Nick’s not with them, but I don’t go hunting for him. Not this time. I do my best imitation of a good girl and head for the guest room. I shut the door, climb into bed, and close my eyes. Every cell in my body is crying for sleep.
Unfortunately, my brain has other plans. It’s the shower all over again. I had enough time; I could have woken Nick. I could have surprised the intruder and caught him outside the door.
I could have come home ten minutes later, and Nick could have been the dead guy, not the other way around.
Frustrated, I thump my pillow and flop over on my back, annoyance rising as my pajamas bunch and twist. I sit up, yank the tank top over my head, then boost my hips and rip the shorts off as well. I adjust the covers and stare at the ceiling, willing sleep to come.
It doesn’t. I shut my eyes, open them, squeeze them tighter, and still, it’s elusive. I’m so tired I want to cry. I’m tired and my head hurts and yet I’m wound tighter than a jack in the box. The ocean is blocks away. If Isaiah had any other plans, he’d have put them on hold when he saw Nick’s crew arrive to deal with the body. I could sneak out the window. I can practically hear the waves crashing on the sand.
If this is what dependency is like, I can see why so many addicts fall off the wagon.
I roll over again, the blankets sliding down to my waist, and I leave them there. The cool air feels good on my overheated skin. Maybe I should read for a while. That might tire me out, help disconnect my brain.
The door opens as I’m reaching for the lamp on the bedside table, and Nick steps inside. “You still awake?”
“Can’t sleep,” I admit, tugging the sheet up to cover my breasts. He’s seen it all, but he doesn’t need to see it tonight.
He closes the door behind him, and I stiffen, muscles locking as he walks around to the other side of the bed and stretches out on top of the blankets. He doesn’t say anything, just lies there, hands behind his head.
Finally I break the silence. “Did they leave?”
“Yeah. House is locked up, alarm’s on. Anything else happens tonight, we’ll know.” He shifts onto his side, lifts a finger, and traces the faint line on my neck, his gaze following his finger.
The air’s so heavy I’m surprised we’re not suffocating. Regret, desire, and frustration tumbles together, becoming a potent stew of emotions. He hooks a finger on the top of the blankets and eases them down, knuckle brushing my sternum. Once the blankets are around my waist, he feathers his fingers over my belly, following the puckers of the scar there. Given the nature of the wound, the surgeons weren’t able to minimize it as much as they had with the one on my neck and the one on my arm.
I’m uncomfortable, bared to him like this, practically naked while he’s still mostly dressed and distant, so distant. Like our first kiss, his touch fractures the cold emptiness, allowing the warmth to flow into the cracks, washing over the harsh reality of the evening. He traces a single finger along the line of my hip, his expression obscured by the shadows.
I miss him. Miss him so much it hurts, and he’s right here for the taking, if only I have the courage to ask him to stay. “Either get in or leave.”
He withdraws his hand and sits up. Grabbing his shirt between his shoulder blades, he draws it over his head, then boosts his hips up and pulls the sweats down, leaving him naked. A rush of heat sweeps up my face. I forgot he wasn’t wearing any underwear. I should have told him to just leave.
He works his way under the covers, his hand finding my hip once more. Then he does the strangest thing. He scoots down, wraps his arms around my waist, and rests his head on my chest. A move I’m familiar with because I’ve done it often enough myself, but the positions are reversed, and it feels weird.
I hesitate before threading my fingers through his hair, propping my leg up on his hip. He’s hard, his dick pushing against my thigh, but he doesn’t make a move. The longer we lie there, not talking, not sleeping, his warm breath on my skin, the more I relax.
I swallow and force the words out. “I’m sorry about earlier. I know better, given how you reacted when I told you what I do. I know you’d never ask me to take on a job for you.” It’s the reason I trusted him so quickly, the reason I went to him after Josef tried to slit my throat, the reason I stayed when I had no need to.
“Apology accepted,” he mumbles. The quiet stretches out, the house settling around us, seconds slipping into minutes, but we’re still not sleeping. I’m waiting for something, brain too awake and active to flip to sleep mode. I just don’t know what it is.
“I missed you. In Thailand. Every time the phone rang, I’d get my hopes up that it was you on the other end, and it never was. It was stupid. You had shit to deal with, and I would have been pissed as hell if you’d gotten hurt because you were worrying about me, but I wanted you there. At the very least, I wanted to talk to you. Know that you were okay, that there weren’t bullets whizzing past your head.” I tighten my grip on his hair, digging my fingers into his scalp, then stroke away the small hurt.
Until the words rushed out, I didn’t know they were there. They’re all true, though. I clamp my mouth shut to keep the words inside, the ones that have no place here. Doubts I never got a chance to voice but won’t go away, whiny, needy ones better suited to a middle school girl, stupidly grateful ones that he’s here and unharmed and, for some reason, he wants me.
“Would it make you feel better if you beat on me?”
I laugh. “I doubt it. I wasn’t coming up with creative ways to kill you while I was there. I was just…”
“Worried.” He tips his head back far enough I can see the answering shadow on his face. “Worried your recovery wasn’t going well or Isaiah would find you anyway. I didn’t want to take that chance, Cass. I figured you sneaking out in the middle of the night, not telling anyone where you were going, was the best way to distract Isaiah. He’d concentrate his efforts on me, and you’d come back after things had calmed down. Problem is, you’re here now, and I’m still fucking worried. If he saw you, he’d have shot you, silencer in place or not.”
The muscles of his arms harden as he holds me tighter. His words sneak in and poke holes in my doubts. Panic whips through me. For the last four and a half years, since the start of my senior year of high school, I’ve put off serious relationships. It was one more person to lie to, one more person to hide things from, and I couldn’t do it. There’s no reason to lie anymore, not to Nick, and the prospect of drowning him in all my pent-up emotions is kind of scary.
I cast about for something to say, something snarky, something to break apart the tension, to lift the heaviness draped over us both. But nothing comes, and my breath stutters out as he places a soft kiss on my collarbone, nuzzling my throat.
“Will you go for a run with me in the morning?” I blurt.
He draws back and frowns. “You sure you’re up to it?”
No. “I need to start somewhere. I’ll probably make it to the end of the block and collapse. I want to find a dojo or something too.”
“What discipline?”
I suck my top lip into my mouth, then release it. “Not sure. I’ve tried a bunch over the years. I like Wushu best. It’s the most effective for someone without a lot of brute strength. Always wanted to try Krav Maga. A lot of the maneuvers are similar to ones taught in self-defense classes, and God knows I’ve taken plenty of those. Turner will have a good idea of where to go.”
“You want to see your dad.” It’s a statement, not a question, flat, with a hint of disbelief.
“Crazy, right? But he’s the one who trained me. He knows what I can handle, what will challenge me.” Apparently I’m still capable of lying even when I don’t need to; I want a relationship with my dad. One that doesn’t involve me killing people for money because it’s what he does. This is the only way I can think that will keep us in touch.
Nick huffs out a breath and shuts his eyes. “Tomorrow?”
“Or the next day
. No rush.”
“Fine. Can we sleep now?”
I brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “I was exhausted before and I couldn’t sleep.”
He presses on my hip. “Roll over for me?” I do, not stopping until I’m on my side, facing away from him. He snugs himself up against me, bodies aligned, my head tucked under his chin and his arm draped over my stomach. It’s a perfect cocoon of safety. “Nick.”
“Cass.”
I want to squirm. “I don’t need to be protected.”
“Fuck yes, you do. Go to sleep.”
Chapter 4
I’m dying. Forget lights at the end of tunnels and floating above yourself. Death is a jog through Nick’s Santa Monica neighborhood. My lungs are on fire and my throat’s closed off and the muscles in my legs have disappeared. “Stop,” I gasp.
The ass just chuckles, turns around, and starts jogging backward. “Barely gone half a mile, Cass. C’mon,” he coaxes, “there’s an ice cream cone in it for you.”
“I hate you.”
“Nah. You love me.”
He realizes it the instant I do, the L-word, the one neither of us has said. Because it’s not true, not yet. It’s not part of the plan.
“Ice cream. You make it two more blocks, and there’s ice cream.” He faces forward again and shortens his stride to keep pace, his expression neutral.
“It’s nine in the morning. Too early for ice cream.” Also too cold for ice cream. “Brownie,” I spit out between labored breaths. “I want a brownie. With the ice cream.”
His lips spread in a grin. “Brownie with the ice cream is two extra blocks.”
“Fuckin’ A.” Seven lousy blocks, and I’m panting and heaving like an asthmatic at a marathon. I was laid up for less than two months. I could not have gotten this out of shape in that short amount of time. I suck in air, clench my fists, and push on.
Four blocks later, I’m forced to a walk. My face burns with the heat of exertion and embarrassment. Before I ended up in the hospital, I could do three miles without problems, and if I really wanted to push myself, I’d shoot for five.
I groan, bracing my hands on my lower back. “Pathetic.”
Nick hasn’t even broken a sweat. “Do I have to remind you, you died? Twice? You’re allowed to be out of shape.”
“Thanks for the reminder.” Or is he reminding himself? I squint against the morning sun. “Are you okay?”
We walk another block, the pace brisk enough to keep my muscles warm and loose, slow enough the burning in my lungs has eased.
“No. Yes. Last night could have gone wrong a hundred different ways, Cass. I slipped. Compromising my own safety is one thing. Compromising yours is another.”
“Hey.” I place my hand on his arm, stopping him. “You’re forgetting that none of those wrong things happened. He didn’t even see me coming.” I might have given up the shadow game, but it’s nice knowing I haven’t lost my touch. “I’ll get stronger. There’s plenty of time before next term starts, so I’ll be able to focus on building my strength.” The current term would be ending in another week or so. The pang of longing, knowing Denise is getting ready for finals, is unwelcome. I mean, finals. Who’d have thought I’d be jealous of people taking exams?
“I don’t think you should go back next term. Too dangerous.” He starts walking back to the house.
We already had this discussion. “I’m going back to school, Nick. There’s a whole month between now and the start of the next semester. Anything could happen.” Which reminds me I need to stop by the registrar’s office and check on how to return after a leave of absence.
“We had this discussion before someone broke into my house with the intent of killing one or both of us. Likely both of us.”
“Nick.” I step in front of him, forcing him to stop again. “I’m not made of glass. He didn’t kill me. He tried, damn hard, and if he tries again, I’ll be ready for him. Can’t you trust me to take care of myself?”
“Maybe you should move back out to the condo. No one knows where it is except Con. You’d be safe there.”
I stifle my huff of frustration. “Sure. If it’ll make you feel better, we can move back there.”
He frowns. “No, just you. It’ll look suspicious if I fall off the radar again.”
“And it won’t look suspicious if I disappear so quickly after I returned? Everyone thinks I’m your girlfriend, buddy. Or were you planning to feed them some break-up story?”
His expression turns sheepish. “Hadn’t thought of that. Might be a good idea, though.”
From the look on his face, I know he’s seriously considering it. I don’t want to be his dirty little secret. “No.” I walk past him and then kick up my pace to a jog, lungs screaming in protest.
The ten blocks to the house pass in a one-sided argument. I let Nick run his mouth as I concentrate on my breathing, on the ache in my lungs, the tension in my shoulders. I’m wobbly and sweating insanely as I slow to a walk about a block from his house, listening with half an ear to yet another reason why it’s best for me if his family, his business, and the organization at large thinks we’re no longer together and I move back into the condo at Manhattan Beach.
“No,” I say again, standing in the kitchen, water glass in hand. “No, because we’re safer together. You can’t chain me to the condo. You leave me there, I’ll just walk out. And I’ll keep on walking.
“You’re the one who insisted I come home. I could have stayed in Thailand.” I probably would have gone nuts from being so isolated, but that’s another story. “You convinced me to come home, that I’d be safe here, and that I’d be with you. I want what you promised me. You can’t deliver, that’s fine. But the only way you’re getting rid of me is if you actually dump me.” I drain the glass, ignoring the cracks snaking their way through my heart. We’re doomed to misunderstandings and best-for-yous, those painful words and gestures that always do more harm than good. I’ve let him make too many decisions about our relationship. If he makes this one, it’ll be the last time he does.
I brush past him and head for the bathroom and the shower. Stripping aside my running gear, I flip on the tap and wait for the water to heat. He’ll do it. If his vigil in my hospital room is any indication, he’ll break up with me for real to keep me out of harm’s way. Though I’m not sure there’s going to be any breaking up involved. We haven’t gone on a date. The only couple-like thing we’ve done is sleep together.
Is this the world of dating post college? The ambiguity sucks ass.
The door opens, but I ignore it, reaching for the shampoo, steeling myself for the blow that’s about to fall. “Go on,” I say. “Get it over with.”
There’s a faint rustling on the other side of the shower curtain, and it twitches and pulls away from the wall, far enough to reveal a naked Nick. He steps into the shower and takes the shampoo bottle from me, motioning for me to turn around. When I don’t, he nudges me until I’m facing away from him.
Seconds later, his hands are in my hair, soaping it up. “I’m a little fucking paranoid. Cut me some slack, okay? It’s a lose-lose situation, love. You stay with me, you’re a target. I let you go, you’re still a target. I tell people we’re no longer together, you’re still a fucking target. I can’t get the bulls-eye off your back.” He combs his fingers through my hair, rinsing the soap from it, then glides his hands down, along my shoulders, skimming the curves of my breasts, trailing along my sides to my hips. He pulls me snug against him, his arms crossing my belly and holding me in place. “Hard to get to know you better if you’re gone.”
“You’re still stuck on that? I thought you knew me pretty well by now.” We’ve spent quite a bit of time talking, about everything and nothing. It’s added to the fast forward feeling of our relationship. “Black and white, Nick. Am I staying or going?” I tip my head back onto his shoulder, the shower spray hitting my neck.
He presses a kiss to my jaw. “
Staying. Who else is going to keep me guessing?”
“Isaiah,” I say dryly. Nick’s fingers caress the scar on my stomach, distracting me. It’s this constant reminder that life is more fragile than we think, and he can’t stop touching it. I want more from him than his concern, more than his care. I miss the lust in his eyes and the giddy anticipation that any second, he’d give in to his frustrations and just…attack. That he’d push me against the wall, or onto the couch, and show me in no uncertain terms that he can’t get enough of me.
I miss his mouth on mine, on my skin, his tongue driving me nuts, his fingers finding new ways to string me out and leave me hovering on the edge, ready to beg. I’ve been so focused on staying alive that I’ve forgotten how to feel alive. I want Nick to show me. And I want him to show me now.
“I think you need to be re-educated,” I say, covering the hand on my stomach. I’ve done this with him. We’ve been here before. He’ll like it. Older men like this sort of thing. Right? This taking charge of my own pleasure, demanding it from him?
“How so?”
I guide his hand down, stroke it along the crease in my hip, following the joint out and back again, slipping his fingers along my inner thigh. Arousal heats my blood, and I twist my head to the side, seeking his mouth. “I’m not going to break,” I whisper, the words ragged.
I suck the droplets off his jaw, running my tongue along the cords of his neck, bumping my hips forward, against his hand. I take his free hand and use it to cup my breast. “This is what you do with a naked body in the shower.”
“Cass—”
“No. Re-education, remember?” I squeeze his hand around my breast. “This is what we do in the shower.” The few times we showered together always ended this way, unable to keep our hands to the task of getting clean.
His fingers dance around, sidestepping the most important parts, and I squirm in his hold, scraping my teeth over the skin of his jaw. “Touch me. Just fucking touch me.” I drop my hand from my chest, reach behind me, and wrap my fingers around his cock.
Game of Vengeance Page 3
