Shifting his weight from his hands to his knees, he scooped up her legs and flung them over his shoulders. She gave a little gasp of excitement. Quentin kept his gaze on Francesca as he began to drive hard into her pussy. The new angle created all new hot spots of friction that were quickly driving him mad.
He arched his back and rolled his hips as he fucked her with slow precision. Each stroke was perfection. He would not last much longer. He knew that for certain. Using his right hand, he reached down to touch the place where their bodies were joined. His fingers brush his cock just as he pushed into her body. He felt his own flesh entering hers and shivered with the dark delight of this primitive act.
Finding her clitoris, Quentin began rubbing the swollen bundle of nerves in gentle circles. Francesca’s body went rigid. Her back arched. Her hips rocked against him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and held tight as he felt her inner muscles tighten around his cock.
“Quentin!” She cried out his name again and again. “I’m—I’m…”
He reveled in the fact that she couldn’t even verbalize the words. She was beyond the ability to be coherent. It was flattering as hell. Then he felt his balls begin to tighten beneath his body. His eyes slid shut, and he held tight to Francesca’s body as his orgasm overtook him in one blinding moment of perfection.
Convulsing, he strained against her as he poured every bit of his seed into her body. He loved this moment. He loved giving her everything that he had. He loved the sensation it gave him—the sense of ownership. As if he had marked this woman as his own for anyone and everyone to know.
The orgasm left him lightheaded. He was gasping for breath, and beneath him, he could hear Francesca doing the same. The thought made him smile. Was there anything more perfect that coming hard and knowing that your woman had done the same?
Quentin gently removed his cock from her pussy. Slowly lowering her body to the bed, he collapsed beside her. She immediately snuggled close. He gave a growl of satisfaction and put his arm around her. As soon as he settled onto his back, she curled up and flung her knee over his thigh. Her head fit perfectly in the hollow of his shoulder, and he turned his head to sniff the wonderful scent of her hair.
“I think we’re getting better at that,” she said in a conversational tone. “Maybe in twenty or thirty years, we’ll have it down.”
“I’m more than willing to put in the practice,” he teased. Idly caressing her shoulder, he enjoyed the softness of her skin. “Did you know that you feel good all over? It’s really quite amazing.”
“Will you marry me, Quentin?” She turned her head to look up at him. “I don’t know how you feel about that stuff, but I really want this to be my reality each and every single day. I don’t want you to leave after this job is over. I want you to stay here with me.”
He didn’t know what to say. Of all the possible conversations he had expected to have with Francesca about their relationship, this one had not necessarily been on his radar. They had talked about children, briefly. Given that he didn’t want to have a biological family, he hadn’t really considered marriage. He hadn’t figured any woman would want to leg shackle herself to an old marine with a heaping helping of mental issues.
“Quentin?” Her voice was small now.
He quickly dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “I wasn’t taking a long time to answer because I want to say no, sweetheart. It isn’t like that. You just took me by surprise. You know?”
“I’m sorry.” She started to pull away. Why did women always do that?
Quentin clamped her to his side. “I would like to accept your offer of marriage, Francesca Ormonde. As long as you don’t think I’m going to take your name just because you were the one who manned up enough to propose.”
Her shocked laughter made him smile. “Actually, I think I’ll keep my own name.” She seemed surprised by her own daring. “Does that bother you?”
“Not at all.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m man enough to respect an independent woman who has fought damn hard to get her life back. I think you should absolutely keep your name.”
“You make me so happy,” she whispered. “Thank you for everything.”
“I’ll only accept the thanks if you let me thank you back.” He held her close. “You’ve made my life worthwhile. You gave it meaning again. I will never stop being grateful about that. I never expected to be happy like this. Not after what happened when I came back from overseas.”
“All of that made you the man that you are.” She touched his lips. “I won’t pretend to understand how the things that happened affected you. And I know there will be dark times. I’m not silly enough to think that it will be all sunshine and roses.”
“We still have Stedman to deal with,” he agreed. “He’s not going to be happy about what happened today in court.”
“Fuck him.” The gleeful expression on Francesca’s face was the cherry on top of the sundae. She gave a laugh. It sounded pure and absolutely happy. “He can have his mafia and his illegal business dealings and all of those other things that are obviously stressing him out. I will keep fighting him until this thing finally comes to an end.”
“I don’t think it will take long,” Quentin predicted. “He’s made a lot of promises that he hasn’t managed to deliver on. There’s only so much of that a criminal organization will accept before they fire him in their own special and irrevocable fashion.”
“Then you and I can watch his little empire burn to the ground together,” Francesca told him. “Just promise me we’ll do it as man and wife.”
“I promise,” Quentin told her. He had never meant anything more.
NASH
Chapter One
Ava Harte peered through the viewfinder of the binoculars and tried to make out what exactly she was seeing. Truly, it made no sense. The target she was spying on wasn’t exactly the outdoor type, yet here he was outside in what amounted to the middle of the night and apparently trying to bury something large.
A cool spring breeze ruffled Ava’s reddish-blond hair. She shoved a particularly stubborn bush out of her way and tried to find a better position. The leaves on the stupid bush were prickly though, and she had to bite back a curse as the branches’ thorns caught on her hand.
Lifting one hand to her mouth, she used the other to hold the binoculars to her eyes. She sucked at the blood welling to the surface of her palm. No doubt she would have a hell of a time explaining where the cuts on her hands had come from. Lately, she felt like she was under house arrest. It was all so damn complicated.
There! She finally had a clear view of what Stedman was doing. There was a shovel sticking out of the loamy ground not far from the pergola in the estate’s well-manicured backyard. Ava could make out a mound of dirt that looked as though it had been freshly dug. Then she finally spotted Stedman himself. He was in the hole!
Ava put the binoculars down and tried not to gasp out loud. She had known that man for nearly thirty years, and she’d been married to him for seven. The idea that Stedman Hyde-Pierson would be in his backyard—at night—digging a hole suggested only the worst possible reasons.
She needed to get closer. That was the only answer. These bushes at the edge of the property just weren’t cutting it. There was a body going into the ground. Ava just knew it! She needed to find a way to get a picture with her smartphone or something. That would prove that Stedman was up to his eyeballs in illegal activities.
Backing out of the bushes, Ava stayed nearly bent over as she sped down the fence line toward the gate. The big stone pillars looked like chess pieces in the wan light of the half-moon. They were held together by big wrought iron bars set so close together that not even a rabbit could probably get through.
This was not the first time that Ava or one of her acquaintances had snuck onto Stedman’s property. Unfortunately, Ava was not as skilled at reconnaissance as the former marines she was working with. Too bad none of them were available for this particular excur
sion. Or rather, it was too bad that Ava was too pissed at them to ask for help right now.
She eyed the gate tucked in next to an empty guardhouse. The guardhouse had never been used. The elegantly designed, square brick building was more for looks than functionality. It didn’t even have windows. There were just arched doorways in and out with gates.
Ava held her breath as she tried the first gate. To her surprise, it was unlocked. She snorted and let herself into the yard. Sometimes Stedman’s arrogance beggared her ability to describe it. The man was playing power games with the Russian mafia in Boston and very likely burying a body in his own backyard, but he didn’t even think to lock a gate? Preposterous!
Staying low, Ava ran quickly across the side yard and around toward the back. The house appeared to be deserted. She could remember when Stedman refused to have less than a dozen staff members hanging about to wait on him hand and foot at any given moment. It seemed he needed privacy for what he’d been up to lately.
She reached the patio with no incident. Crouching low, she leaned around the corner of the raised brick paved surface. The patio sat maybe three to four feet above the yard in a terraced style that included several large planters filled with leafy plants just blooming for spring. This was where Ava found good cover.
Pressing her back to the scratchy brick, she remained in a squat and just managed to lean around the corner. The brick’s uneven surface pulled at her hair and clothes. She was wearing a drab, brown velour jogging suit that she’d dug out of the back of her closet. She was thinking now that she should have put her hair up in a cap or something. She felt like the top of her head was horribly exposed.
Finally, she managed to get a peek at Stedman. He was, indeed, inside a giant-sized hole. He looked disheveled and dirty. His hair was mussed, and he appeared to be dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Ava had not seen him out of a suit since before they had divorced. He was digging furiously inside the hole. Every few moments, he would throw another load of dirt out onto the grass. The sound of the shovel hitting the dirt reached Ava clearly. She just couldn’t tell what the lump was on the opposite side of the hole from her position. It was black and looked sort of plastic-like, as if it were a giant bag of some kind.
Suddenly, he jumped out of the hole. Ava drew back and pressed her hand to her chest. She was so jumpy and with good reason. If Stedman had any notion that she was observing him, he would put a stop to it in a way that might very likely leave her in one of those plastic bags too.
Ava clenched her hands into tight fists. The pinpricks of pain from her nails digging into her palms seemed to center her. She took a deep breath. The binoculars were still hanging around her neck. Gingerly picking them up and putting them to her eyes, she tried to gather more information.
There was a strange scent on the air. She could not place it, but it was unpleasant as hell. Stedman was shoving at the bag. It seemed stiff and difficult to move. The smell increased. Stedman retched. Ava watched, mesmerized as she saw Stedman turn to his side and vomit into the grass.
The reek of the puke was enough to make Ava gag. She put one hand over her nose and mouth and tried to remain quiet. This was no time to throw up and give away her presence!
Then Stedman abruptly lost his temper. He started kicking the bag. It was creeping closer to the hole. It seemed to roll sluggishly, as if it weren’t really round. Finally, it was perched on the edge. Stedman picked up his foot and gave it one more good shove. The bag split at the last second, and a human body came tumbling out. It fell with a dull thud into the hole.
Ava did not dare breathe. She had come here looking for some kind of proof, evidence, whatever. She had not expected to find Stedman burying a body! Taking deep gulps of air, Ava pushed her shoulders back against the brick side of the patio. She shut her eyes and searched for any shred of composure.
I can do this.
She had to. She had to get out of here and tell someone what she had seen! With that thought heavy on her mind, she stayed low and sprinted off through the darkness toward the open gates and her exit.
*
Jason Nash was sick of this job. Nash Security Solutions wasn’t a large company. He made most of his own business decisions, although he’d recently hired a bookkeeper/accountant to take care of the day-to-day financial stuff. Apparently, employees got a little miffed when paychecks were two weeks late.
As Nash flipped through video feed from their surveillance cameras, he contemplated what was really pissing him off about this job. For starters, it was not a regular job. His company had initially been hired by Stedman Hyde-Pierson to investigate death threats made against his family by the Boston branch of the Bratva. A few weeks into the job, it had become readily apparent that Stedman was lying like a rug. Any death threats were completely unrelated to the Russian mafia. In fact, it had quickly become obvious that Stedman was the one who was using this useful opportunity to bump off a few family members that wouldn’t play nice. People like his ex-wife, his dead brother’s widow, and even his children and niece.
Nash let his head fall forward until his forehead bumped against the countertop in front of him. He sighed. Finding out that Stedman was the bad guy should have been the final straw, not a turning point. Why had he let Stedman’s ex-wife, Ava, convince him to come on board and let her pay for the investigation?
Ava was driven, stubborn, and so beautiful that Nash was pretty sure his brain stopped working whenever he saw her. It made things damn awkward, when he was supposed to be investigating this whole bullshit situation on her behalf. Then there was the fact that all of his employees—men and women—were getting romantically involved with members of Ava’s family. It was insane! The whole thing was like some tragic reality dating show where death threats provided a dramatic backdrop for young love.
“Nash?”
Someone banged on the back door of the surveillance truck. This place had become his refuge in the last forty-eight hours. Now Wrath wanted to come into Nash’s sanctuary? Not cool.
“Come on, Nash,” Wrath insisted. “You can’t pout in there forever. We need you to come out and at least talk strategy with us.”
“No!”
“Ava went on some scouting mission to Stedman’s estate,” Wrath said in a voice that suggested he thought he was relaying some enticing information. “Don’t you want to go find her and yell at her?”
“No!”
Truthfully, he wanted to yell at Ava for a lot of things. The woman was forever putting herself in danger. She was going to die, and he wasn’t going to be able to do a damn thing about it, because she would have run headlong into the disaster headed her way. It was like watching a child touch a boiling pot on the stove. He knew what was going to happen, but Ava didn’t. So, she just kept reaching for the stupid pot, not realizing that she was about to pull it over onto herself.
So, why was he standing up? Nash stretched. His back crackled as his spine popped. He was too old for this shit. He was fifty. Old enough to know better. He should be sitting behind a desk somewhere ordering his employees around and collecting a paycheck. He should not be standing around letting his client boss him around. It was pathetic.
He rolled his neck from side to side and felt his joints settle. Then he reached for the door handle. He had locked it from the inside to keep anyone from bugging him. Apparently, his plan hadn’t worked anyway. His team would probably blow a hole in the side of the truck to force him out if they decided it had been too long.
“Oh, good,” Wrath said when Nash poked his head out. “You can come back up to the house. Ava should be back in a minute. She was going to try to get pictures of something that might get the police interested in that murder.”
“Hypothetical murder,” Nash growled. “Like I told Ava and her sister-in-law. You can’t have a murder without a body or something more than circumstantial evidence! It just doesn’t work that way.”
“Ava just texted to tell us that she’s got a body.” Wrath was already walki
ng toward the house when he threw this little tidbit over his shoulder. “Apparently, Stedman was burying it in his backyard.”
“What?” Nash nearly fell on his face trying to get down from the truck.
Dammit. Now the infernal woman would never let him forget that she had been right and he had been wrong.
Chapter Two
Ava wrapped her hands around the mug of tea and tried to let the warmth soothe her ragged nerves. She was starting to have a healthy appreciation for the concept of an adrenaline rush. Somehow, she had managed to hold herself together while she was—well, she was spying, and there was no other way to put it. So, she had managed to spy on Stedman and keep her cool. But by the time she had made it back to her car and had headed back toward the South End and her cozy little Victorian-era house, she felt as though she were losing her mind.
“You’re still shaking.” Francesca—Ava’s sister-in-law—gently rubbed her back. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call Wallace? He probably has half a dozen calming tinctures he’d be willing to pour down your throat.”
Wallace was Ava’s longtime friend. He owned a pharmacy not far from Ava’s home and was also a bit of a holistic healer. Recently, Wallace had been digging for bullets and stitching up war wounds. If this thing with Stedman got much worse, Ava was going to have to keep Wallace on permanent retainer and send him to medical school.
“No,” Ava decided. “Don’t call Wallace. I don’t want him to worry. After he had to dig for that bullet in Quentin’s arm last time, I could tell he was getting a little bit tired of our drama.”
“Wallace loves you,” Francesca murmured. “He would never tell you no. Besides, we won’t tell him what you were actually doing.”
Francesca’s eyes were gleaming with excitement. Ava was still having trouble getting used to this new and much braver Francesca. For the last several years, since Francesca’s husband had shot himself in their Beacon Hill home, Francesca had sort of checked out of her life. These days, she was on top of pretty much everything going on and very much involved in trying to bring Stedman down.
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