Playing with Fire

by Graziano, Renee

  “Your son is grown and I’m not asking you to have my baby.” Nick’s smile could lure a stone angel off an ancient Roman church. “I was just saying. we are getting to know each other and I thought I’d share. I always wanted to be a father.”

  “Where the hell were you when I was a teenaged girl wondering about sex?”

  “Learning about sex from women a little bit older than me.”

  He stood and went into the bathroom, and she heard the toilet flush as he got rid of the condom. He came out nude and looking fairly relaxed for a man who’d been followed through a good portion of the city earlier by unknown people who might just want to kill him.

  As a bonus, he brought the only half-empty bottle of champagne and refilled their glasses.

  Nick slid into the bed and said calmly as he handed her the flute, “I was fifteen my first time and she was quite a bit older. I’m not going to say how much older or who she was, but wow. She was not a pedophile, for the record. I told her I was nineteen and I looked it. She had no idea it was my first time but I think she got the drift once we got into bed and it was over pretty fast. It was a one-performance deal.” He glanced over in amusement. “I’ve never told anyone else this story, by the way, since it is kind of humiliating. Now you go.”

  Humiliating that he’d caught the eye of an attractive older woman? Reign could easily see how it would happen. He was noticeable. No doubt about it.

  She drew the sheet up around her. “What is this? Like war stories or something?”

  “Pillow talk. Just tell me.”

  Oh, what the hell. It was hardly a deep dark secret. “I met Vince’s dad very young. Grade school. It was a sweet romance that graduated to something more, and eventually we were teenagers groping in the backseat. We got married so young—my parents had to sign a paper to allow it, and we had Vince within the first year. I was, to say the least … idealistic. My father was not at all happy about Ray, but I can be determined if I want something.”

  “I’ve noticed the independent streak. What happened next?”

  “He was irresponsible and a liar.” That was more than kind. Her ex-husband was out of her life.

  “Not a good combination.” Nick lifted his glass to his mouth in a natural masculine movement, broad shoulders relaxed against the pillows.

  He was right. She agreed, “Not for our marriage and not for our child.”

  “But Vince sounds great.”

  “He’s pretty centered. Most of the time.” Reign had to take in a breath. The fine sheets were heavy against the sensitive tips of her breasts. “I don’t even know why I’m talking about it. Why do I feel so comfortable with you?”

  It was a true question, even if the setting was a very posh—but by definition generic—hotel room in Manhattan somewhere. Soft sheets, soft lighting, a view of the city … all of that did not matter to her, and the man had openly admitted he was asked to kill her.

  This was the strangest romance known to mankind—but it was still a romance.

  He sent her a look out of those vivid blue eyes. “How am I supposed to answer that question?”

  “Your thoughts might be nice. Try.”

  “Try? I’m not impartial. Drink some champagne and let me think about it.”

  Part of it was, she knew, this easy sense of companionship, as if they were two people who understood each other more than anyone understood either of them. Who he was didn’t really bother her any longer. At first, yes, but she was getting over it.

  How she felt about him did bother her, though.

  It scared her more than a little.

  He tentatively began: “I think we’re great in bed together.”

  “I’m tossing that guy answer right out.”

  “Reign, I’m a guy. Ask me a question and you are likely to get a guy answer.” There was open exasperation in his voice.

  Fine, he had a point.

  She took in a deep, deep breath. “I’m trying to make sense of getting involved with someone who I know is bad for me. Been there, done that. I’m smarter now than that girl who made that mistake.”

  “Bad in what way? Am I really a mistake? Tell me how.”

  Good question. But not one she was really ready to answer. Her voice broke. “I don’t know, Nicky. I want my son safe. I want my career, and I’d also like to stay alive to make both of those things happen.”

  To her surprise he put his glass aside and put his arms around her. “Let me take care of it, and before you argue, we can talk about this over our breakfast date tomorrow morning, remember?”

  “All we ever seem to do is eat together and make … and have sex.”

  His mouth brushed her temple. “What the hell do most people do? Long walks on the beach? Watch the sunset at Key West? Ride a Ferris wheel holding hands? All that sometimes happens, but the truth is, not every damn day. This evening we took a lovely drive through the city, doesn’t that count?”

  She pushed at his chest, laughing. “Uhm, I believe we were eluding a car containing someone following us—I doubt because he wanted to sell us a magazine subscription.”

  “At least I made you laugh.” He picked up his glass again and lounged back against the pillows.

  Maybe that was it. He did make her laugh. And smile. And at the right times moan, because however it started, he was right, he was very good in bed. But it wasn’t enough. There was more depth to this man, but he wasn’t interested in letting it show. Reign asked as offhandedly as possible, “So tell me about your brother, the priest.”

  “He’s a priest, Reign. I don’t know what specifically you are asking. Obviously unmarried, no kids, devotes his life to the church. John seems happy enough with it, but it certainly wouldn’t be for me.”

  What an understatement that was. A hit man with a brother who is a priest? At least now she knew his brother’s name.

  She took a sip. “Hmm. You two get along?”

  Nick seemed to consider his answer. “We’re obviously not very much alike, but he’s family. We get along. We have an understanding. I don’t confess my sins and he doesn’t ask about them either. Seems to work for us. Where’s the remote?”

  “My sister is my best friend. We’d walk through fire for each other and she adores Vince.”

  “Another interesting Reign Grazi fact I’ll place in the file. Want to watch late-night television?”

  “Any sisters?”

  “Can we stop this probing into my life? It isn’t all that interesting.”

  Okay, she’d struck a nerve. It wasn’t intentional, but he asked about her life frequently enough.

  She took in his slightly moody expression with a woman’s intuition. “This from a man who doesn’t like pate? Who doesn’t like pate?”

  “Me.” He eyed the glass in her hand. “Now finish your drink like a good girl and I’ll reward you.”

  “With?”

  He took the glass away before she finished the last sip and rolled on top of her, his erection pressing her thigh, murmuring, “Something I have come to the conclusion you like very much.”

  “Oh, what’s that?”

  “Fucking.”

  She theatrically lowered her lashes. “If you continue to be so romantic, I could hardly refuse you.”

  At that moment he hesitated, and that really was not like him. “What if I was more romantic?”

  The intense look in his eyes threw her off balance. “I think you’re confusing romance with physical attraction.”

  “I thought that was what you might say.”

  “And I think you’re changing the subject by deflecting me with sexual advances, Mr. Faattelli.”

  “Is it working?” He nibbled on her earlobe, which seemed to be a skill he’d mastered quite well at some point in his life.

  She was both a little annoyed over the secrecy but also interested. He got an erection faster than any man she’d ever had an intimate relationship with in her life. That same virility was no doubt part of why he could take charge of a
situation so swiftly. “Seems to be. Roll over.”

  “If you insist.” He complied with a lazy smile and athletic male grace. “I like it with the lady on top, no doubt about it.”

  “I’m a woman, and in bed no lady, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” She slipped out of bed and went to pick up his silk tie from where it was draped over the side of a chair. “This is just a little variation on the theme. Lift your arms.”

  He also lifted his brows, but obligingly put his hands above his head. Of course when she straddled him and began to loop the material around his wrists, he rose up enough to lick the underside of her breast in a wicked sweep of his tongue. “Tying me to the bed? I’m intrigued, but I thought you liked how I use my hands.”

  “Oh, I do.” The elegant headboard was a bit of a challenge but she managed to thread the ends of the tie through the intricate metalwork and secure the ends. Reign had no illusions that if he wanted to free himself, he probably could, but this was more about sensual trust than anything.

  Apparently emotional trust was a ways off, but in this medium they communicated very well.

  His eyes gleamed with arousal and that was hardly the only evidence. His cock was hard against the flat plane of his belly and when Reign leaned down to lightly run her tongue along the tip, his body visibly jerked.

  “Jesus.” He said it through clenched teeth when she merely sat back on his thighs and smiled. “If you tied me up to just torture me—”

  Reign leaned over. “You know me better than that. I just need a condom. Do you mind if I do the honors?”

  “I don’t think there’s a lot of choice on my end. I’m tied up, remember.”

  “Your end is nice, but I like your front best.” She peeled off the wrapper and rolled it slowly down his erection, taking her time about it.

  “Ms. Reign, you have quite the sense of humor. Bring that pussy here since I can’t come to it.” His skin had a sheen of sweat that betrayed he wasn’t as self-possessed as he seemed.

  Fine with her. She loved it when he lost it, because when a person checked on the definition of badass, she was fairly sure Nick Fattelli’s name was on that list.

  So she deliberately drove him crazy.

  First lowering herself onto his cock until he had fully sheathed it and then moving up so he slid almost free and kissing him like an inexperienced girl, no tongue, just a press of her lips, her palms braced on his chest.

  “That feels good,” she said with feigned shyness.

  Then she did it again.

  “I’m only going to let you get away with this for so long,” he said thickly. “Just giving you a word of warning.”

  She sank back down, and it wasn’t that desire was like fire licking through her veins, but he was usually so in control it was an intriguing change of pace. “All bets off?”

  “All of them.”

  She moved then, faster and harder, the up and down motions as she rode him rapidly and it was gratifying when he came first, his orgasm spiraling into hers as he powerfully lifted his hips time and again.

  His hands, she discovered, were untied already and smoothed down her bare back as she lay on his chest. He said, “Reign, you do know you make me crazy, right?”

  Chapter

  NINETEEN

  He’d been awake since five but finally fallen back asleep after brushing his teeth, which wasn’t so easy one-handed, since his shoulder was still pretty painful. Sal contemplated making some coffee but opted for a pain pill instead, then lay in bed sweating until he finally drifted off.

  That party was over when he woke up.

  He rolled over and groaned.

  It was very much better to be in his bed than in the hospital, but it was hardly perfect.

  First of all, sitting up was a real problem. He didn’t have a nurse to come at the press of a button either, and he’d ignored the instructions to have someone come stay with him.

  Reign would have been his first choice anyway, and she was probably with Fattelli. Just as well, he thought as he rolled out of bed in just his boxers. He could maybe defend another human being from a weak kitten. Some inconsiderate person seemed to be hammering on his door. If Reign was in danger and this person wanted in, he’d not be of much help since a single shove could send him to the floor.

  When he jerked the door open, it wasn’t an assassin on the other side. It was Dr. Altea, dressed for work in the usual pale blue scrubs but carrying a basket of some kind. Her hair was loose and soft around her oval face, and her topaz eyes were inquiring. “Welcome or not? I brought breakfast. Looks like I just got you out of bed. It’s after nine. I thought I was safe.”

  The sun was brightly shining, illuminating the vines growing on the stucco walls of the private entrance to his condo. The air smelled like summer also, warm and fragrant.

  He glanced down. “Oh hell, I’m in my underwear. Sorry, I’m a little groggy.”

  “I hate to mention this, but it’s nothing I haven’t seen before, so we’re all good, but only if you want me here.” She had a nice laugh, light and musical.

  Why not? He’d sent a brief text to tell his parents he’d been released the night before, and he had mentioned he was tired. He loved his mother but wasn’t in the mood to have her hovering over him. But this arrival was most welcome, if a little unexpected.

  “Come on in.” He stepped back. “Excuse me for a minute and I’ll at least go put on pants.”

  “If it makes you more comfortable, but don’t bother on my account.” She walked in carrying a cardboard tray with two cups of what smelled like amazing coffee.

  “I realize you’ve seen all my important parts in their dubious glory,” he said dryly, “but I—”

  She interrupted, slightly raising her brows. “And I was impressed.”

  It took him a moment to figure out how to respond to that flirtatious comment. Eventually, he found his voice. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Dr. Altea, but I guess I’m more old-fashioned than I thought, not wanting to have a cup of coffee with a lady in my Skivvies. Though don’t count on a shirt. I still can’t lift my arm very far. Luckily, I don’t feel like going anywhere anyway, so I guess I’ll just wander around here half-dressed until things get better.”

  “They will. I’ll take a look and change the bandages before I leave.”

  “I’m a big boy, I follow the instructions. Besides, I didn’t think doctors made house calls anymore.”

  “Neither did I. Wow, this is a nice place. Kitchen?”

  It was nice. It belonged to someone his father knew who didn’t ever use it, because he spent a lot of time down in Miami, and Sal rented it for a song on a caretaker kind of basis. It had tall windows letting in lots of light, leather furniture that had probably cost a small fortune, polished bamboo floors, a built-in bar, and Oriental rugs in bright colors. Sal suspected the paintings on the walls together were worth more than most people’s houses. He’d never used the dining room that seated twelve. “Thanks. To your left. I’ll be right back.”

  He went into his bedroom and fished out an old pair of worn sweatpants, decided they were good enough, and managed to get them on with minimal twinges.

  When he walked into the kitchen, he saw Jennifer Altea had found the toaster and was putting in a bagel. There were small containers of cream cheese and butter on the counter, as well as what looked like a very nice bowl of fruit salad and a small jug of orange juice.

  He liked how she moved. Graceful but efficient. As his doctor, he’d appreciated her brisk, no-nonsense honesty when she was treating him, but there was also a woman in there, and at the moment, he appreciated that even more. He leaned against the granite counter. “Can I help?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Plates and silverware?”

  “Oh, good idea.” He had to grin as he moved to open the cupboard above the six-burner stove he rarely used. “I eat pizza with my hands in front of the television pretty often. Student thing.”

  “I’d yell at you about tha
t, but I was guilty of it too. Doctors preach good nutrition, but we are pretty bad about it, always cutting corners due to time. Living in New York helps, since we have a lot of take-out choices, but I shudder when I think of the sodium content in most foods. To control that, you just have to cook for yourself. I hope you like green chile.”

  “Spicy is fine with me.”

  “These are green-chile bagels. I discovered them when I did a rotation at a hospital in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I’ve never found them anywhere else, but there’s a shop downtown here that offers them. So good.” She hovered over the toaster. “Like heaven.”

  They smelled good, he had to admit. For dinner the night before he’d eaten a can of soup, which Reign had found in the pantry and heated up for him, but he’d barely been able to finish that, so anything geared toward finer cuisine would have been lost on him anyway. Sal also retrieved placemats from the drawer, and at least he was capable of setting the antique table by the big window with an impressive view, even if he did it one-handed.

  It occurred to him that he didn’t spend nearly enough time enjoying the wonderful space, but then again, time was a commodity he didn’t have a lot of anyway.

  He had to admit the bagels were fantastic. “All right, I’m a fan,” he said after the first two butter-drenched bites. “Like seriously.”

  “I know.” She ate with equal relish and he had to wonder, considering she was pretty slender, how often she took the time to sit down for a meal, just like him. The unusual color of her eyes intrigued him as she regarded him across the table. “For whatever reason, I just thought you’d be someone who would appreciate them.”

  “Mental connection?”

  She took a bite and chewed and swallowed before she answered. “Maybe. I’m thinking it might be more a physical attraction right now.”

  Sal choked on his sip of coffee. When he recovered, he said, “I can roll with that, but are you always so blunt?”

  “I’d ask how you could afford a place like this, but I’m afraid to hear the answer. Your chart said you are a law student. As a med student I lived in a crappy studio and ate cereal for dinner half the time.”