla, will sit here. And you will let me finish taking care of you."

  I tilted my chin up. "Well, you'll forgive me if I don't trust you. The last man that promised to take care of me stole my job and rubs his new girlfriend in my face every opportunity he gets. So, I'm not real keen on trusting you to take care of me, even with the simplest things like this." I didn’t understand why I’d said those words to him, but something pulled them out of me.

  He winced at that. "Wow, he did a number on you. You know, not everyone is untrustworthy."

  "It's weird, because that's the exact opposite of what my father taught me."

  He sighed. "Look, in this moment, I'm just here trying to get you cleaned up, okay? I'm trying to hurt you as little as possible. Can we agree on that?"

  I shrugged. Oh yeah, petulance, because that's the answer. "Fine."

  He nodded. Each press of antiseptic made me grit my teeth and groan. His voice was soft. Crooning. "I'm sorry. Does anything else hurt?"

  I shook my head, and all the while the scent of the ocean wrapped around me, and I could almost hear the waves as they crashed upon the shore, leaving seashells and seaweed in their wake. That's what it felt like with him. The crashing of a wave and the end of peace, but also the hint of excitement that the waves promised on a hot summer day.

  Jesus Christ, I needed help.

  You kissed him.

  No, I did not kiss him, I allowed him to kiss me. That’s different.

  Uh-huh.

  Fuck. I lifted my gaze to meet his, and of course, my eyes fell. His lips were so full and still slightly bruised from our kiss earlier.

  God, that kiss.

  The man’s kisses were like the air that I breathed. Necessary for living, necessary for existing. His tongue sliding over mine had left me with this lingering feeling of awareness. And if I was being honest, the awareness had been there from the moment I'd first seen him. It was an awareness that I hadn't indulged much.

  Liar.

  Okay, fine. I had made some good use of my battery-operated boyfriend. Thanks to him, since our stupid fight in the park, I couldn’t help having crazy longings. What was wrong with me? I knew exactly what he was, and I still found him irresistible.

  You don't know exactly what he is. You have no evidence. Innocent until proven guilty.

  That always irritated me about law enforcement. The presumption of innocence. Men like East Hale didn’t become billionaires by playing it safe—or playing by the rules. And I would do well to remember that. Because if I kept messing with him, I was going to get burned.

  But not tonight.

  Press.

  Hiss.

  Dab.

  Groan.

  Swipe.

  "Holy fuck."

  East compressed his lips together. "Sorry. You’ve got a couple of scrapes here. I'm just trying to get them clean."

  "You know, you don't have to do this. I am capable of minor field dressing." But I’d stopped trying to get away from his ministrations.

  "I'm sure you are.” Beneath his glittering eyes stretched a predatory smile. “Because, of course, you can do anything, can’t you?"

  "Yes, I can."

  "Well, you're in luck. We're done." He tossed the used supplies in the trash, held up the gauze and bandaged up my jaw that had taken the majority of the scrapes and hits. He applied another butterfly suture to my hand, and then wrapped my right wrist. It wasn't broken. It wasn't even sprained, but it was irritated as hell. So yay, thanks to the sexy billionaire, my injuries were tended to.

  "You're all set. You can go sulk in your room now."

  A twinge of guilt pierced my heart. He was trying to help. "Look, I'm sorry. I just don't like being man-handled. And those assholes just now, I—" My nose stung, and my eyes started to water. What the fuck? I was not going to cry in front of this man who was basically a stranger.

  Can a man be a stranger if you've gotten off to the thought of him?

  Not at all relevant.

  "Hey. Hey, now, it's okay."

  He moved close and wrapped his arms around me, and God help me, I did feel safe. Which was my first mistake. It was so warm in his space. And wrapped there, I would start to think I was safe. I would start to think that nothing could touch me. The problem was I needed to know the truth about him before I could let myself surrender to feelings like that.

  But once you knew the truth, there was no going back. There was no return to sender. Men like East Hale were not to be trusted. Handsome, rich, ambitious, and then add in a dose of his general shadiness. Absolutely not. I’d been digging for months into their little boys' club at the London Lords. The clubs they belonged to. There were whisperings of a secret society, but they were just whisperings. That big old estate out in the village of Virginia Water where I had arrested Bram Van Linsted was listed as a property of Ben Covington.

  And I couldn’t even fathom why the Van Linsteds seemed to have lived there or were arrested there for that matter. I’d checked into the deed of sale on the property, and it looked like it was a gift. I tried to dig up a little more, but no one would talk about it or the secret society that seemed to be connected with it, which really set my alarm bells off. Usually, there was someone willing to g
ive up some information, but no one would talk, which only strengthened my suspicion that something was really going on there.

  Worse yet, the London Lords had handed me one of the biggest cases of my career tied up in a neat little bow. Too neat. And I hadn't even been researching that case. So why hand me the Van Linsteds, the sex ring, the human trafficking, or leads on missing girls unless there was something bigger, something worse and far more insidious that they were hiding?

  Or, like Denning says, you're just paranoid. And you are turning away a perfectly good dick.

  Oh, Jesus Christ, speaking of dick, I could feel his body flush against mine, and between my thighs was the press of... wow. He wasn't even hard, but I felt the length of him in his trousers, and he was gifted.

  Yeah, imagine if he was hard.

  Stop.

  I had to stop. This was ridiculous.

  I wiggled and ducked my head. "Thank you. I'm not used to someone taking care of me."

  He nodded slowly as his moss green eyes searched mine. "Of course." He stepped back.

  The loss of his heat and his scent made me want to cry out and reach for him. Instead, I balled my hands into fists so I wouldn’t make that mistake.

  "Listen,” he began, his tone brusque, all business. “Why don't you grab a shower, go to bed, and relax. Are you sure you don't want to call Interpol? It seems like something you should do. You're an agent. You were attacked in public."

  I shook my head. "No. Not until we have evidence, because that's just me running home to my dad to cry."

  He coughed at that. "Jesus, I get it. You're tough."

  I lifted my brow. "Oh right, the billionaire lord, wants to laugh at me having to be tough?"

  He furrowed his brow. "That's not what I meant."

  "Well, it sure sounded like it. You have the privilege of never having people assume that you're weak because you're a woman, and that you can't lead because you're a woman, that you can't fight because you're a woman. And God help you if you're a woman of color. My best friend, Amelia, every day she walks in, she has to be perfect. No mistakes, because she won't get a second chance. So please, don't be flippant. I won't report this unless I have to or unless I know what the hell is going on. You don’t turn up empty handed. That's a pussy move. Actually, no. Scratch that. That's a balls move. Pussies can handle a pounding. Balls, the slightest twitch, and they shrivel up and cry."