by Shayla Black
God help her.
“I’ll be fine. But Harper has been sick. If you have a blanket she could curl up with while we talk, I’d appreciate—”
As if on cue, the girl coughed, raspy and deep. Between one fit and the next, she drew rattling breaths into troubled lungs.
“She needs a bed, Sasha. I have four in this house. Pick one and put her down.” When she hesitated, he towered above her, eyes narrowed. “She needs sleep and a doctor. You need help. That’s why you came, isn’t it?”
It took everything Sasha had to stand her ground and nod.
“Do you have any clean clothes in there for her?” He gestured to the duffel.
“No.”
“I’ll take care of it. The bedrooms are down the hall. When she’s settled, come back and tell me what you’re after.”
Without another word, Nick turned his back, pulled out his cell phone, hit a few buttons, and paced out of the cavernous foyer. Who was he calling at dang near midnight? He hadn’t reacted at all like she’d expected when she’d rung his doorbell. But she couldn’t worry about him now. Harper needed her.
Sasha dragged herself out of the foyer and down the long hall, until she came to the first bedroom. Airy, with two twin beds—she could tell that much in the dark.
Flipping on the light, she saw two plain beige comforters with soft white sheets. Nothing frilly. But a real bed would be a blessing for her baby. It had been so long since she’d slept in one, and this looked like heaven.
Stopping, resting, indulging—Sasha couldn’t for long if they wanted to live.
As she eased off Harper’s clothes, the poor girl barely moved. Across the hall, Sasha found a powder bath and coaxed the little girl awake long enough to use the potty.
Naked except for Barbie underwear, Sasha tucked her daughter into bed. Harper sighed as her head hit the pillow and she fell back asleep. A fever heated the child’s brow. For over a week, Harper had been ill. It was getting worse. But she had no money, almost no medicine left. She feared going to a hospital and filling out paperwork would be like drawing a map of their location for the lethal man chasing them.
Fighting tears of exhaustion and worry, she kissed her daughter’s cherubic face, pushing the pale hair from her forehead, praying a good night’s rest would help cure her.
“Is she asleep?” Nick asked in low tones.
Sasha turned at the unexpected sound of his voice. He filled the doorframe completely, looking as solid and as massive as the door he replaced. She shivered.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“She’ll have new clothes tomorrow morning, size three-T. Everything in the duffel is in the washer now. A pediatrician will be here at nine.”
Again, he’d surprised her. Kindness? “I promise, we’ll get out of your hair immediately after the doctor leaves. And I’ll pay you back as soon as I’m able. I just came to see you about—”
Three electronic beeps resounding through the house startled her. Nick dragged his rough gaze down her body. At his inspection, Sasha shivered. She had no idea what he was thinking.
“Come with me.” Without waiting for her response, he turned and left down the hall.
Sasha hesitated.
He paused without turning back. “You came to talk to me about something. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Dread and anxiety settled in her stomach. But she had no choice. With a backward glance at her sleeping daughter, she followed.
At the end of the hall and to the left, she crossed the foyer again, then passed under an archway. A thoroughly modern kitchen awaited on the other side. Hardwood floors and concrete countertops gleamed under recessed lighting, as did the dark, contemporary cabinets. A stainless refrigerator stood in one corner, perfectly matching the oven and microwave, which beeped again.
“Bobby Flay, I’m not,” he said, yanking open the microwave door and pulling out two pieces of pepperoni pizza. “Sit.”
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had anything resembling a full belly, and this smelled scrumptious. Her stomach rumbled.
He set the slices in front of her, along with a napkin. “Eat.”
Sasha frowned at the plate. Nick meant to feed her? “For me?”
“Yeah.” He gave her a self-deprecating smile as he put a can of beer in front of her. “I only have necessities here right now. Sorry.”
“Beer and pizza?”
“Damn straight.”
His reply seemed so…typical guy. So unlike the violent rapist his trial had painted him to be. She hid her surprise behind her napkin. Just who was she dealing with?
“Look, I appreciate the bed, the medical attention for Harper, and the food—”
“I’m not listening to you until you’ve swallowed every last bite of that. Chow down.”
Sasha didn’t have to be told twice. She devoured the pizza, conscious of Nick watching her every move with dark, intent eyes. What the heck was he thinking when he looked at her that way?
If they’d been in a different situation, she would have been ridiculously attracted to him. He had a rugged face dusted with dark stubble and bold male features. His mouth was a wide slash of full lips that looked totally equipped to provide hours of sin. That, coupled with his air of mystery, screamed danger. Not that he’d be interested in her. She hardly possessed the centerfold beauty he’d once been used to, according to Mike. She was completely safe. In fact, the way she looked now, he wouldn’t touch her, even if she were the last female on earth.
It didn’t matter. Sasha had stopped caring about superficial stuff long ago. And however tempting he looked on the outside, Nick Navarro’s blood was ice, according to his rape victim’s testimony. Even at his trial, he’d never said a word in his defense, simply accepted his conviction with a blank stare.
Sasha again questioned the wisdom of putting herself in his path. If Mike hadn’t been murdered, she would have been a suburban soccer mom—not homeless and broke and running for her life, sleeping with one eye open to make sure her daughter stayed safe. Not at the mercy of a man society labeled a violent offender. But he knew how to play hardball with the people who threatened her and Harper. He alone knew how to end this nightmare.
Damn it, if only she had some bargaining chip to offer him…
Once her plate was empty, he set it in the stainless steel sink. Cautiously, Sasha sipped her beer, observing his crisp, watchful movements.
“Thank you for the food. I was hungry,” she admitted.
“Has your daughter eaten?”
Sasha nodded. “We stopped at a diner down the road a while ago.”
“And you didn’t eat.”
He didn’t ask; he knew.
Sasha paused. She didn’t want to voice the truth, but lying to him seemed counterproductive when she wanted his help. “I didn’t have enough money for both of us to eat.”
“Then you walked here in the rain?”
“Yes.”
“Carrying her?”
The edge of censure in his tone frustrated her. “I didn’t have any other options.”
At her confession, he sat back in his chair. “And now you’re going to tell me why you’re here and how you came to be in this state.”
It was a command as much as a question. Sasha took a deep breath and tried to remember the words she’d rehearsed. “You probably don’t recall, but when you visited Mike at our house, Harper was a newborn.”
“I remember.”
Did he really? “About a year later, Mike’s behavior changed. He turned anxious, secretive. For months, I didn’t know he’d fallen into dicey political waters at work. He never gave me details, but I gathered his difficulty had something to do with his boss, Walter Clifford, the Orleans Parish district attorney. Then I overheard Mike talking to you on the phone a few weeks before…” She didn’t want to finish that sentence and relive her husband’s death again. “He told you that Clifford was dirty.”
“As sin. He’s responsible for Mike’s murder.�
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“I know. Apparently, the man suspects Mike left behind some evidence that proves his corruption. In the last fifteen months, I’ve tried to figure out where he might have hidden it, to no avail. But I knew my husband. If he’d been about to blow a whistle, he had solid proof.”
“Meanwhile, Clifford has had thugs and hit men chasing you, right? He’s told you to hand your evidence over or he’s going to turn you into fish bait.”
“Harper first.” Her voice broke. “If I don’t produce the proof three days after her murder, then me.”
Something terrible flickered across Nick’s face quickly, then it was gone. Sasha couldn’t decipher the expression, but resisted the urge to back away from him.
“Why do you assume I’m any better than Clifford?”
Sasha’s heart stopped. Why had she? “I—I just thought…”
“That since Mike was my childhood friend, I’d want vengeance for him? That I’d help you out of the goodness of my heart?” He shrugged. “C’mon, I knew Porter well. He told you to steer clear of me unless it was a dire emergency. But you assumed that since I’m a convicted rapist, I didn’t have many boundaries to cross, and murder wouldn’t bother me. How do you know I have a conscience at all? How do you know I can’t be bought by the other side?”
Had she been so desperate, so sure Mike would have steered her in the right direction, that she’d rationalized the very real risks of coming here?
Yes, and obviously she’d been naïve. She had to leave now.
Darting to her feet, Sasha charged out of the kitchen and to the hall. Harper. She had to reach her little girl, pluck her out of bed, and escape—somehow—before Nick Navarro stopped her. Would he turn her over to the people wanting to kill her baby? Or did he have some nefarious plan of his own?
In seconds, she heard pounding footsteps hunting her from behind. Oh, God. Oh, God! He was going to catch her before she and Harper could escape.
Suddenly, he clamped hard fingers around her wrist and yanked her around to face him. She nearly tripped and fell. Nick stopped her by bracing her against the solid width of his chest.
Before he could get a tight grip on her, she started fighting, clawing and kicking, aiming for his genitals. He dodged her, clamping his thighs around hers and capturing both wrists in his hands.
Then he took her to the carpet in the narrow hallway and lowered himself on top of her.
Sasha fought him with every bit of her strength. She was nearly a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter, and he had gravity on his side. Panic clawed her. She couldn’t breathe.
No!
She’d failed Harper. Her baby didn’t deserve to die because her father hadn’t been sneaky enough to sidestep criminals and her mother hadn’t been worldly enough to escape them.
Sasha kept fighting long after Nick had her contained. She tried not to sob. Crying would do no good.
“Stop!” With strong arms and long legs, Nick clamped down harder, finally holding her immobile.
Panting, her breath quivering, Sasha looked up into his endless inky eyes. She expected to see laughter, triumph, anticipation.
She saw regret.
So he wasn’t looking forward to killing her and Harper. She doubted that would stop him.
Sasha wasn’t above begging, not if it would save Harper. “Please, she’s just a baby…”
“Shh. You and your daughter are safe with me. And I won’t let Clifford’s hit men near you.”
No words could have shocked her more. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“You don’t, not any more than I know if you’re telling me the truth about whatever evidence Mike may have found. But you want protection from Clifford’s hit squad. I want revenge against the asshole. Looks like we have to trust each other.”
Could she? What other option did she really have? In this case, the devil she didn’t know had to be better than the one she did. At least she hoped.
Sasha gave him a shaky nod. “I need help. I can’t run anymore. They’re getting closer. Harper is sick…”
“And you’re exhausted.”
“I don’t have any money to offer you…”
He hesitated. “That’s not what I want.”
Then what was he after?
Even as Sasha’s mind raced, she became aware of the inferno of heat Nick put off. It sank through her damp clothes, under her skin. For the first time in weeks, she felt warm.
“Um…I could clean your house.”
“That service comes with the rental.”
“I’ll do your laundry.”
Nick shook his head. “I know how to use the washer and dryer just fine.”
“I-I can cook…”
For a quick second, he looked as if that intrigued him, then he scowled. “Takeout works for me.”
Now what? Besides housework, her only other talent lay in scrapbooking, and she seriously doubted he’d want a personalized album commemorating the time he’d spent in prison. But she had to give him something. Relying purely on his good favor would be too dangerous.
“Then what do you want in return for your help?”
Above her, he shifted, grimaced. Confusion buzzed through her brain…until she felt his erection, lengthening and hardening between her legs.
Sasha sucked in a breath. Even through her jeans and his, she could tell he was large. She hadn’t had sex—or any contact with a man—since the night before Mike’s murder, and her neglected body didn’t fail to notice that he was all male. The mixture of fear and desire confused her, even as his scent hung musky in her nose, dizzying her head. His stare melted with heat, pouring over her like liquid seduction.
The truth—the price he intended to extract from her—was in his eyes.
“Me?” Sasha breathed.
He stilled for a moment, studying her. Then, as if he couldn’t resist anymore, he notched against her, his erection now like steel. He nudged her right where it counted, against that bundle of nerves that sent a streak of heat racing up her belly and down her legs.
Sasha closed her eyes. She had to be insane. He was a convicted rapist. Mike had told her that while Nick was one of his best friends, he didn’t trust the guy with women.
Her body was just responding to stress, to her long abstinence. How many times had she fantasized about finding some way—any way—to forget the mess of her life for a few stolen minutes? Too many to count. But the heat simmering in her veins now couldn’t have anything to do with Nick Navarro himself.
“You’re kidding.” She shook her head. He must be.
“Do I feel like I’m kidding?”
Sasha swallowed against the uptick of her heartbeat. “Why?”
“I’ve been in prison for over a year. You have to ask?”
He thrust his hips against her again. Like before, he hit the perfect spot, the one that still hadn’t recovered from his last nudge. Fresh heat zipped through her, more intense than before. An ache began to pulse between her legs.
What was wrong with her?
“I meant why me?” Sasha heard the quiver in her voice. “I’m sure you know women who are younger, who don’t have stretch marks and a C-section scar. Who—”
“I know a dozen Barbie dolls I could call now if I just wanted to fuck. You’re real.” He unclamped one of his hands from her wrist…then glided onto her breast. “This is real.”
He sank his fingers into her giving flesh, dragging his thumb over her nipple. Sasha sucked in a breath. Despite her damp shirt and bra, she felt his touch all the way to her toes. Tingles skittered through her system. Her nipples puckered, beaded. Under his broad palm, he teased one of the buds with another slow caress. His rough breath rent the silence between them. She shut her eyes—and bit back a moan.
She had to be totally out of her mind. Why wasn’t she fighting, screaming her lack of consent?
Her brain told her she’d lose any chance of persuading him to protect her and Harper. Loneliness reminded her how badly
she’d missed human comfort. Her touch-starved body shouted the fact that there was something about Nick Navarro that lit up the long-suppressed woman inside her that had fantasized about silken satisfaction with a very capable man.
She was still trying to comprehend the moment—the caress of his talented fingers—when he dipped his head to torment the tight bud of her nipple through the fabric separating them. A pull. A nip. Pleasure seized her. Shivers racked her. So sudden. So shocking.
It terrified her.
“I won’t be forced.” Her voice sounded shaky, splintered.
Above her, Nick tensed and raised a brow. They both knew her body wanted him. Heat rushed through her veins, up her cheeks. But she made herself meet his stare. What was he thinking? What would he do? Had she just made a dreadful mistake?
Slowly, he withdrew his hand, then pushed himself away from her. He sat against the wall. Sasha felt the withdrawal of his heat instantly. Cold seeped into her body again, her damp shirt making her tremble. The guarded, slightly mocking expression on his face wasn’t helping her nerves, either.
“I’ve never raped anyone in my life, including Fiona Normand.”
Sasha backed away to the other wall and drew her knees into her chest. She almost thanked him for lying to her. His false words were a slap of reality, erasing the quick rise of her desire and her loss of sanity.
“You don’t have to deny what happened. I read the testimony. I merely wanted you to understand—”
“I’m not denying a damn thing,” he growled. “I’m telling you flat out that I didn’t rape her. You need to know that. I don’t want you fighting once I have you naked and under me.”
He sounded awfully sure of himself. Of course he is, idiot. He stands between your daughter and death. He’s got you and he knows it.
Sasha didn’t see any way to avoid becoming his lover. She’d do anything to keep her baby alive.
“The expert testimony of the doctors at your trial found your skin under her nails and your semen in her…”
“I never denied fucking her, but I didn’t force her to do anything she wasn’t willing to do with me and hadn’t done before.”
A million thoughts spun through her head. Her stomach tightened. “It doesn’t matter.”
