In For the Kill

by Shannon McKenna

  She sat down on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, and his glands went nuts. His dick tingled.

  “Thank you,” she murmured into his hair. “For standing by me.”

  “Don’t thank me,” he said. “You know damn well that I’d give up body parts for the privilege.”

  “You made me strong tonight,” she whispered.

  He grunted. That was problematic, since he didn’t approve of her presence here, and didn’t want to sustain it. But he didn’t want to kill this moment, either. She could dismantle his defenses with a hug and a few smooth, artless moves. Sit that juicy little thing down on his hard-on, press those soft, scented tits against his face, and he’d fall right into line. She said jump, he’d say, sure, babe, over what cliff?

  But the tough pep talk didn’t slow him down. His body was miles ahead of it, kissing her ravenously. Her cheeks and lips were wet. His tongue slid into her mouth. She shivered in surrender, opening to him.

  She pulled away and swept aside the bed canopy. She slid off his lap and clambered onto the bed on hands and knees. With a view like that to precede him, he followed as if dragged by a harness into the mysterious inner sanctum of the tented bed.

  She reclined, propped up on her elbows, shivering as he stroked her from her knees up to the baby-soft warmth of her inner thighs. Warm, smooth skin, the graceful shape of her thighs, the swirling puff of ringlets between. The lickable, kissable, fuckable pouting folds of her beautiful cunt, shining and hot. He slid his fingers into her slick heat. She arched and sighed, squeezing around his fingers. He shucked the pants, let his cock spring out, heavy and stiff. Sank his fingers knuckle-deep into her wet warmth, finger-fucking as she bucked and trembled, nightgown shoved up. Spread open, offering it all to him.

  Except that it wasn’t all. Not even close. He’d gone forward as if frequent, prolonged bouts of wild sex would make up for what she wouldn’t give him. It wasn’t working out, but he still could not stop.

  He inhaled her sexy scent, and lapped his tongue hungrily around her clit while his fingers plunged and delved. She arched off the bed, whimpering as she clenched around his fingers in a wrenching climax.

  He wedged his cock into her tight, slick little hole while she was still quivering with the aftershocks, and pumped lazily in and out.

  He arched over her, staring straight into her eyes.

  “This isn’t enough,” he said. “I want more from you. You think you can manage me like this? Just drop your panties and give me a little treat whenever I start to bitch and whine?”

  She shook her head and cupped his face with her slender hands.

  “I’m giving what I have to give,” she said. “It’s yours, anyhow. You know that.” Moonlight shone full on her beautiful eyes, swimming with tears. “Take it if you want it.”

  He took it.

  Sveti slept long and deeply. She was usually jolted awake by nightmares before dawn, no matter how tired she was, but today, the sun was high when her eyes opened. She felt rested, relaxed.

  Then her eyes met Sam’s, and last night’s events thundered through her head. Her face heated. Her thighs squeezed around the tender ache. He’d peeled back so many layers of her, to some secret part deep inside that flowered madly just for him.

  She blinked back hot tears, just thinking about it.

  Sam lay on his back, his thickly muscled arms folded back behind his head. So handsome, even scowling. He looked as if he’d been awake for a long time, staring, cogitating, seething. Lying in wait for her. His jaw was set. His mouth looked grim and tight.

  “Good morning,” she said.

  He stared at her for a moment. “That remains to be seen,” he said. “It depends on what’s required of me. Today’s agenda bites my ass.”

  Oh, boy. He was in one of his moods. This was going to be complicated. She sat up, shoved her hair off her face, groping for something to say that wasn’t going to make things worse.

  Her phone rang. She jerked up to respond, but Sam was quicker, and closer. He snagged it with his long arm and held it out of her flailing reach as he examined the number. Buzz. Buzz.

  “Is this your slobbering lech of a future boss?” he asked. “If so, don’t answer. I do not want to listen to you talking to him.” Buzz. Buzz.

  “Give me that!” She wrenched the thing out of his grip and stared at it, flustered. The number was unfamiliar.

  “I don’t know this number,” she said. “It’s no one in my family.”

  Sam peered at it. “That’s an Italian cell phone. Don’t answer.”

  She shot him an eloquent glance and hit ‘talk.’ “Hello?”

  She waited. Silence, but no beeping. The silence had depth. The line was open.

  “Who is it?” Sam asked.

  She waved for him to be quiet. “Is someone there?” She barely made out the faint sound of breathing. Her first thought was Sasha, but Sasha had long since given up trying to speak on the telephone. The words just wouldn’t come out.

  The next possibility bubbled up out of nowhere. “Misha? Is that you?” she asked in Ukrainian.

  Sam’s body went rigid next to her. “What the fuck?”

  “Shhhh. Talk to me,” she coaxed whoever was listening. She glanced at Sam, who looked ready to erupt. “The line’s open, but no one’s talking,” she said to him.

  “So hang the fuck up!”

  She shook her head. “Misha,” she said softly into the phone. “I’m your friend. Sasha loves you so much. He worries about you, and brags about you. How bright you are, how special.”

  “Sveti!” Sam hissed.

  She turned her back on him and kept talking. “Remember that I’m here for you. Call me whenever you want. I’ll always listen.”

  A click, and the live silence went flat. The listener was gone.

  She let the phone drop, afraid to meet Sam’s eyes.

  “Have you lost your goddamned mind?” he bellowed.

  “Evidently.” She was still surprised by what she’d done.

  “That could have been anyone! What the hell did you say to him?”

  “Stop yelling,” she said quietly. “Nothing dangerous or compromising. I said I’m his friend. That Sasha loves him, that I’d be there for him.”

  Sam rubbed his face violently. “Oh, fuck me.”

  “Stop carrying on,” she said. “I have a lot to do today, so—”

  “Yeah, about that.” His hand clamped around her arm. “We have stuff to talk about first. Stuff we put off, from last night.”

  She went still. “Sam—”

  “You can’t expect me to deal with that guy. It’s too much to ask.”

  “It was embarrassing,” she admitted. “I’ll make it plain that I’m not interested sexually. It’s just a matter of being extremely clear.”

  “I could make it clearer,” Sam offered. “With my fists.”

  “You just have to trust me,” she said quietly.

  “You are not the problem! He is! That guy wants to fuck you!”

  “You think all men want to fuck me,” she snapped.

  “That would be an accurate assessment. But that guy thinks that he can. He’s sure that he will. And touching you in front of me gets him off. That is sick, sociopathic bullshit. You shouldn’t be exposed to it. The guy’s a prick, Sveti. You cannot work for him.”

  “Sam, you’re exaggerating the problem—”

  “You think we’ve got problems now? If he puts his hand on you again, I’ll tear his head right off his neck. I’m not speaking figuratively.”

  She was openmouthed. “Ah . . . you’re scaring me, Sam.”

  “Good,” he said roughly. “Then we’re starting to communicate.”

  “Listen to me,” she said. “No harm will come to me if I just go have breakfast at the Villa Rosalba.”

  “Why?” he demanded. “Why go there at all? What for? What do you think you’re going to accomplish? You think you’ll wander freely in the conte’s house, poking through his st
uff? You think after six years that you’ll find some trace of your mom there? You’re dreaming!”

  “That’s not the only reason,” she protested. “I want to see the atrium, and Atlas, and the maze. Her bones are in the mausoleum! I want to pay my respects. Is that so hard to understand?”

  “And I’m supposed to nod and smile while he gropes you?”

  “No! I expect you to trust me to handle the situation in my own way!” she yelled back. “I’m not an idiot, Sam!”

  He laughed bitterly. “Idiot, no. Babe in the woods, yes.”

  “You’re wrong.” She sat up very straight. “You’re being irrational. I understand your feelings, but I won’t be controlled by them. I’m sorry it makes you angry. Bottom line? It’s not up to you. This is my decision.”

  “That’s your final word?”

  “In this case, yes.” She stretched to snag the gauzy canopy so she could slip out of her side of the bed, as climbing over Sam’s big body to get to the draped tent opening did not feel like a good idea right now.

  His big hand pressed against the small of her back, pinning her down, and he rolled on top of her. Oh, God. He was so long. Dense, hot.

  She went still. “Sam?” she said hesitantly. “Not a good time.”

  He slid his thigh between hers, opening her. “Last night you said this was mine. You were very specific about what’s mine, and what is not and never will be mine. But I can lay claim to this, right?” His hand slid up her thigh, stroked her cleft. Wet from last night’s excesses.

  “I said a lot of things last night,” she said. “That doesn’t mean—”

  “Shhhh.” He pushed her hair aside and licked the birthmark on her neck, a slow rasp as his thick cock prodded her wet folds. He forged inside, in a slow, slick glide. “I want what’s mine. It’ll probably be the only satisfaction I get today, so I’ll take it while I can.”

  His voice was cool, but his body was so hot, and his solid weight grinding against her, that slow, deliberate penetration, made her limbs go liquid. Her lungs jerked for air, shuddering as he slid his thick cock slowly deeper. Rocking, sliding, swiveling. So deep.

  She dragged in more air. “But you’re angry. And cold. I don’t like that. I don’t want you inside me when you’re like that.”

  “I’m not this way by choice,” he said. “You’re not the only one ripping your heart out, offering it up. I’ve been doing that since we hooked up. Your answer’s always the same. You don’t like me angry and cold? Fine. If you want me to bounce for joy, you know what to do. Are you going to do it?”

  “I . . . I . . . Sam, that’s not—”

  “Of course not. I know you’re not. I’m just making do with the crumbs that I’m offered.” He slid his hand lower until his finger found her clit, caressing it as he fucked her harder, and deeper.

  She pressed her face to the pillow, muffling the strangled sounds, canting her hips to meet each slick, hard stroke like an eager little love slave. She loved it and she hated it. How could it feel so good when she was this angry? “You manipulative son of a bitch,” she choked out.

  “I might be a son of a bitch, but I’m going to make you come so hard. You love the way I touch you, even though you don’t want to love it. Just like you don’t want to love me.”

  “Goddamnit, Sam!” She writhed and struggled beneath him, but every move just seemed to stroke his big cock against every shivering sweet spot inside her, driving her wild. “Stop talking that way!”

  “Not until you come.” He worked her with terrifying skill and timed it just right. Letting go just as she took off, so that he was pumping his essence into her as she bucked and thrashed and wailed.

  She was a shaking mess afterward. Her nightgown twisted up around her ribs. Fighting for breath beneath his weight.

  He lifted himself up, out of her body. She couldn’t even move. She felt flattened. In every way. On every level.

  “I’m good to go, then,” he said. “I got my morning treat. A quick shower, and I’ll be ready to do your bidding once again.”

  “Fuck you,” she said, shakily. “You’re punishing me with sex.”

  “You call that punishment? The way you came? Let’s keep it real simple. A time-honored arrangement any guy can understand, even a bonehead like me. I do what you tell me to do, and you let me fuck you.”

  “You’re trying to make me feel cheap,” she whispered.

  Sam laughed harshly. “Who’s making who feel cheap? You’d already be my bride, if I had my way. But I don’t get my way, Sveti. I just get a treat tossed to me, now and then.”

  “So this is your strategy now? Fucking me into submission?”

  “No, my strategy is to fuck you into screaming orgasms.”

  “I don’t feel the difference!” she snapped. “This domination kick you’re on makes me nervous. Scale it back. Or we’ll have problems.”

  “But you like it that way,” he observed. “From the very first, we’ve played with that vibe. It makes you explode. And I think it makes you feel . . .” His voice trailed off, eyes narrow, as if he were afraid to say it.

  She sat up. “What? Makes me feel what? Spit it out!”

  He shrugged, still hesitating. “Safe,” he said finally, his voice low.

  She stared, aghast. “Safe? Sam! Are you crazy?”

  He shook his head. “You slept nine hours last night, Sveti. Nine, with no nightmares. Yuri didn’t come to you.”

  She shook her head frantically. “No, Sam. You’ve got the wrong idea about me. You’re going down a dangerous path.”

  “Those are the only paths you tread, baby. I’m just following after you.” His gaze was steely. “You’re not having breakfast with Hazlett, today or any day. Put it out of your head. Simone will be here soon with more hardware for me, so I’ll take the first shower.”

  He strode into the bathroom. The shower began to hiss.

  Sveti dragged herself up into a sitting position, limbs still weak and shaking. She stared at the bathroom door, appalled at where this was going. Where it had already gone. Over the line. Barreling onward.

  She hugged herself, shivering. Wondering if she’d somehow invited him to morph like that, with her unconscious longing for someone strong to take charge, tell her what to do. Keep her safe.

  It didn’t matter, in the end. Maybe it happened because of the way she responded to him in bed. Maybe it would have happened no matter what she did. Either way, it was not acceptable.

  She might love his fierce, conquering vibe in their sex play, but she had struggled through dark places, and come a long way up to the light. She’d attained a sense of power, autonomy, choice. It was very hard won, and no one was taking it away from her. Never again.

  Sam was out of the shower before she’d finished formulating her thought. He marched around the room naked. Yanked his clothes on without looking at her, dragged his fingers through his wet, tangled mane of hair. His phone rang as he was shoving his feet into his shoes.

  He grabbed it. “Si?” He listened. Said something terse in Italian. “Simone is on his way up,” he said to her. “Don’t leave this room.”

  With that, he strode into the salone and shut the door.

  So. The little woman was dismissed. Not a thought of inviting her into the meeting, or asking if she wanted a firearm, too. It just didn’t occur to him, and why would it, the way she shivered and sighed, begging to be ravished. Fuck that. No more.

  She hurried into the shower. Threw on a white linen dress, a pair of sandals. Her phone beeped as she was brushing her hair.

  Breakfast on the terrace with Renato and me at Villa Rosalba?

  Short drive—a half hour at most.

  Rocco and Silvano waiting for you downstairs.

  Yours hopefully. M.

  She felt almost faint, at the momentous choice that text message posed. She opened the connecting door just a crack. Sam was conducting a lively conversation in Italian with Val’s guy, Simone, over a table covered with guns of vario
us shapes and calibers. They were talking shop, and would probably be at it for a while.

  She didn’t have the energy to face him down about this. And a massive power struggle with Sam was a poor use of her energy in any case. She texted Hazlett:

  Coming.

  Seconds later, her phone burped.

  Excellent! A presto.

  It was the architecture of the old baroque palazzo that made it possible to leave discreetly. Connecting doors were everywhere, and in the back of the bedroom was a door that communicated with what was probably a servant’s stairway. Locked, of course, but from the inside. She scribbled a quick note to Sam.

  Going to Villa Rosalba. Accompanied by Illuxit Security. Don’t worry.

  She left it on the crumpled bed and hurried down the narrow, dingy back stairway.

  Outside the lobby, a limousine idled. Silvano leaned against it. He opened the car door for her.

  It made her chest hurt, imagining how angry and betrayed Sam was going to feel, but he’d driven her to it. And he might be right about Michael Hazlett being a big prick, but she’d draw that conclusion for herself, thanks. Nor was she particularly interested in drawing it today.

  It was the Villa Rosalba, and whatever secrets it might harbor, that beckoned her this morning. Neither Sam nor Hazlett was going to keep her from it. So everyone could just back the fuck off already.

  She pulled out her phone and turned the ringtone off.

  CHAPTER 19

  The Villa Rosalba was perched on a ridge over the sea. It was a small, graceful Renaissance castle, made of pale gold tinted stonework. Sveti stepped out of the car and into the blazing sunshine. Her smooth-soled sandals slipped and slid over ancient cobblestones.

  Renato came out to greet her, dapper in a pale linen jacket, a silk scarf knotted around his tanned throat. Oozing with money, and the native arrogance that sometimes accompanied it. How could Mama have chosen this effete nobleman, after Sergei Ardov? Her father had been the polar opposite of this guy. Fiercely handsome. Pragmatic, stern, ascetic in his habits. Focused on work to the point of obsession.