Smoke: A Bad Boy Romance

by Paula Cox

  Bear lifts his hand, places it on my shoulder. He looks deep into my eyes. “If you were anybody else and you told me what you were going to do, I’d kill you. I’d kill you without thinking about it. But I can’t kill you, Roma. I can’t even think about it. So all I can do is ask you to stop. Leave the life. Put it all behind you and—”

  “And then what?” I snap, batting his hand away. I take a step back. “And then what will I be? Some poor fucking orphan with no respect.”

  “You don’t have respect, boy, you have fear.”

  “Same thing,” I grunt, but even I don’t believe that.

  Bear watches me closely. He looks deflated, like shouting has taken it out of him. “You like that girl. Don’t tell me you don’t. How do you think she’ll feel when she finds out the truth, aye?”

  “She doesn’t need to know.”

  I feel a stab in my chest at that. I do like Felicity, more than like. And I’m lying to her.

  Bear shakes his head. “I’ve said what I needed to say. When it comes down to it, you’re a man now and I can’t do anything to stop you.”

  “That’s right.”

  I turn, meaning to pace back to the house. Bear grabs me by the shoulder, spins me around, and pulls me into him. He wraps his massive arms around me and hugs me close.

  “I love you, boy,” he says.

  Stunned, I don’t know what to say.

  Then he lets me go and begins walking down the hill toward the cottage.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Roma

  I lie beside Felicity on the bed, the sun beginning to set. She slept straight through the day and it looks like she’s going to sleep straight through the night, too. I can’t blame her. After everything she’s been through, she must be exhausted. I stare up at the ceiling as the shadows lengthen and the room creeps toward full darkness. Felicity rolls over and places her hand on my chest. I take her by the wrist and move it a few inches down, just below my pec. My heart is beating something fierce and I’m worried she might feel it, even in her sleep.

  Bear’s words go over and over in my mind. I hear them again and again, and each time is like a punch in the face.

  I try to blot them out. I imagine I am somewhere else, somebody else. I imagine that Felicity and I are really in one of those suburban houses, a regular couple thinking about regular things. I imagine that she wakes up and turns to me and asks me what time I want to have the barbeque on Saturday. I must remember to invite the Browns. I must remember to pick up the burgers and the buns. She’ll laugh and remind me of the time I forgot the hot sauce. And then we’ll kiss and I’ll jump from bed and brew us some coffee. I’ll go to work. As a mechanic, a builder, a cashier, I don’t care. And she’ll go to work as a fitness instructor, but not just a fitness instructor. She’s the most respected fitness instructor in America; she helps members of Congress and even the President trim the fat. People ask me if I feel overshadowed by her and I always tell them it’s comfortable in her shadow. I feel secure. Just being with her is enough. They laugh. They think I’m joking. But I’m never joking.

  I sit up, looking down at her. I was lost in the reverie for longer than I guessed. Blue moonlight spears through the window and rests on the ceiling now. I stare down at Felicity and I think: What the hell am I doing? Do I really think I can be close to her? Do I really think I can lead any sort of normal life? What am I? What, when you get down to the gristle and the meat of a person, am I, truly? A killer, a man for hire, a hitman. That’s what I am and nothing will change that. Not even the affection of a woman like Felicity. A woman I care about more than I’ll ever understand. A woman I want to protect . . . and a woman whose father I’m going to kill.

  I want to lean down and kiss her on the forehead as a final goodbye, but if I do that, she might wake up. Instead, I take her hand and move it as softly as I can away from me. Then I stand up and creep to the door, wincing as the floorboards make an aching sound. I unlock the door and slide out into the hallway, closing it quietly behind me.

  Bear will keep her safe, I tell myself. Bear will make sure nothing happens to her. But I can’t be here. I can’t do this to her.

  Bear was right. I can’t have it both ways. I have to choose. Do my job and kill the ambassador or stick by Felicity. I can’t have both. And no matter how I feel, I’m a killer.

  I stop in the hallway and look to the door behind which Felicity sleeps. I’m constantly shocked by how much I care for her. There’s the physical attraction, sure, but underpinning that is something I have never felt for a woman. Some foreign emotion—affection, longing, love—gives me goosebumps as I turn from the door and make my way down the stairs.

  I can’t have both. The life or Felicity. I pull on the oversized boots and step into the darkness. The village is over the hill, Bear said, so I’ll head over the hill. From there I’ll make my way back to the States and wait for Bear to give Felicity back to her father. Then I’ll kill her father.

  I look to the cottage, a dark mass in the night, and then I turn up the hill and begin walking. Bear told me about a Greek legend once, a man who had to leave his lover and could not look back or she’d be taken into hell. I don’t remember the names or how the legend finishes, but it comes to me now.

  Just don’t look back.

  I feel my legs beneath me, aching as they have never done before. It’s not the swim or the madness of the past few days; it’s the thought of never seeing Felicity again. Or, if I see her again, it will be on the TV, speaking to a pack of reporters about how much she loved her father and wearing black mourning clothes. The image is sharp, cutting, and I feel like roaring out against it all.

  I’ve never reflected on the life. I’ve killed more men than I can count, anybody the organization ordered me to, and I slept like a goddamned baby afterwards. This is different. This is something outside of my experience. Somehow, I think my nights of deep undisturbed sleep are over. Even now, walking through the night, I see Felicity’s face. I smell her skin and I hear her voice and I feel our kiss. The kiss most of all because it lingers on my lips like a phantom, like it’s happening this moment.

  Because of Felicity, the entire life seems different than it did only a few days ago. I would never have let Bear’s words affect me when it came to any other job. But now, with her . . .

  “Don’t,” I breathe, clenching my teeth. “Just, don’t.”

  I’m almost at the top of the hill. Once I’m over it, this part of my life will be over.

  I’ll kill these feelings and go back to my cold, emotionless days.

  If only it were that easy.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Felicity

  When I wake up, groggy and rising out of a nightmare in which Barinov’s slug-like hands were literally slugs, their slime trails crawling all over me, I reach across the bed for Roma. I want to feel the solidness of him. The solidness which tells of safety and security. The solidness which tells me that he’s here and nobody can hurt me. The solidness of a man protecting his woman. It’s something I’ve never sought before. Something I’ve never needed. I didn’t need a hero to protect me. A Knight in Shining Armor, Mr. Right, etc., etc. I never needed any of that. But circumstances have changed and I’m more adaptable than I thought.

  I reach across, longing for his solid arm, the firm muscle of it . . .

  But he’s not there.

  I listen, trying to hear if he’s walking down the hallway, returning from the bathroom. But there’s nothing. Except for a light breeze whistling whistles against the cottage, the night is silent.

  I sit bolt upright. Roma!

  I jump to my feet and creep as quickly as I can through the house, down the stairs. I stop at the door to the living room. Bear sits in one of the armchairs, smoking a pipe, the crackling embers a low orange glow in the darkness. His eye looks small and strange above the dim light.

  “Where is he?” I breathe.

  Just looking into Bear’s face tells me something is wrong. I
don’t know the man well, but even a complete stranger could tell he looks pained, like he’s just lost something very important.

  “Where is he?” I repeat.

  Bear sighs. “Up the hill,” he says.

  “Sneakers!” I demand.

  “The cupboard under the stairs,” he says. “The previous owner was a woman. Think she left some boots.”

  I spring to the cupboard, throw it open, and root through the darkness. My hands fumble over an old mop head and other random bits and pieces, seemingly designed to obstruct me at this very moment. I’m painfully aware that every moment I search here, Roma is getting farther and farther away. But why? my mind demands. Why would he do this? He was sent to save me! I try to pretend that it’s just business. I’ll have him fired for this! I roar as my hands finally find the boots, mud-crusted and beat-up, but serviceable.

  I run to the stairs, sit down, and pull the boots on. But it’s nothing to do with his employment. It’s me. He’s running from me. It’s been less than a week and already my feelings for this man dwarf any of my past encounters. If you piled my affection for Roma and my affection for the men before him, one pile would reach the stars and the other could be mistaken for a gopher mound.

  When the boots are on, I don’t waste any time. I jog to the door and throw it open.

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to be found,” Bear calls from the living room. “Roma’s an inscrutable man, aye, like a sheet of rock.”

  “He’s not as inscrutable as you think,” I reply, thinking of the tender moments between us, the kiss, sleeping close together, the way he charged to protect me from Barinov without a second thought.

  I run into the night, through the grass and toward the hill.

  When I reach the bottom of the hill, I look up. There, silhouetted against stars and moonlight, stands Roma. He’s a shadow and I can’t possibly be sure, but I think he’s watching me.

  “Stay where you are!” I shout.

  He turns away.

  I growl under my breath. What were all those hours in the gym for, if not for this? Ignoring the way the boots weight my feet down, I sprint up the hill, pumping my legs beneath me. They still ache from the swim, but I ignore it.

  You’re not getting away from me, I think. There’s no way in hell. You saved me, now stick by me!

  I sprint so fast I reach the top of the hill in less than five minutes. I stand at the top, stretching my legs and searching the landscape below. About ten miles away, a small village sits within the grasslands, lights shining from the windows. I walk to a tall tree and lean against it, getting my breath back.

  Maybe he’s gone to the village—

  He steps out from behind the tree.

  “Felicity,” he says, shrouded in darkness.

  I turn to him. “Roma.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Felicity

  “You’ve been watching me,” I say.

  It isn’t an accusation, just a statement of fact.

  “I have.” He nods shortly. I can’t see his face; the shadow of the tree blocks us from the diamond-like lights in the sky. “I couldn’t have you roaming into the night and getting lost, maybe going to the village and running into somebody . . .”

  I step into the light. “Come here, please,” I say.

  “I’m fine here.” His voice is tight.

  “You don’t want me to see your face,” I note.

  “Maybe that’s true.”

  “I’m asking you nicely.”

  “I know.”

  I sigh, throw my hands up. “You left me, Roma, with a stranger.”

  “A stranger . . .” He shakes his head and steps into the light. His eyes are so full of emotion I struggle to believe I’m looking at the man I met on the yacht. He looks into my face, his mouth set in a thin line. “What am I, Felicity, if not a stranger to you?”

  I step close to him, reach my hand out, meaning to touch his face. He dodges deftly aside.

  “You’re not a stranger,” I say, wounded but not showing it. “You know that. I don’t believe you don’t feel what I feel. I don’t believe the kiss, the lap dance, the swim—all of it. I don’t believe it had no effect on you. I think it had as much effect on you as it had on me. I think . . . Tell me why you left, Roma.”

  “Maybe I’m not the man you think I am,” he says.

  “What do you mean?” I demand, unable to hide the exasperation from my voice. “You saved me from Barinov. I’ve thought about this. If you were really as cold as you first seemed, you would’ve let him—” I swallow dryly. I was about to say rape me. “You would’ve let him do what he wanted to do,” I finish. “But you didn’t. Surely that made your job more difficult.”

  “I don’t think the ambassador would be very happy to find out his daughter was—”

  “Bullshit,” I say. “That wasn’t why you did it. I saw it in your face. You protected me, Roma. You protected me without hesitating for a second. You killed for me. And now you want to leave me. Please, just tell me why.”

  He brings his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes. “I can’t be with you,” he says. “I just can’t.”

  “Why?” My voice rings out over the hills, a siren’s song toward the village.

  “Because you’re too good for me, Felicity. That’s the truth. You’re way too good for me.”

  “You saved me.” I feel like a broken record, but how can I not when he point-blank refuses to see? “You saved me,” I breathe. “Just tell me why you tried to leave.”

  “I can’t . . .”

  I close the gap between us. My heart thuds. What if he steps away again? I stand close to him, my nose almost touching his chest, and crane my head up and look up into his face. He stares down at me, mouth stern, face impassive except for the crashing emotion in his eyes.

  “You can’t what?” I say.

  He opens his mouth, looks as though he is going to say something, and then clamps it shut. Then his hands dart out and he grabs my shoulders. I know he’s not grabbing me with even one-tenth of his strength, but I’m still astonished by his power. He could crush me.

  “I bought you,” he says, voice husky. “Is that what you want, Felicity? Do you want me to treat you like property?”

  Despite the situation, my body comes alive at the vice-like grip of his hands, the deep timber of his voice. Tingles move down my arms and through my body, into all the sweet places where pleasure is born. My pussy aches and my nipples become hard. I bite my lip and I see his expression change, from anger and pain to pure, unrestrained lust.

  “Maybe that is what I want,” I sigh, standing on my tiptoes.

  His chest trembles, his arms tremble, everything trembles. He’s trying to stop himself but he is just as lost as I am. Maybe he doesn’t want to because he’s my father’s employee, but I doubt it. I think he’s scared of what he feels; I think he fears the power I have over him.

  “Fuck.”

  One word, breathed, the air warm on my face. He pulls me close to him and leans down.

  When our lips touch, everything falls away. The hill, the argument, the uncertainty, the village, the sky, the stars, the moon, the tree, the blades of grass. It’s just us.

  His body presses against mine and I tremble with pleasure.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Roma

  I need her and I can’t fight it any longer.

  I’ve been drowning and she is my only lifeline. She’s opened up things inside of me I never even thought were there. She’s changed me. She’s made me think, for the first time in my life, about who and what I am.

  And now her tight, lithe body is pressed against mine. I feel her breasts crushed against my chest and listen to her frantic breathing and I know that she wants it just as much as I do.

  She trembles in my arms and I grip her harder. She lets out a long sigh of pleasure.

  This is it, I think. After this, I am hers. After this, Mr. Black can go to hell. I am hers. She is my life. The hitman’s life can g
o to hell along with Mr. Black.

  She is mine. I am hers.

  She is mine.

  I am hers.

  She is—

  But thinking is impossible now. Pleasure shrouds us.

  Chapter Twenty

  Felicity

  We smash our lips together so hard I feel my teeth hit his. He moans deeply, more of an animal’s growl, and lifts me off my feet. My arms ache from where his hands grip me, but I don’t care. It’s part of the pleasure. His strength, his intimidating strength, the power of him. He growls and I moan as we kiss. We open our mouths and our tongues touch, brushing, and then whirring around each other as though in a dance.