“Both of which failed,” Mack growled in annoyance.
“Yes… well,” she replied, glancing toward the window. Then her gaze fell to the bed and widened. She let out a strangled scream and launched herself at Mack. The move was so unexpected, he was certain they were under attack. He grabbed the nearly naked girl and spun around, gun in hand.
With Lucy whimpering in his arms, he found himself, for the second time that evening, pointing his gun at a cat. Lucy glued herself to his body, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Get it away from me!” she shrieked, clenching her fingers against his abs.
HIs eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head as her hip brushed his cock and he pictured her fingers clenching him in something other than fear. He frowned. “The cat isn’t yours?” he guessed.
“No!” she cried in terror. “I hate cats! The way they move… the way they look at you… ugh…oh, oh, is it coming over here?!”
The cat was indeed standing on the bed and stretching. It jumped off the bed and started to wander toward them, probably in search of some head scratches. Lucy screamed bloody murder and began climbing Mack. He couldn’t help himself. He laughed and took the opportunity to cup her bare bottom in one large hand while she wrapped her legs around his waist and clung to him like a vine, her wide, terrified eyes glued to the furry beast that dared to intrude on her space.
“Easy, darling,” Mack breathed in her ear, taking the four steps to the bed and easing her down. “It must have followed me in.”
“Take. It. Away!” she gasped, nearly hyperventilating.
Mack picked up the cat as it headed back for the bed in an attempt to check out its new mistress. He stepped quickly back when Lucy went deathly pale. How had a farm girl developed such a fear of cats? He headed for the door with the offensive beast, but turned back.
“Lucy.” He waited for her to look at him. She shuddered, her eyes glued to the cat. “Lock the fucking door, woman, or I make a call to Sitnikov.”
She nodded quickly. “Yes, Mack. Anything you want.”
He knew she was saying it so she would get rid of her nemesis, but he fucking loved the way she said that. Yeah, he could picture her spread out underneath him whispering those words to him as he sank into her wet, willing body. Anything you want, Mack. Fuck, it was going to kill him having her within reach whenever he wanted her. And he wanted her. More than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.
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Excerpt: Fire & Vice Book 5 – Fear in Her Eyes
He didn't believe in telepathy or the unexplained. He thought if there wasn't an explanation for something, then that explanation just hadn't been discovered yet. The fact that he knew Addison Sterling was standing down the hall on the other side of a solid steel door from where he stood was simply heightened senses and intuition. He was in tune with this woman's every movement, every breath, every heartbeat. He imagined, if he closed his eyes he would know at any given moment where she stood in her apartment. Right now she was preparing to leave, like she did every morning at the same time. If she belonged to him, he would break her of that dangerous habit.
Lucky for her, she would never belong to him.
She stepped out of her door and turned gracefully on her ballet flats, her long white and blue pattered dress swishing around her legs. Her long, slim fingers unerringly found the lock on the door, where she inserted the key as she'd done a thousand times and turned it. Dropping the key into a small knit purse, which was strapped across her body, separating the lovely mounds of her breasts over the elasticized top of her summer dress. She bent her knees and reached to pick up the leather case containing her cello.
As he did every morning when he came down to her floor, he ruthlessly stopped himself from reaching out to snatch the case from her, the muscles under his shirt bunching in anger. The case was too big for her. She was too fragile. She loved it too much, far more than she loved anything else. He wanted to take it from her and destroy it. Which confused him. He didn't usually have impulse control issues.
She strode confidently toward the elevator, stopping only steps from where he stood, and reached for the button, her fingers so close to his stomach she nearly touched him. He planned it that way, imagined for a second what it would feel like if she did touch him. The elevator dinged, letting her know it had arrived. She waited for approximately three heartbeats and then stepped forward as the doors swished back. He stepped out in unison. As the doors closed, she turned to face them. He used the sound of the elevators closing to move swiftly around her.
Confident she was alone, she relaxed her stance, allowing her shoulders to soften. He stood so close to her back that if she'd leaned just a little she would've touched him. It was worth the risk for him to be able to reach out and touch the ends of her soft, wavy chestnut hair. To lean in close and smell the delicate tropical, flowery lotion she used on her skin after her morning shower. He inhaled deeply, savouring her scent, imagining her in the marble bathroom of her condo, naked, rubbing the hemp lotion over her curves in circular motions, as was her routine.
In his desperation to be near Addison, he must've gotten closer than he'd dared before, because she suddenly went rigid beneath the shadow of his body. Her face snapped to the side, her lips nearly brushing his where he'd bent into her neck. Her blank, dark eyes were wide with apprehension.
He stopped breathing. Not for fear of being caught. He was more than capable of taking down a dozen mercenaries, let alone one small blind woman. No, he needed to protect her. For some reason he cared for Addison Sterling, and if he got involved with her, he would hurt her, probably irreparably. The black part of his soul already called for him to reach out and grab her, to make her beg, to subjugate her, to hunt, hurt and humiliate her. Already, he couldn't leave her alone. He'd never experienced such driving need to possess a woman. At best he usually considered them unnecessary distractions that he usually avoided.
Somehow Addison was different.
"Is someone there?" she whispered, the sweet warmth of her breath rushing over him.
His cock answered her, though he stayed silent. His pupils dilated and he vibrated with the effort not to grab her, pin her to the wall of the elevator, tear her ugly dress away, force her onto her knees and enjoy the fear in her eyes while he took that beautiful mouth of hers.
The door dinged and Addison jumped, her head snapping forward once more. She visibly shook herself, pushing her shoulders back and forcing her confidence back on like a cloak of independence she wore whenever she left her apartment. "Stupid Addie," she said beneath her breath, before stepping off the elevator. He watched her like the predator he was as she shook open her white walking cane, smiled and cheerfully greeted the concierge. The elevator doors closed, cutting off his view of her. He wanted to go after her. To follow her and speak to her like a normal man would.
He couldn't. He was a savage through and through. He'd seen and done things normal men couldn't even imagine. That was why he was Tyson King's head of security. That was why he couldn't have Addison Sterling.
Unfortunately for her, he couldn't seem to let her go. Her lush curves, delicate beauty and helpless attempts at independence called to the predator in him like nothing else. He knew, eventually, he would answer that call.
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Excerpt: Driven by Desire
“Fuck,” Riley grumbled, twisting to make sure she was correct. Nope, she didn't have the right tool.
It was late at night and all the guys had gone home so she couldn’t call out to one of the other mechanics and ask them to hand it to her. Damn. With an aggrieved sigh, she pushed herself out from under the car. Shoving her long ponytail out of the way, she crawled toward the toolbox and rifled through until she found what she was looking for. Loud, thumping music filled the garage from where her iPhone was plugged into its port on top of one of the tool benches.
Turning back toward the ‘69 Camaro, Riley adjusted her lamp and prepared to slide back under. This baby was a thing of beauty. It called to her from the moment it entered her shop, which is why she was still working on it at 2:00am. If she did it up right she’d be able to turn a pretty profit on this little sweetheart and take Cilia on vacation. They desperately needed some bonding time.
The music switched off and a deep voice reverberated through the darkness of the garage. “I’m looking for Mr. Bancroft.”
Riley froze for a few precious seconds before her head snapped up, judging the distance between a shadowed man and the gun in her toolbox. He stepped forward into the circle of her light, closing the distance between them. Riley’s heart slammed against her ribs as his face became visible and she recognized the most ruthless man in the city. Soloman Hart, mafia kingpin, was standing in her garage, staring down at her with cold intent. He now stood directly between her and her gun. Not that she thought it would do any good against a man like him.
Riley felt incredibly small and grimy next to his large, well-dressed frame. She sat crouched on the concrete beneath him, wearing her usual tank top and grimy, oil-stained overalls with the top left to hang down. Her shiny, dark brown hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and she wore no make-up.
He seemed to be looking her over, taking in every inch of her with interest. Her eyes narrowed in return. She was used to guys staring. She was a thirty-year-old female mechanic, working in a garage full of men. She looked younger than she was and knew she was attractive. Definitely fantasy material for some guys. Which is why she tended to work in the office and on cars in the back, well away from the clients. Very few people knew who actually owned the garage.
“How did you get in here?” she demanded, pushing herself up and standing to her full height, which was still several inches shorter than him. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared at him. She had a damn good security system or she wouldn’t have been alone in the shop blaring music in the middle of the night.
He ignored her question and raised a dark, thick brow. “Mr. Bancroft?” The single question sent a chill down her spine, letting her know that the next words out of her mouth better be an answer, because Soloman Hart was not a man known for patience.
Riley pressed her lips together for a moment and wondered how best to answer him. The truth of ‘Mr. Bancroft’ was complicated. And Riley was starting to suspect she may be in some danger. The likelihood of a man of this caliber showing up in her garage for any reason was slim. Which meant something not good was going down. Soloman had men to deal with his car issues, he didn’t deal with things like this himself.
She moistened her lips and then stopped when his sharp eyes followed the movement. Taking a breath, she said, “Mr. Bancroft is dead. He died two years ago.”
His brows drew together in a frown that made Riley shiver from head to toe. Yeah, he didn’t want to play games with her. His next words confirmed this thought.
“Don’t fuck with me, little girl,” he growled. “Everyone knows Alan Bancroft is dead. I’m looking for the owner of this garage. Alan’s son, Riley Bancroft.”
“Okay,” she whispered. “Why are you looking for Riley?”
Holy shit, she was going to die! The look on his face suggested that the last person that questioned him instead of instantly giving him the answers he was searching for had died a really extra terrible death.
Surprisingly, he answered, his deep voice clipped as he spoke. “Someone stole one of my vehicles yesterday. It was my favourite and I want it back. Thought it might show up here.”
Shock flickered across her face. Who would be stupid enough to steal one of Soloman Hart’s cars? Well, that explained why he would show up on her doorstep himself at 2:00am looking for answers. She ran the biggest chop shop in the city. Only very few people knew she ran the garage. She had a very good team of mechanics, mostly inherited from her father, that helped keep her safe behind the scenes. Few people even knew the name Riley Bancroft. Except, somehow Soloman did.
“Wh-what kind of car?” She asked hesitantly, hoping like hell it hadn’t gone through her shop. She usually did her homework and found out where the vehicles came from so this kind of shitstorm didn’t come down on her head, but that didn’t mean things didn’t get under her radar once in a while.
“Koenigsegg Regera.” His voice held no inflection as he named one of the most expensive vehicles in the world. A car that would be one of a kind in the United States.
Riley took a few seconds out from her terror to be impressed. Damn. Soloman must like him some nice luxury racing automobiles. Too bad the man was such a cold-hearted, ruthless bastard. Under different circumstances she wouldn’t mind getting under the hoods of his fleet, see what he had going on up in there.
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Nope, I definitely would’ve noticed one of those. Never even seen one in person, let alone had one in here.”
He nodded, still studying her carefully as though taking in every minuscule expression that crossed her face. Finally, he said, “I’d still like to have a conversation with Mr. Bancroft.”
Fuck. That was going to be a problem since there was no Mr. Bancroft. Instead, she nodded her head.
“Sure, no problem. I’ll have him call you tomorrow.” She’d get one of the other mechanics to call and reassure him that his car was never there and if it showed up he would be the first person they called.
He reached out and took her hand before she realized what he was about to do. He held her fingers in a grip that told her she shouldn’t pull away from him. He had tattoos over his hand and knuckles. He looked down at the black, chipped nail polish and rubbed his broad thumb over the tops of her much smaller nails. She shivered at his touch. Based on his reputation and the few glimpses she’d had of him she’d always considered Soloman Hart cold, but his hand was surprisingly warm.
“What’s your name?” he demanded, his voice deep and compelling.
Riley tried to pull her hand away, but he continued to hold her. She turned her body away and said in a haughty voice, “None of your business.”
He stiffened next to her and she bit her lip, worried that she was about to find out what made this powerful man so feared among their underworld set. He chuckled lightly, running his thumb over her knuckles. “I think you’ll find I can make it my business.”
She shivered and dropped her eyes, still refusing to answer. She did not want this man finding out who she was. For more reasons that the obvious. When he was alive, Alan Bancroft had taught Riley everything he knew, but he’d kept her existence on the down low in case they ever needed to pack up shop and run. There was also the complication of her mother. Cilia Bancroft, shady accountant to the super rich, was a handful and best kept out of the notice of men like Soloman Hart.
“You can fly, little bird,” he said quietly. He looked down at her, capturing her brown eyes with his bottomless dark eyes. “I will let you go for now.”
“F-for now?” Riley asked hesitantly.
He released her hand and stepped closer, towering over her, his chest nearly brushing hers. Riley gasped at his unexpected movement and tried to move back. Her leg bumped against the car she’d been working on and she was forced to stand still next to him. Her head swam as his subtle, masculine scent enveloped her. It made alarm bells go off in her head. He didn’t immediately move away from her.
“For now,” he confirmed. “I think the day will come that we will see… a lot more of each other.”
Her mouth opened and she stared at him. Was that a threat? He was looking down at her with something she couldn’t entirely define. Speculation? Possessiveness? But how was that possible? He didn’t even know her. Though she’d seen him before, they were just meeting officially for the first time.
His eyes brushed over her one last time and she had a keen awareness that she was being granted some kind of reprieve. But it came with a time limit. One that would eventually run out
. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked.
She blinked and then nodded slowly.
“Say my name,” he demanded.
Riley gaped up at him for a moment and then, desperately wanting the dark man to leave, she gave him what he wanted. She licked her lips and whispered, “Soloman.”
He turned and strode away from her, resetting the alarm before leaving the garage.
Soloman slid into the passenger side of his second favourite vehicle. Turning to his friend and bodyguard, he said, “Did you catch that?”
Roman nodded. He had been standing in the shadows near the door where he’d disabled the alarm and unbolted the lock to allow his boss entry to the garage. Though Soloman didn’t need back up, the two rarely worked separately, especially since Soloman’s climb to the top had earned many enemies. Both knew it was better to have a loyal man guarding each other’s backs than to go it alone.
“I want her,” Soloman said quietly, not taking his eyes off the passing street lights.
Roman grunted, but didn’t say anything. He already knew. The boss rarely pursued women, beyond having them brought in for a quick fuck. That he even asked for this one’s name was surprising. “I’ll find out who she is.”
Soloman nodded. “I want to know everything. There’s something about her… I think I might keep her for a while.”
Roman grunted. He’d get their information guy out of bed and working on the problem of the chick immediately. Find out who she was so the boss could get laid. Soloman Hart wasn’t used to being denied. No one needed to be around the man when he wasn’t happy. Much better to just bring him the woman’s information and then the woman herself all wrapped up and tied in a bow. Fewer people would die that way.
“And find out where the fuck Riley Bancroft is,” he snapped, drumming his fingers restlessly on his leg. “I want my goddamned car back.”
The Assassin's Wife Page 25
