by Zoe York
She gasped when his fingers first pressed against her panties. A fresh jolt of lust shot through her, and she whimpered as he hooked his thumb around her underwear and yanked it down her legs. He nipped at her neck before moving his mouth lower, dragging it down across her throat and upper chest. He’d reached the top of her breasts by the time his fingers were between his legs again, and she knew he felt every bit of her desire.
“I’ve never tasted anyone like you,” he growled against the soft curve of her breast.
She could only cling to him as he slipped a finger inside of her. It was only a finger, only a fraction of what she wanted, and yet she’d gone so long without his touch, without the ecstasy of their physical connection, that even this was shockingly intense. She arched her hips against his hand, aching for more of that connection, for more of him, whatever he was willing to give her. Her body recognized his touch, needed it like air.
He lifted his face from her chest. His finger still worked between her legs, stroking her in time with the movements of her hips, teasing them both. But his other hand was undoing his pants, then pushing them down his legs.
Before they even hit the floor, he was on top of her again, kissing her even more hungrily than before. His teeth ground into her lips. It was as if he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t taste her deep enough. He pulled his hand away from her as his body slid between her thighs.
His mouth barely drew back from hers as he rasped, “Are you still on the pill?”
“Yes,” she breathed in response. “Have you been safe?”
“Yes.” He shifted his hips, and she could feel him right against her now. One thrust and they’d be joined again, joined as they were meant to be, and she didn’t think she could breathe until that moment.
But for the first time, he paused. Pulled back slightly. They hadn’t bothered to flip on the light in their little bunk, but a soft glow came in through the porthole window. It was just enough for her to see his face as he gazed down at her.
He was propped on his elbows over her, and he brought his hands to the sides of her face, cupping her cheeks. His thumbs swept across her skin, caressing her. There was such tenderness in his expression that her eyes burned again, but this time the tears had nothing to do with fear or pain.
“Charlie,” he whispered, like her name was the sweetest word in the world. “Charlie, I—”
But the rest of his words were lost as a gunshot rang through the air.
— SIX —
Jackson went cold.
His first instinct was to drop down on top of Charlie, to protect her as much as he could. It took him a full minute to realize the gun hadn’t gone off in the room with them. But it had been close—which meant the danger was still very real.
He leaped up and tugged up his pants. Charlie tried to get up, too, but he shook his head. “Stay down here. Lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone but me.”
Heavy footsteps sounded above them—then a curse and a shout.
Fuck. He stumbled over to the cabinet over the kitchenette, yanking open the door and shoving aside the cans of food. In the back of the cabinet was a hidden compartment where they stored a number of small handguns. He hadn’t been wearing one. That was fucking careless. He threw a glance at the stairs, but no one was coming down. Vincent’s journals and atlas were still on the table.
“Leo?” he called.
There was no answer.
He ran up the stairs. Leo was on his knees on the deck, gripping his arm. Dark blood oozed between his fingers.
Jackson spun around, gun raised. But there was no one else on the deck.
“Off… there…” Leo said, his voice strained with pain as he threw a bloody finger in the direction of one of the nearby alleys. A dark figure was tearing off through the night. “Bastard thought he could catch me by surprise.”
Jackson didn’t hesitate. He tore across the gangplank and raced after the fleeing figure. The guy had a huge head start, but if anyone in the Set could catch him, it was Jackson. And he wasn’t about to let the fucker get away. Not after he’d let his last quarry give him the slip. He sprinted through the streets.
It didn’t take long for Jackson to gain some ground. But the streets were busy with people going to the restaurants and nightclubs, and it was hard not to barrel into anyone as he sprinted past. His gun was still in his hand, but it was too risky to shoot. He didn’t want to bring out the local police—or worse, hurt someone innocent.
But that fucker ahead of him had shot Leo, and he wasn’t going to get away with it.
If you hadn’t been distracted, you could have stopped him, he told himself. But you were too busy thinking with your cock when you should’ve been thinking of your team. Roth had left him and Leo in charge of the boat, and he couldn’t let his leader down. He refused to let his quarry escape him. If that meant chasing him through hell and back, then so be it.
Charlie’s face flashed in his mind—her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen, her gray eyes glazed with desire for him. With trust. It might have been her who’d been hurt. She could still be hurt, if she stayed with him.
But he’d debate that issue with himself later. Right now, he had a rat to catch. And this time, there’d be no escape.
***
Charlotte tried to stay in the bunk, truly she did.
But when Jackson didn’t return—and when she didn’t hear the sounds of gunshots, or even of a struggle—she couldn’t bear to stay cooped up. Not if Jackson might be hurt.
Her legs trembled as she stood. Her body felt like a tightly wound spring—but whether that was from fear or from certain unresolved tensions, she couldn’t be sure. Her thighs were still wet with the evidence of what she and Jackson had almost done. Quietly, she opened the door.
There was no one else down here with her. No sign of Jackson or Leo or anyone else. She still couldn’t hear anything happening up on the deck, but she grabbed a pot from the stove before heading up the stairs. She didn’t want to be completely empty-handed.
Halfway up the stairs, she heard a moan. She tightened her grip on the pot, but in the moonlight, she was quick to recognize Leo. He was sitting on one of the benches, a towel pressed against his arm.
It took her a second to realize that the red stain on the towel was blood.
“Shit,” she said, nearly dropping the pot.
Leo glanced up. “I’ll live, mi bella.”
Panic rose in her chest. She’d never seen a gunshot wound before. Never seen anyone with a violent injury.
“What happened?” she said. “Where’s Jackson?”
“Chased after the guy,” Leo said. He smiled, but his voice was strained.
She set down the pot and went over to his side. What was she supposed to do? Should she call the police? How the hell did she even do that out here? She glanced around. There were yachts docked on either side of them, but they appeared to be empty—their owners were probably out at dinner or exploring the city. Still, it was likely there were people within shouting distance, and she opened her mouth to call out when Leo grabbed her arm.
“Don’t,” he said. “We don’t want the local authorities involved in this.”
“You’ve been shot,” she reminded him. “And why won’t any of you ever let me call the police?”
“If you knew how many laws we’ve broken—or how many we’re probably currently breaking—you’d understand,” he said. “Besides, it’s just my arm. I’ve had worse.” He flashed her another smile as he released her, then frowned when he looked down and saw he’d left blood on her arm.
“Here,” she said. “Let me help.” She took the towel from him, then realized she had no idea what to do. Did she just keep applying pressure? Tie it around his arm like a tourniquet? Did she need to get him water? Painkillers?
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” Leo said. “Jackson will get him.”
It most definitely was not all right. But how could she argue with the guy who’d just been shot? Wh
en Jackson had said this could be dangerous, she’d thought he was just talking about the car chase and other spy-movie stuff. Not people actually getting bullets in their arms.
“The others will be back soon,” Leo said. “You’re doing just fine.”
She let out a strained laugh. “I should be the one comforting you. Not the other way around.”
“I told you, I’ve had worse. And Jackson would kill me if he came back and found you upset.”
The mention of Jackson made her whole body flush. She couldn’t believe she’d almost had sex with him—but even now, every part of her was still alive with sensation. Try as she might, she couldn’t reason herself out of her desire for him.
“Jackson wouldn’t blame you for something like that,” she said weakly.
“You’re right. He’d probably blame himself.”
She didn’t know how to respond to that, so she didn’t.
“Don’t look so glum,” Leo said. “He’s not normally this high-strung.”
She nodded, still frowning. “He’s just got a lot of things on his mind right now.” Like blaming himself for his teammate’s betrayal.
“Or being madly in love and not having a fucking clue what to do with himself.”
Her eyes snapped to his face. “What?”
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “It’s not like either of you has done anything to hide it.”
“But… I don’t…” Lust was one thing, but love was a completely different sort of situation, and one she most definitely was not ready to deal with.
He chuckled. “I should probably point out that these walls might as well be made of paper.”
It took her a second to realize what he meant, but when she did, she went cold, then hot.
“You… you heard…”
“I tried not to,” he said, that weak excuse for a smile still on his lips. “Honest.”
Her entire body was on fire. She hadn’t even had a chance to fully process what had happened between her and Jackson. The idea that someone else knew, that someone else had heard…
“Don’t look so upset,” he said. “You two have been fucking each other with your eyes since the moment you got here. Not much left to hide.”
This was too much. In a moment, she was sure to erupt into flames.
“I just… We didn’t…” Even her tongue felt warm and thick. “Shouldn’t I call someone? Roth?”
Leo’s eyes flashed with humor, but he gave a nod—then winced. “Let me grab my phone.”
He did, and quicker than she even expected, Roth and Alexei had returned to the boat. Suddenly, she felt in the way again.
“I’ll take over from here,” said the deep-voiced Russian, grabbing the makeshift bandage from her hand at the same time Roth demanded, “What happened?”
Leo tried to sit up, then decided better of it. “We had a visitor. Jackson took off after him.”
“Did you get a good look at him?”
Leo nodded. “That tiny fellow of Nash’s.”
Roth cursed.
“Jackson will get him,” said Leo.
But Roth didn’t seem convinced. “The atlas? The journals?”
“Still here,” Leo said. Alexei fiddled with the bandage, and he grimaced. “They might have a couple of guys on our tail, but not enough to rush us all at once. This guy was trying to be sneaky. I was lying down on the bench and I’m pretty sure he’d thought I dozed off. Caught him by surprise. He panicked and shot.”
Roth seemed to take this in, then spun on Charlotte. “And where were you during all of this?”
Heat flooded her face again. “I… Below.”
“And where was Jackson?”
She was grateful for the dark—otherwise, she was sure her blush would’ve given everything away.
“Look,” said Leo through clenched teeth, “I’m happy to go over the details later. But in the meantime, can someone grab me some aspirin? And preferably some strong liquor?”
Charlotte practically leaped forward. “I will.”
But as she hurried down the steps, all she had to do was take one look at Roth’s eyes to know this discussion wasn’t over.
***
When Jackson returned to the boat, he was ready to kill something. Adrenaline vibrated through his veins. His body ached from exertion. And he had nothing to show for it.
He could have kept going all night. It didn’t matter where that little fucker was hiding. Jackson wouldn’t have rested until he found him. But Roth had called and ordered him to return. He’d tried to argue, to insist that it was important for him to catch this guy, but Roth was having none of it. Eventually, Jackson had a choice: obey his leader or obey his pride. He’d chosen his leader.
But that didn’t keep his anger from burning through him. His quarry had escaped him. Again. And that knowledge festered in his gut as he made his way back through Hvar. Why was he even here, if his team couldn’t count on him?
And when he reached the boat and saw Charlie looking pale and confused on the deck, he felt even worse. The gunman had been fifteen feet away from him. If the man had gotten past Leo, if he’d made it down to the bunks… by the time he’d have noticed, it would have been too late. He’d put Charlie at risk because he couldn’t control himself.
His chest tightened when her eyes found his. He wanted to go to her, to pull her into his arms and run his hands over her body until he’d proven to himself beyond all doubt that she was unhurt. That she hadn’t suffered due to his carelessness. Meanwhile, his cock hadn’t failed to notice the way her hair was still tousled from their encounter below, or the way the strap of her dress was once again dangling off her shoulder.
Fuck, man, he thought. Now isn’t the time for this. But he’d been in a perpetual state of arousal since showing up at her door, and his dick didn’t seem to know how to do anything but respond to her.
Fortunately—or not—no one was a greater cock-block than Roth.
“I’ve been in touch with Xavier and Toshi,” his leader said. “Their orders are to stay in Vis for the time being.”
Jackson took a deep breath, trying in vain to calm himself. “Leo?”
“Below. Conscious. Alexei managed to stop the bleeding. Said the bullet went right through him. He gave him a few temporary stitches, but our supplies out here are limited.”
“Is there a hospital on the island?” Jackson asked. He’d stolen medical supplies before in a pinch, and he’d do it again.
“There is, but we’ll be returning to Split instead. It’ll be easier to disappear there. We need to take care of this discreetly. And find a place to hole up for a few days where there aren’t people shooting at us every four hours.” He straightened his shoulders. “We rushed into this, I see that now. I was so worried about staying ahead of Nash that I didn’t allow us the time to do our normal research and preparations. We’ll return to Split until we have a better idea of our next step.”
“And we’re just going to let that bastard get away?”
Roth’s expression was stony. “That ‘bastard’ already got away.”
“He couldn’t have gotten far. We’re still on an island, and he didn’t jump on one of these other boats. He’s out there. Let me go get him. He fucking shot Leo!”
“If you’re so concerned with your teammate’s safety, then where were you when the shot went off?”
Jackson’s back went rigid. He didn’t even have to answer—he could see that Roth already knew the truth.
“Let me make things right,” he said through clenched teeth. “Please, Roth. Let me go after this fucker.”
Roth’s eyes flicked past him. “Let’s say I allow you to stay here and go after your man. What about your girlfriend? Should we continue to cart her around while you’re off assuaging your conscience?”
Shit. In his impatience, he’d forgotten all about Charlie. But before he could argue for her, a voice spoke up behind him.
“I can find my own way back to Split.”
“Charlie—”
“There’s no reason for me to be here,” she said. “Roth’s right. I’m just in the way. I’m not contributing anything. And it’s probably safer for me on my own.”
This was crazy. He was not about to let her go off on her own—especially now.
“No way in hell,” he told her.
“It’s not your decision,” she countered.
“It’s not safe.”
“Then I’ll take the first plane I can get to somewhere that is.” She crossed her arms. “This solves everyone’s problems, Jackson. You can go off on your own without worrying about me. Your team can do what they need to do without me getting in the way.”
The old Charlie wouldn’t have argued like this. But there was something ridiculously erotic about that angry spark in her eyes—and the way her love-bitten lips kept pursing as she stared him down. He wasn’t about to let her run off on her own. But the idea of leaving her on this ship—letting her sail back to Split away from him—didn’t appeal to him either.
“Fine,” he said. He looked back at Roth. “If she gets off too, can I go after him?”
Roth’s eyes shifted from him to Charlie and then back again. His leader was a hard, practical man—he rarely let his emotions dictate his decisions—but even he had to see that they couldn’t keep letting Nash’s men pick away at them.
Finally, the older man gave a single nod, though his eyes were as steely and unforgiving as ever.
“I expect you in Split in forty-eight hours, whether or not you find him,” he said.
It was more than Jackson had expected to get. “Agreed.”
Roth turned to Charlie next. “I thank you for the atlas. I’ll make sure you’re compensated fairly for it.”
And just like that, the decision was made. A short while later, Jackson and Charlie were standing on the dock, watching the yacht sail off into the night.
