“I thought you said you were fine.”
“I am. I’m just in pain, and no one touched me like they did with you.” Turning his head slowly he looked at her, and his gaze made her growl. “How are you, C?”
“I told you I’m fucking fi-”
“Yeah, I heard you, but you’re only talking to me right now. Just me. Be honest. No lies, remember?” Smith’s voice was serious, and she knew he wouldn’t drop it.
“None of them fucked me, Smith. I’ve gone through a hell of a lot worse. I pretended to be a whore to keep the attention off you, they treated me like one, it was a success.”
“It’s the first time that something like that has happened since you were capable of actually fighting back.” His words struck a chord inside her, but she had been in control. She had baited the bastard next to her to touch her instead of hurting Smith – even though they had hurt Smith anyway. Even though he’d still ended up with a bloody face and a bullet wound.
At least they were both alive.
“I knew what I was doing, Smith. I had a pretty good idea what would happen when I played the hooker card, but it drew their interest to me, and if we were getting out of there I needed you conscious. Some asshole touching me isn’t going to ruin my fucking day. We survived, that’s the deal, right?”
“You really did do beautifully, C, and I wish I’d been able to get loose sooner.”
“It’s fine. Call Jean. Tell him about the jewelry.” She leaned him back on the bench and stood, too antsy and full of adrenaline to sit still. Instead of staying close she walked towards the busier intersection, scrubbing at the blood on her temple to try and hide it as she approached a more populated area. When she saw no one that looked helpful, she turned back, and that was when she saw the white SUV following her as she walked back towards Smith.
“Poulet Doré. Avez vous appelé?” A man asked from the passenger window, and she pointed towards the bus stop.
“Whatever, I don’t know what you’re saying. Are you from Etienne? If so, help him.” They drove past her and pulled a u-turn to stop in front of Smith, and she caught up just as they exited the vehicle. Smith was speaking in rapid French that she couldn’t track, but soon two men were helping him into the vehicle and one young man was urging her into the backseat.
“We help. Yes. In now.”
“Fine, whatever.” Climbing into the backseat with Smith she buckled them in and held his head in her lap as the others climbed into the SUV and sped off. Even while weak Smith was barking commands in French and soon the passenger was on the phone talking up a storm.
“The bodies? The jewelry?”
“Taken care of,” Smith groaned, and she nodded, brushing her fingers over his forehead in a wordless apology for him being shot and for snapping at him.
“I’m fine,” she reiterated but he just rolled his eyes, and as pale as he was he still managed to glare up at her.
“We are going to talk.”
“There’s nothing more to say. It’s done.”
“C…” he spoke softly, raising one hand to brush her cheek, tracing her lips with his thumb. “About the other thing -”
She flinched, remembering the way she’d said the L-word when the idea of them dying flashed in front of her eyes. “Don’t. People say crazy shit when they think they’re about to die, and I needed them to focus on me because they were less likely to hit me. I just said what came to mind.”
“It’s okay -”
Camille gently covered his mouth, looking down at the angry swelling around his right eye, the split lip, the tension in his face that spoke of the pain he was doing his best to hide. “Smith, I will gladly fuck you as soon as you’re patched up. I will ride you on that gorgeous fucking terrace in full view of the other guests and half of Paris and the Eiffel Tower – but I am not having this conversation. Got it?”
He nodded, and then he turned her hand and kissed her knuckles, placing a lingering kiss on her thumb that was swollen from when she’d escaped the rope. “I got it, C. Just remember, I’m supposed to be the bossy one.”
“Right now you’re the shot one, so I get to be in charge.”
“You can’t even tell them what to do, C.”
“Then translate for me.”
“Translate your bossy commands?” There was an edge of humor in his voice as he smiled through the obvious pain.
“Yes, Smith. That’s what I want you to do. That, and heal fast. You promised me a climb up the tower.” She smirked down at him and he laughed for a second, but it dissolved into coughs.
Growling she leaned forward and tapped on the driver’s seat. “Can you hurry the fuck up? How much longer?”
When she glared down at Smith he rolled his eyes and translated, but she was sure he removed the curse words. Still, they seemed to speed up a little, and all she really cared about was getting Smith to a doctor. Closing out the job, getting paid, and talking to Jean? That would all come later.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Smith woke up slowly, the lingering drag of the pain meds making his head cloudy – and he hated it. They were still in Paris, and that meant Gabriel Richard’s associates could still be looking for them. He needed to be focused, ready.
“Look who’s finally fucking awake. How are you feeling?” C was laid out across the bed, on her stomach, looking over her shoulder at him – her naked body on full display. There was the perfect round of her ass, the graceful curve of her back, her feet swaying in the air – it was a sight he wanted to memorize, have painted on the inside of his eyelids. “Smith?” She grinned at him as she caught him staring.
“I’m feeling fantastic after waking up to this view.”
“Uh huh.” She turned back to her magazine, flipping a page. “Do you know it’s 10:30 in the morning? You slept fucking hard last night. I was starting to get worried.”
“What can I say? Someone rode me hard last night. I was tired.” He laughed when she rolled her eyes, but it tugged at the stitches in his side and he stopped with a groan.
“Listen, Smith, we really don’t have to climb the tower today, I was just fucking with you. I’m perfectly happy right here.” Camille sat up and crawled across the bed towards him, another sinful sight. When she straddled him with a devious smile he cursed himself for getting shot – because what he really wanted to do was bend her over the side of the bed, and there was no way that was happening in his condition. She traced his jaw with her thumb, pulling his attention back to what she was saying. “I swear, getting to stay a couple of extra days in this place has been a fucking dream.”
“Even after the job went sideways?” he asked, focusing on her crystal blue eyes to gauge how honest she was about being stuck in the hotel room with him while he healed.
“Sideways or not, we made a lot of money, right? Moreau was very, very grateful…” Tilting her head she let all of that white blonde hair tumble to her other shoulder, and even though she had a bruise peeking out from her temple, and others blossoming all over her tanned skin – she looked impossibly beautiful. Perfect.
Focus, Smith.
“He was definitely happy to get the jewelry back. It’s why we could afford staying here two days longer than I’d planned.”
“It’s not like he was angry that Gabriel Richard died either. He was a rival. Now Thomas can do whatever he wants with his business.” Her hips rolled on his lap, and he stopped her by digging his fingers into her flesh.
She’s going to kill me – but at least I’d die happy.
He grinned at her when she pouted. “You’re right, C. Jean said that Moreau was glad Sabine had died first. The fact that Gabriel spent a few torturous hours without her was all he cared about.”
“Vicieux,” Camille slurred the French word for vicious and it made him chuckle.
“Trying to learn French now?”
“Fuck no. They don’t pronounce anything here, it all sounds like they’re drunk… which they probably are judging by Jean and Bertrand.�
� She ran her fingertips over his chest, tracing random patterns on his skin with her nail. “I want spaghetti.”
Smith laughed, pressing on his side. “Didn’t you say it’s ten in the morning?”
“It’s ten thirty, which is almost eleven, which is basically lunch time. Come on, I’m starving.” She rocked her hips on his thighs again, and despite the lingering haze of the pain medicine he felt his cock twitch.
Not a chance.
He reached forward and squeezed her ass before landing a light spank. “Alright, up. We’ll order room service.”
“Yes!” Camille bounced off of him, vaulting off the bed and running across the suite to snag the menu off the desk.
With a groan he pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard. She climbed back onto the bed and moved close, her arm brushing his as she flipped through the English section of the menu. He couldn’t help but just watch her, the way she subconsciously chewed on her bottom lip as she skimmed the pages, finally she snapped the menu shut. “Find the spaghetti?” he asked.
“It’s not listed, but they’ll make it. It’s not like it’s complicated.” Handing over the menu she leaned forward to grab the magazine she’d been looking at before he’d woken up.
“What is it with you and spaghetti, C?” He opened it again as he looked for something to order for himself, but she just shrugged beside him.
“It’s the perfect comfort food. Carbs and cheese and spicy tomato sauce. Most of the time at nice places like this it’s served with the best fucking bread too.” Turning a page in her magazine sharply, she continued in a slightly softer voice not lifting her eyes from the article about some teen star. “And my mom used to make it for me. It was the only real food she knew how to make.”
“Your mom?” Smith froze, afraid of scaring her away from the topic. He didn’t even twitch a muscle as she sighed.
“Yeah. I guess I just connect it with something good. Why? Do you not like it or something?” Her eyes flicked over to him, an edge of challenge in her voice.
“Spaghetti is great.” He smiled a little, wondering if she’d elaborate, if she’d tell him more about her past – because he wanted to know. He wanted to know every little thing about her.
He wanted to tell her about him so that she knew who he was.
He wanted to tell her, again, how strong she was – how much she impressed him – how every single day he was in awe of the incredibly deadly killer she’d become.
He wanted to tell her that he loved her.
But, he couldn’t. She’d closed the door on that discussion, and it was smart. He was already so wrapped up in her that there was no hope for him, but if she ever wanted out – if she ever wanted to be free after they crossed the last name off her list – he wanted her to feel like she could.
Mountain hideaway, or European tour, or whatever she wanted… Smith just wanted her to have it. He’d give her the world if he could. “I think I’m going to have the cassoulet if we’re going for comfort food.”
“The what?” Camille laughed, bright and airy. “Fuck you and all the French shit.”
“I thought you said that me speaking French was sexy?” He nudged her and she rolled her eyes.
“Basically anything you say is hot, but I am so ready to be back where I can at least mostly understand people.”
“Over Europe already?” Smith chuckled as he gingerly leaned over to grab the bedside phone.
“Hell no, we just need to see a lot more than Paris on the next trip. It’s incredibly fucking beautiful, but there’s so much more to see over here. England, and Italy, and Ireland, all of those places.” She leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, and he mourned the loss when she leaned back. “I’m grabbing a shower, please tell me there will be food when I get out?”
“Oui, oui, mademoiselle.” He smiled as she flipped him off and sauntered towards the bathroom, her curves shifting with each step until the door shut and ended his view. Pressing the extension for room service he tried his best to relax against the pillows, ignoring the twitch in his cock as he imagined her in the shower, naked and warm and wet and – dammit.
Just as he started to get hard the voice of a woman came over the line and he focused on comfort food, and building up the stamina to get up the damn Eiffel Tower.
A promise was a promise, and he planned to keep that one.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Six Months Later
Camille was sweating under her coat as she took the stairs two at a time up to their third floor room. After Paris they had been staying at decent hotels unless they were on a job and needed a dingy, out of the way, no surveillance kind of place. It was a relief to come ‘home’ to a decent bed, and coming home to Smith was even better.
Digging in her workout bag she finally fished out the card key and swiped it, nudging the door open to hear him on the phone, speaking low. “Yes, I think you’re right about that.” He turned around and flashed a quick smile at her, those eyes scanning her from head to toe. “Why don’t you send the stuff over, I’ll text you the address. Right… goodbye.”
“Who was that?”
“Lacroix.” He leaned back against the desk, bracing his strong hands on the wood and making his abs stretch delightfully. Who needed a shirt in December when the heat worked? “Let me guess, you were with Manny?”
“When are you going to get over that? I just like hitting the bag there.”
“Hmm, maybe when he stops drooling over you and hitting on you?” Smith arched an eyebrow and she laughed, dropping her bag on the floor so she could rip off the coat before she overheated.
“You’re a fucking contradiction, Smith. On the last job you said it was the fact that I flirted with the target that we were able to get him away from his buddies. So, when exactly is my sex appeal an issue, and when is it an invaluable skill, as you called it?”
“It’s an issue when it’s someone I don’t get to shoot.” He prowled towards her across the room, like a wild cat intent on a target, but she didn’t even want to run. Yet. When he grabbed her hair and leaned her head back she grinned.
“You cannot shoot Manny.”
“Fine, but I don’t have to like him.” With a low growl in his chest he kissed her, nipping her lip hard as he pressed her against the wall. She kissed him back, losing herself in the play of his tongue against hers, but she was too wound up to give in so quickly. Planting her palms against his ribs she shoved him away, and as his grip on her broke she delivered a hard kick to his thigh and then followed it with a knee to the stomach. Smith caught her leg and then swept the other, sending them both to the floor in a tangle of limbs.
“I’m nice to your friends, Like Bill,” Camille growled as she caught his wrist mid-air and struck his forearm to knock it away. Twisting she threw herself backwards, rolling over her shoulder to land in a crouch a foot or two away. The hotel room didn’t have much space – but that had always been half the fun of their frequent sparring sessions.
“Bill is not a friend, he’s a bartender.” He flipped to his feet, the muscles in his chest making her mouth water. So deadly, so dangerous, and for some insane reason he only wanted her. When he lunged for her she dodged him, grabbing onto his shoulder to throw him into the wall. The mirror shook as he collided with it and she danced to the other side of the room.
“Bill is someone you make sure you visit every single time you come back from a job, or did you think I didn’t notice that in the three fucking years I’ve been around you?” She laughed when he rolled his eyes at her. “Sorry, Smith, but I think Bill’s your BFF.”
“Guys don’t have BFFs, C. Now, come here so I can teach you a lesson.” The low rumble to his voice was a promise and a threat rolled into one, and it sent a thrill up her spine – because she trusted him implicitly. She knew he wanted her bent over the bed so he could spank her until she squirmed and then fuck her while her ass was still warm, and she wanted it too.
She j
ust wanted him to work for it.
“Admit Bill is your bestie and I’ll strip and let you do whatever you want with me.” There was a flash of lust in his eyes just before his gaze flicked around the room, judging the space he had, the space she had – evaluating a hundred different moves in the fight before it even really started.
The perfect killer, an incredibly skilled fighter – but unfortunately for him, he had decided to train her to be just like him.
He smiled slowly, rolling one shoulder. “You’re not going to win.”
“We’ll see. If I win, you have to tell Bill he’s your bestest friend in the whole fucking world.”
“And when I win?” Smith had that cocky tilt to his lips, the one that had first made her fall for him. Confidence and bravado that was well earned – and so fucking hot.
Still, she laughed at him. “If you win… you get me.”
“Oh, but I already have you.” He took a measured step towards her, and then another, and she took one towards the bed so she could vault it if he charged. “How about if I win this little fight… you quit Manny’s gym.”
“Fuck that, I like seeing you all riled up and jealous, and there’s nowhere else in this city I can work out for free.” She shifted her weight to her other leg as he took another slow step, knowing she was playing with fire and having way too much fun. “Manny likes your jealousy too.”
That did it, Smith broke into a charge and she jumped up onto the desk, catching him in the back with a roundhouse before she leapt off and kicked the desk into his hip. He caught the furniture and shoved it towards her, but she avoided it by slipping past the television. Unfortunately, his reach was just a little too long and he caught her arm, yanking her against him and delivering a hard hit to her ribs before spinning her and jerking her arm high on her back.
“Shit!” Pain radiated out from her shoulder and she forced herself to breathe and think.
“Want to apologize now, or after I spank you for that little remark?” Smith’s voice was a rough snarl against her ear, and even through the aches and bruises she knew she was wet.
Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0) Page 25
