by Sasha Gold
She eyes the cut on my brow. “Is that why Damon is smirking?”
“He got lucky. That’s all.”
“I’ll never understand you two. Never.”
I shrug and ignore her disdain. Claire’s a lot younger than me and Damon, but she acts like a mother hen. She’s the only one who gets away with giving me a bad time, but I give it right back.
“Next time, we’ll tag along to your Pilates class.”
“For your information, it’s Yogalates.”
“I don’t know how you say that with a straight face.”
Her face lights with a smile. “Don’t be talking smack about my classes. You could do with a little work on your flexibility, both you and Damon. There’s such a thing as getting too muscle-bound, you know?”
Claire considers it her mission to civilize her two older brothers. She never misses a chance. Last year she graduated with a degree in art history, and I promised to pay for a trip to Florence if she worked a year for me. She heads up HR and helps me if I need intel on a certain client or person of interest. She’s brilliant, works hard, but she makes it clear she’d rather be drinking espresso in Tuscany.
She pets her dog and murmurs soft words to him. He looks wide-eyed, and that’s saying something for a little squish-faced dog.
I tilt my head the direction of her dog. “What’s wrong with Louis?”
Claire hands me the file and takes a chair on the other side of the desk. The pup sidles close to her, keeping his worried look fixed on her.
“The cats are teaming up to terrorize him. They lie beside his food and water bowls and give him a good smackdown anytime he tries to eat or drink. I couldn’t figure out why he was so traumatized, so I set up surveillance over the weekend.” She grimaces. “It wasn’t pretty.”
“Louis is getting pushed around by cats? Did he forget he’s a dog?”
She purses her lips. “Don’t say that. He gets his feelings hurt easily.”
“No kidding.” I open the folder and sift through the reports. “D’Angelo still wants security for his niece?”
She nods. “Victor specifically asked for you or Damon to take care of her. It’s for just a few days in January.”
I groan. I don’t do much in the way of personal security details. It’s the reason I have employees. I’ve got over fifty specially trained security personnel to take care of anything a client could need. But Victor was one of my first clients twelve years ago when I started Savage Security. I shadowed him as he closed a deal in Rome. One of his rivals tried to set him up. He sent his goons. I took them out in a brawl, sending three men to the hospital. Victor paid me well, of course, but he’d sweetened the deal by giving me five percent interest in the D’Angelo holdings. His company has holdings across Europe, from vineyards to shipyards.
My part of the D’Angelo assets has made me millions, but Victor sees it as a retainer for my services. Any time he needs security for his family he expects nothing less than personal attention from me or my brother. Fortunately, the requests don’t come too often.
“I’ll discuss it with Damon. What about the recruit, Xander? Did you talk to him? Explain that he better not come to work in camo and leather? That he needed to lose the fatigues and Oakleys? If he looks like Jason effing Bourne, he’s going to stand out like a sore thumb.”
“Damon talked to him.” Claire makes a face. “I thought the guy might start crying.”
“That’s not good. We’ll need to give him light duties and see if he can handle shit. We’re not running a kindergarten here.”
She gives a mock salute. “I already told Phyllis. Nothing in sub-Sahara. Venezuela’s out and so is Tel Aviv.”
“Anything overseas is out for now. Let’s see if the special snowflake can handle the small stuff first. What else?”
“I need to start bringing Louis with me to work.”
“What?”
“The cats are being mean to him. I have to offer asylum.”
Louis gazes at me sadly. He’s twice the size of Claire’s ridiculous cats.
“Your dog is nothing better than a-”
“Don’t say it, Roman. Don’t say the p-word.”
“I wouldn’t say that word in front of you. Aunt Alice would spin in her grave.”
Claire squints at me as if she doesn’t quite believe me.
Aunt Alice didn’t exactly teach us not to swear. It’s more accurate to say she would make our life miserable if we didn’t toe the line. Our elderly aunt took us in when our mom and dad were killed in an accident with a drunk driver. She’d never married, had never been around children and had been raised by a father who was a one-star general. Aunt Alice might as well have been a one-star general herself. We always thought she missed her calling.
Still, for not knowing much about kids, she loved and doted on us.
Claire was so young when our parents died, Aunt Alice was the only parent she ever knew. It was especially hard on her when our aunt passed away the year before last. It’s probably why she had to start consoling herself with fussy pets like Louis. She’s got a couple of hairless cats too. I can hardly even think about them without wincing.
Claire strokes the dog’s head. “Louis needs encouragement. Praise. Positivity.”
“So why are you bringing him around me?”
She rolls her eyes. “Because you owe me. I have some information you want.”
I narrow my eyes. “You work for me. Remember?”
“This isn’t work related.” She speaks quietly, arching a brow. “It’s personal.”
A rush of warmth heats my body. I can tell by her coy act that she’s talking about Contessa. The subject of my little trespasser can spike my temper faster than any other. I’m obsessed. I wait, not very patiently. Usually, Claire folds easily. She’s just twenty-one. I can often intimidate her with stony silence. This time she simply stares back, a resolute look in her eyes.
My patience runs out. “Is she okay? Safe?”
“Of course. I would have told you right away if she were in danger.”
“Is she…” I try to control the anger curling in my gut. “Quitting?”
“Not that I know of.”
Damned straight she’s not quitting. I’ll make her life hell if she quits. I keep that particular thought to myself since my sister has made a few jokes about needing a restraining order to keep me from kidnapping Tessa. I won’t kidnap her. Obviously. But I like the idea. A lot. I lean back in my chair. “She works for Cannon Security, after all?”
Claire shakes her head. “Nope. Lucky for her.”
It is lucky for her. I don’t really think she works for my rival, Ryker Cannon. I’m sure she’s never stepped foot in my home office. Even if she had, she wouldn’t find anything that would help Cannon. Still, you can never be too sure. He’s tried to infiltrate my company and steal clients. Fucker. If she worked for him, I might have to put her over my knee, just before I forced her to quit working for that man. And then I’d kidnap her.
“This is annoying, Claire.” I rub the back of my neck and then turn my attention to my computer. I tap a few keys. Footage plays, a stream of images from the foyer of the apartment building. With a few keystrokes I make the footage speed up until I reach a moment or two before nine that morning. And there she is…
Contessa Victoria Hughes. Height: five foot two. Eyes: Olive. Age: 20. Education: Degree in Culinary Arts. Criminal Record: None (yet – unless I press charges – I won’t, but the threat makes me happy. I could so hold this over her). Debt: Sixty dollars at the public library for overdue cookbooks. (who amasses that many fines? On a pile of books?) Fines (paid off yesterday by an anonymous benefactor -that would be me.)
The footage rolls and I can feel my mouth curve into a smile. She crosses the marble foyer and presses her key to the keypad of the private elevator. “Hello, Contessa...”
I’ve already seen this morning’s footage. Several times, if I’m being honest with myself, and yet I feel a jolt of pri
mitive satisfaction. Contessa doesn’t know that I know, and she doesn’t know that I can smell her scent on my pillows, or that I know she’s stretched out on my bed. Why she did that, I’m not sure. Maybe to take a nap. All I know is that her scent on my pillow gave me very dirty dreams. I blame her and like to think about coming home early one day to show her a few filthy things that played out in my mind.
Why did she lie down on my bed? I picture her holding the pillow and imagining me in the bed. Is it because she’s as obsessed with me as I am with her? I knew there had been a stranger in my home the first day she worked there. I didn’t say a word. Not after I saw the footage. Right away I wanted her there. But in the last two and a half weeks my feelings have gone from mere curiosity to something much more urgent. A dangerous primitive need.
Last week, I noticed the new doorman giving her a lingering look. It was the second time he’d done that. The second time was one too many. I had him fired immediately. Even now, the thought sends a slow burn of fury through my body. I clench my fist and shake my head, trying to tamp down the remnants of anger.
I watch Contessa step into the elevator as she talks on the phone. “I know I shouldn’t spy on her, but she shouldn’t have snuck into my home. She’s paying for her crimes and misdemeanors.”
Claire sighs. “Beyond creepy. Is this some sort of mid-life crisis thing?”
Scowling at her, I shake my head and then return my attention to the footage. “I’m only thirty-one. I’m a little young for a mid-life crisis.”
She lowers her voice and speaks in a softened tone. “You’ve been acting differently for a while now.” Her phone buzzes with a message and she gives me an apologetic look as she takes the call.
I ignore her. I don’t need to explain. Of course, I’ve been acting differently. I don’t expect her to understand. When I saw Contessa for the first time, it felt like getting hit by one of Damon’s right hooks. I was stunned. Suddenly everything fell into place. It was her. She was the one I wanted. I keep thinking it will pass. I need to shield Contessa from my intense hunger for her.
I’m not into relationships. Sex, definitely. I like sex a lot. Or I used to like it a lot. I haven’t had any since Contessa. Before she stole into my life, I liked sex casual and without strings. I’ve never even dated a woman much less thought about keeping one, but the first moment I saw Contessa, I wanted to go flat-out Viking, throw her over my shoulder, carry her to bed and fuck her there till she’s had my baby inside her. I’ve never been so consumed with primitive instincts.
Claire ends her call and gives me a pointed look. “Sorry, that was the groomer.”
I push away my dirty thoughts of Contessa and try to act casual. “That’s okay, I’m just checking the video feed.” I fast forward to watch her leave at three, but as the time signature scrolls past three o’clock, my girl doesn’t reappear. “Interesting. She’s still there. Maybe she wants to be found out.”
“Pretty sure the last thing she wants is to be interrogated by you. Besides, we made a deal.”
I turn off my screen, my mind filled with images of her. When I asked Claire to find out what she could about Contessa, my sister immediately rushed to her defense. It upset Claire when she found out that Contessa spent her life in the foster system.
The thing that really got to Claire was that Contessa volunteers at the Community Center. When she found that out, she made me agree not to wait around the penthouse one morning to confront the little trespasser. Tessa’s so young and hasn’t gotten much of a break. I was taken by surprise by the hardship Contessa has endured. Without thinking I gave in to Claire.
Contessa was young, probably fragile. I’m consumed with primitive desire. Not a good mix.
I regret making the deal. I regret it more every day, because what started out as a fascination has quickly become an obsession. A wave of irritation comes over me.
“Let’s get back to the subject. Please. I have work to do. You want to bring Louis to work, that’s fine by me. Now tell me about your little secret. It had better be worth putting up with your farting dog.”
“Contessa called the police the night before last.”
Without realizing it, I’ve gotten to my feet. In about three strides I circle the desk. The dog cowers. Claire gives me a chastising look.
“Out with it.” My jaw clenches. “You should have told me this right away.”
“I asked around and it’s being filed as a domestic incident. The roomie has a new boyfriend. He got drunk and belligerent. The roommate didn’t want to press charges, so the cop gave the boyfriend a ride home to let him cool off. Brendon something.”
A firestorm burns inside my chest. If I’d known there was a guy hanging around the house, I would have found out everything about him. Everything. This is my mistake. In an effort to get some distance between me and Contessa, I put Claire in charge of incoming intel. I shouldn’t have entrusted her with anything about Contessa. She doesn’t understand how important this is to me and now Contessa’s in danger. The new details change the entire situation. There’s an aggressive male around Contessa and that’s not acceptable. Actually, I don’t want any male around Contessa, but that’s another subject.
“The deal’s off, Claire. If she’s in trouble, I’m not keeping away.”
“Fine. I mean, of course.” She waves her hands, probably seeing the murderous gleam in my eyes. “But don’t pounce on her, like some sort of caveman, Roman. Don’t confront her at the penthouse. She’d feel trapped. I know this changes things, but you’ll just scare the hell out her if you have this conversation in your home. It should be someplace that’s neutral. You and Damon scare the hell out of everyone. And…”
“And what?”
“You seem a little over-the-top protective about a girl you’ve never even spoken to.”
The penthouse, no, I won’t go there. I’ll catch her somewhere else and I won’t let her go until I can be certain she’s got a safe place to live. I’d thought of that dozens of times before but didn’t pursue the idea. Brandon, or Brendon, or whatever the fuck his name is, raised the stakes. This is a new game.
“I have some good news, though,” Claire offers. “I found out where she’ll be this evening.”
Chapter Three
Tessa
My cell phone chimes, I awaken with a start. Peering around the room, I can tell from the soft afternoon sunlight that I slept for hours. The clock on my phone reads four-thirty. Holy shit! It’s an hour and a half past quitting time. I jump to my feet and rush to the kitchen, grabbing my purse with one hand and quickly scrolling messages with the other. Mr. Thomas, the director of the Com Center, is super happy I can help with dinner and stay overnight.
The more the merrier…
If I weren’t panic-stricken, I might even smile at his words. It’s been the community center’s motto ever since he came to work there a few years ago. The staff there makes sure everyone feels welcome. Always. Anytime. Because of their tremendous generosity, the center gets full city funding every year. He gets plenty of support from private donors too. Every time I go, the director is schmoozing some big shot to get funds for a new program.
Grabbing my purse, I hurry to the elevator and jab the button several times.
“Why am I doing this?” I mutter to myself. “It won’t make the elevator come any faster.”
A moment later, a whoosh announces the elevator’s arrival. I hold my breath as the doors open, my heart thundering. I have no idea when Mr. Savage gets home in the afternoons.
The elevator is empty. I breathe. I step inside and press the button for the lobby. Now all I have to hope for is that Mr. Savage won’t be waiting downstairs to take the elevator up. But when the doors open, there’s no one on the other side. The lobby is busy, but with the normal afternoon crowd, no imposing six-foot-four beast of a man. With a sigh of relief, I pray that I haven’t missed the downtown bus.
With seconds to spare, I catch the bus, and take a seat near the back.
On the trip downtown, I get a few texts from Chelsea, practically begging me to meet them for dinner. I don’t respond. Something about Chelsea’s tone bugs me. Like everything that happened a few nights ago is no big deal. She’s never invited me out to dinner with Brendon or any of her boyfriends. Why now?
Does Chelsea want my approval? Did Brendon really want my forgiveness that badly?
I mull things over all the way to the Com Center. When I get there, I see that a crowd has already gathered outside the doors. The facility won’t open to the public for another ten minutes. That gives me just enough time to dart inside the staff entrance and stow my purse in a locker. I go to the front desk and check in.
“Thank goodness you’re here, girl,” the receptionist says. She hands me a staff apron and a nametag. “It’s going to be a wild night. We’re expecting a foot of snow.”
I shiver. “I came straight from work. All I have is a light jacket. Tomorrow morning will be fun.”
The woman gives me a worried look. “We can’t have our volunteers getting pneumonia.”
I smile and hurry to the kitchen. I pass Mr. Thomas’s office. Sure enough, even tonight, on the eve of a snowstorm, he’s in there sweet-talking someone out of a check. One with lots of zeros probably. Mr. Thomas looks up from his messy desk and waves. He’s in formal dress, with slacks, a dress shirt and a tie, but he’s got a huge smear of red sauce on his shirt. He must have been helping make dinner.
“Glad you’re here! I worried you might not make it down.”
“Better late than never.”
“Yeah, but no time to make your famous chocolate sheet cake, huh, Contessa?”
“Ugh – please, just Tessa.” I point to my nametag.
He shakes his head. “My bad.”
I keep from rolling my eyes. Mr. Thomas has two teenagers and tries to be hip. It’s sort of amusing to see how hard he tries sometime. He loves his wife and kids. He talks about them all the time. His office might be a disaster, but the wall behind his chair is covered in family photos.
