by Tia Louise
I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with Cal. I was hired to do one job—seduce his brother Rowan, expose him as irresponsible and unfit to rule—and then Ava and I would disappear, walk away and live the rest of our lives on easy street.
The only problem is Rowan is not irresponsible. He’s very focused and serious about his country, and his uncle is a bigger con artist than me. Reggie had us fooled from the start, and all he’d wanted was to get back inside Monagasco, where he and Wade Paxton could take over the small nation-state. They sabotaged Rowan’s Formula One car, nearly killing him, and shot Ava to silence us. They would have killed me if I hadn’t escaped.
“Oh, god,” I whisper, leaning my head against the corner of the small room.
When I reemerge above deck, Seth is sitting against the stern, watching Patch operate the large, silver wheel.
“We have to split up,” he says, and a splinter of fear clenches my chest.
My involuntary response frustrates me more. I hate being dependent on Seth. I don’t like being dependent on anyone, but least of all him. Still, without Ava, I don’t have much choice. On my own, I’m a sitting duck—or more like a fish in a barrel, an easy mark.
“Why?” I ask, working hard not to sound afraid.
He does a shrug. “Together, we’re easier to find. All anyone has to say is a new American couple just moved to the island, and they’ll head straight for us.”
“Then what made you think we’d be safer in Tortola?”
“You got a better idea?” he shouts at me, and I walk away.
“No,” I mutter, leaving him for the front of the boat.
The last thing I’m in the mood for is a Seth Hines poor-anger-management moment. I’ll stay in the bow until we get there.
When we ran from the killers in Monagasco, he said he had friends on Tortola who could hide us. Now we’re splitting up. Whatever, I’ll figure it out. It’s not like I believe for a moment it means Seth will leave me alone. I have the black American Express card with our shared money on it.
Like a joint-custody arrangement, it ties us together no matter how much I never want to see him again. I promised him five thousand dollars in Monagasco, and he’s not going anywhere until he gets it.
The boat rocks, moving fast, bouncing over the waves. It’s a dark night, and we’re the only ones on these waters as far as I can see. We’ll likely pass a cruise ship or two before we reach our destination, but they’ll take no notice of us.
I lean back against the bow, using the plastic bag containing my clutch, dress, and wig for a pillow. Closing my eyes, my thoughts go where they always do at night—to Cal’s smoky hazel eyes. I remember his warm hands cupping my cheeks and lifting my mouth to his. I picture his broad shoulders, his six-foot-two frame towering over me. I think of the way his golden-brown hair goes all sexy-messy when he pulls his shirt over his head just before he climbs into bed. I remember his lined torso and his strong arms. I feel his hard body pressed against mine, urgent and demanding as he takes what he wants, what we both want…
A large hand shakes me roughly, and I jump awake with a gasp, throwing my arms out. “What?!”
“Get up,” Seth snaps. “We’re here.”
I stretch my neck to the side, trying to orient myself. “I’m must’ve fallen asleep.” My voice is scratchy, and I rub my shoulder. “I slept in a weird position.”
“I’m surprised you slept at all with what’s hanging over us.”
Seth has no clue how Ava and I grew up, how many nights I barely slept listening for anyone creeping up on us. They might not have been men with guns, but some wounds go deeper than bullets. I follow him, walking low to the back of the boat to the long pier. It’s dark and deserted at this time of night.
Seth climbs up the wooden ladder then reaches back for me. “Like I said, we’ll split up,” he says. “I know a few guys from South Beach here. Blix is pretty connected. He’ll let me know if anybody’s snooping around, asking questions.”
We’re walking toward a deserted shopping area. A large clock mounted on an iron post tells me it’s after two in the morning.
“What kind of a name is Blix? Is that German?”
“Short for Blixen. He was a baron or something. Lost all his money and spent some time in Miami before moving further south.”
Sounds like a Nazi. My nose wrinkles at the thought. I know what kind of shit Seth was involved with in South Beach. “More like he’s on the lam.”
“Things were different ten years ago.”
I don’t believe that, but at this point, all I care about is a bed. “Do we at least have rooms?”
“You’re at Frenchman’s Hotel. I’ll be at Maria’s.” We’re through the small mall in an alley where the road diverges in opposite directions, and he stops. “I’m taking off. Here’s your address and info.”
He shoves a piece of paper in my hand, and a charge of panic hits me. “You’re leaving me here? In the middle of the night?”
“You’ll be okay. Tortola is relatively safe.”
“I’m sure it is—for the average tourist.”
He exhales a loud breath. “Look, my hotel is five blocks that way,” he points behind him, then he turns me roughly in the opposite direction. “Yours is two that way. Walk straight, don’t act suspicious, and no one will suspect anything.”
“You’re a jerk,” I say, shoving his hands off me.
“A jerk who saved your life.” His voice is impatient. “Look, I don’t have a gun. I’m not a fighter. If somebody jumped us, we’re better separated. Then I can get help.”
I notice he doesn’t say he’ll help me.
“You realize if something happens to me, you get nothing. No money.”
He’s already walking away from me toward his hotel. “You’re a survivor, Zee. Survive. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Seconds tick past, and before long, I’m alone in the night. Seth is gone, and the only sound is cicadas screeching loud in the background. I take a step toward a hotel I’ve never seen. A knot tightens my throat, but I fight it. I will not cry. My jaw clenches. I stopped crying in Tampa years ago.
“Asshole,” I mutter instead, sucking up my fear and walking faster. “A purposeful, determined stride,” I say.
Everything in me wants to run, but I won’t do it. I’m taking back control. Seth is right—I’m a survivor. I’ll survive this, and I’ll be stronger for it. They can’t break me. If I let them scare me, they win.
A sign up ahead glows in the night like a beacon. It’s wood painted white with a golden fleur de lis and the word Frenchman painted in precise black lettering. I feel a small victory over the bad guys. I found my hotel on my own.
I’m just at the path leading to the door when a loud BANG! makes me jump a foot into the air. An involuntary scream flies from my throat, and I run the final steps into the hotel, shoving through the door and hiding around the corner.
Several seconds pass where the only noise is my rapid breathing. Gripping the doorjamb, I lean forward to peek, at the shadows lining my path, searching for the source of that noise. A black and white cat stands beside the trashcans, looking my way.
My stomach is in my throat, and I exhale a swear. “Fucking cat.”
No one is behind the counter. “What now?” I say to myself.
Lifting the sheet of paper Seth shoved into my hand, I see a room number and a combination for the door lock written on it.
“Convenient.” I skip the rickety old elevator and take the stairs to Room 213.
I’m so tired, I don’t even care that the stairwell smells like piss and the hotel is probably the seediest place I’ve stayed since leaving Tampa. A concrete balcony leads to my door, and I pause to tap out the combination on the lock. A buzz and it’s open.
The doorknob flies in my hand, jerking me into the room. “Jesus!” I squeal, my heart galloping in my chest.
Someone has left the balcony door open, and the suction of the wind makes it nearly impossible for m
e to shove the room door closed. Falling against it, I use my entire body weight to force it shut and twist the deadbolt locked.
I drop the plastic bag on the small table without even switching on the lights. Stopping at a small mirror hanging on the wall, I reach up to pull the remaining bobby pins out of my hair. It falls in smooth waves around my face and over my shoulders. I lift the thin tee over my head and toss it to the side when the skin on my arms prickles.
I’m not alone. In my peripheral vision, I can just make out the silhouette of a man sitting in the darkness on the edge of the sofa. He’s watching me, and my stomach is in my throat.
“Who are you?” My voice is calm, level, and totally fake. I’m terrified.
He rises fast, closing the space between us.
“Stay BACK!” I shout, scrambling away until my bare back hits the wall.
He catches both my hands in a tight grip, pinning them beside my face, and my body is trapped beneath his hard frame. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
I recognize the deep voice, but my fears aren’t eased. “Cal?” I’ve never seen him like this, so forceful and furious. The swell of my breasts rises and falls with my gasps. “How did you find me?”
He speaks through clenched teeth. “Were you hiding from me again?”
“No…” My voice trembles. Still, as frightened as I am, I can’t stop the desire unfurling low in my stomach.
Pale light from outside the balcony illuminates his face, and I see his square jaw dusted with light scruff. His hazel eyes blaze. “So the con was on me? You make me fall for you then walk away? Humiliate me?”
“NO!” I shake my head fast. “I would never—”
“Save it.” He pushes off of me turning his back and walking across the room. Tension ripples off him in waves, and I want to touch him. At the same time I’m afraid he won’t let me. “Pretty sick joke calling yourself Regina Lampert. You’d make a better Charles.”
“You’ve seen Charade?” Of course he has. Movies were the one true thing we shared.
“How many passports do you have, Mrs. Lampert?” His eyes flash.
“It’s Miss, and none. I’ve never had a passport. Not even one. In my real name, at least.”
The muscle in his jaw moves, and he’s across the room again, grabbing my face in his hand, causing me to whimper.
“Stop lying to me.”
Pain collapses my insides. Cal’s anger is so much worse than I could possibly have imagined, and still I want him so badly, my heart is breaking.
“I’m not!”
“You fucking conned me from the start.”
A hot tear hits my cheek—I can’t deny it. I did.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
Gripping my face, his rough mouth covers mine, shoving my lips apart. My knees go liquid, but he jerks me up firmly against his chest. Gripping his shoulders, my fingers curl against his hard muscles as his tongue claims mine.
He lifts his head, and our mouths break apart with a gasping smack. My lips throb with the force of it.
“Is that a lie, too?” His eyes are dark.
“N-no,” I gasp. The fine hairs dusting his chest tease the skin above my bra, and I’m so wet.
His large hand slides between my thighs, over those thin boxers. I’m bare underneath, but he’s not invading, he’s teasing. I ache for him so much, I can barely stand it. Still holding my cheeks, he forces me to meet his angry eyes a moment before he kisses me again. Again, it’s hard, passionate, demanding, and all the sensations overwhelm me.
Jerking my head back hazel eyes burn into mine. “Every time you moaned for me, every time you begged… Were you lying then?”
“No!” I cling to him as his hand snakes around to cup my ass through the thin cotton material. “I never saw you coming. Even if I had, I never could have been prepared for you. Not in a million years.”
His eyes narrow slightly, and he places both hands on my cheeks, moving his thumbs over my mouth. The muscle in his jaw moves, and I can see so much anger in his eyes.
“Cal—”
“Don’t.” A thumb stills on my lips, stopping my speech.
He slides his thumb over my slightly fuller top lip. His eyes follow his movements, and I remember our night on the boat, him telling me all the things he sees when he looks at me. Just as fast, I remember the way he fucked me that night, the way we were both wild and passionate.
Our eyes meet, and I have no idea what he sees now when he looks at me. I don’t know if the love he felt for me has been snuffed out by the truth of who I am. I don’t know what he’ll do next now that he’s caught me.
I only know as much as I don’t deserve him, he’s my prince. I gave my heart to him, and no matter how far I run, I’ll never stop wanting him.
4
Reunion
Cal
Our small plane touches down on the airstrip just outside Road Town. Logan easily found the hotel where Regina Lampert is staying on the short flight from St. Croix, and he shows me the shitty dump in the middle of the tourist district.
“We’re at least an hour ahead of them,” my tall, muscular guard says as we descend from the aircraft. “Should we return to the villa?”
“No.” My jaw is clenched, and I’m having a hard time keeping my anger at bay. “I’m going to her room.”
An SUV is waiting for us, and Logan gives him the address for her hotel. It takes less than five minutes for us to be there, and I slip down the alley to the back of the building. The utter lack of security coupled with how easily I climb the short fire escape, cross over to her balcony, and enter through the unlocked patio door angers me in a whole new way. Anyone could do this. She could be dead before dawn at this rate.
“Yet you run from me,” I grumble, sitting on the uncomfortable couch as I wait for her to appear.
My mind travels across the miles in the darkness. I remember the first night I saw her in Monagasco at the charity ball. I remember her strapless black dress and the way she wobbled on those too-tall stilettoes. She looked up at me, blue eyes flashing with humor and determination, and I couldn’t resist. I’d never seen anything like her.
I didn’t understand why she was so focused on my brother. It was an entirely new experience, but it didn’t matter. After our first night, I knew she was mine. Unfortunately, it seems I am completely hers as well. My fists tighten, and the noise at the door tells me she’s here.
Tightness fills my chest at the sound of her voice. I left the patio door slightly ajar, and she struggles against the wind tunnel created. The sea breeze surrounds us, overwhelming us both. My breathing is heavy, barely audible as I watch her, alone in this dark room. She stops in front of the mirror and takes the pins out of her long, blonde hair. It falls in silky curls around her shoulders. I can still see the tips curling at her nipples the last time I fucked her.
She pulls off her shirt, and she’s my kryptonite.
I flew half a continent to Tortola then hopped a puddle jumper to St. Croix then did it again. She has jerked me all over the god damned western hemisphere—I would never put up with shit like this—yet here I am, aching to hold her, wanting to slide my thumb across those full lips I long to kiss.
I came here desperate to find her, and now I want to turn her over my knee and spank her. I’m mad because she lied, but even more, I’m livid at her recklessness.
She’s like a child running into the path of oncoming traffic. She ran from me when men with guns were chasing her. She left with her sister lying wounded, nearly dead in a hospital bed. I told her I loved her, and she ran even further.
I fucking love this woman.
I fucking want to strangle her.
Fury heats my blood and I cross the room, pulling her trembling body into my arms.
“Cal?” she gasps, and I hear the fear in her voice.
She’s wearing boxers and a thin bra. I can just see the tips of her succulent breasts, and I can feel her heat through the fabric of her shorts. Memo
ries of our last night flood my mind—the two of us in her bed, our bodies entwined like contortionists.
Stepping back, I pull the shirt I’m wearing over my head. Her eyes change as they move from my hair down my neck to my chest. Her lust is stronger than her fear. My lust is stronger than my fury.
“Take it off.” My voice is anger mixed with desire.
I watch as she reaches around her back to unfasten that bra. It falls away, and her creamy breasts, her dark nipples are highlighted by the streetlamp outside. My fingers ache to touch her.
Not yet…
“All of it,” I say, waiting as she bends to slide the boxers over her hips to the floor.
She’s bare in front of me, and a little shiver moves through her. I watch her breath swirling in and out in little pants. She’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
Moving forward, I gather her to me, feeling the soft press of her body against my bare chest. We both groan. It’s so good. My chin drops, and our mouths meet. Her tongue touches mine, but I’m holding back. She strains into me, trying to get her arms free, but I hold her tighter, imprisoning her, turning my face.
“You helped the assholes who tried to kill Ro,” I say as much to myself as to her.
“No—NO!” The break in her voice claws at my chest. “I didn’t know, Cal. I never would have hurt him like that—”
“You have degrees of how you hurt people?”
Her face drops, and her body goes limp in my arms.
Clenching my fist in the back of her hair, I want to pull it. I want to shake her but instead, I kiss her. I cover her mouth with mine tasting her sweetness. I taste the salt of her tears as I kiss her cheeks. I’m so fucking mixed up inside.
Loosening my hold, I step back. I need to get my head straight. I’m not ready to forgive her this easily.
She only hesitates a moment before lowering to her knees in front of me. Lifting her chin, she looks up, blue eyes round, and glistening with tears. Her palms are flat on the front of my slacks, and she slides them up and down before lifting them to my waistband. Every cell in my body is focused on her movements as she unfastens my pants.
