Savage Secrets (Titan #6)

by Harber, Cristin

  Rocco shifted in his seat. “Wicked little vixen.”

  With the zipper down and him raring to go, she slid her hand into his boxers. Strong as steel, thick as a branch, and hot, silky, smooth. She pulled him free.

  “God, Caterina.” He repositioned himself, his breath catching with the slide of her hand. Her thumb caressed the crown of his cock. “I’m gonna run off the damn road.”

  “Liam Laird will be with us for a while?”

  “Roman?” His head dropped back. “Please don’t say my buddy’s name with my dick in your hand.”

  She stroked him. “I’m just trying to get a sense.”

  “Of?” His voice hitched again when she applied more pressure.

  “How much alone time we might have.”

  “I’d assume next to none.”

  “Pity.” She leaned over, taking just the head of him into her mouth. Her tongue licked and when Rocco groaned, she sucked tight.

  “Vicious move.” He blew out a breath.

  Her teeth teased him lightly, sliding up and down his shaft. Then she trailed her tongue. “I think you can handle it.”

  A deep rumble escaped his chest. “Not complaining.”

  “Good.” She took him in her mouth again, sucking him deep.

  Rocco clenched one hand into her hair, steering the Audi with the other. His hips flexed. “Christ, we’re gonna get pulled over.”

  “Stop?”

  “Do. Not. Stop.”

  She laughed with her mouth still around him.

  He groaned. “You’re killing me.”

  Taking him like this had started as a distraction for her, but now…it reaffirmed what she wanted to be distracted from. Desperate hunger filled her. The taste of his flesh, the saltiness of his precum, the sexy masculine sounds he made with each slip of her tongue and curl of her fingers. She loved this.

  “Your mouth…” He sounded even rougher, and that urged her on.

  Rocco made her want normal like never before. Normal life. Normal man. Maybe even normal love. Roots and a relationship were something she’d only wanted once her search-and-destroy mission was over. But was Roc the type of man she hoped for?

  An American? That would be unexpected. Private military type? Not on her most desired qualities list, but she wouldn’t have to hide her past from him.

  She pulled back, licking, tasting, stroking, exploring, then looked up and lost herself in his eyes, in the pleasure of making him come apart. Completely helpless in her desire, she prayed that this feeling would stay with her. Her hand cupped his sac, dragging her nails lightly over the tight skin. Needing his release, she tormented and tortured, until he was strung so tight she could count the seconds until he climaxed.

  His head thumped back against the headrest. Thighs tightening and straining in dress pants, he growled her name, pulsing and throbbing deep in her mouth. Wet warmth came as he lost himself to her, and she swallowed, hungrily, greedily, savoring the power and perfection that was them together.

  Erratic breaths and a hand laying haphazardly on her were the only things she noticed. Slowly, she came up, dabbing at her mouth. Everything made sense when she focused on Rocco.

  “Game changer.” He winked. His lazy smile and sexy dimple hung on his face.

  “You’ve got jokes.” But she couldn’t hide her smile.

  “Nope.” He grabbed her hand and kissed it. “But I do have you.”

  Consider her heart stolen. She had no defenses for that. “I like you.”

  “Good. Glad you finally admit that.” His dark eyes were satisfied and shining. He rubbed a hand over his jaw and blew out, then readjusted and zipped his pants. “We should take more long drives in the countryside I might become a proponent of those ‘long walks on the beach’ lines you ladies always dream about.”

  “Pretty sure that’s not what that’s about.”

  He gave her a look that would melt a glacier. “Pretty sure I’d go and find out.”

  Just when the moment couldn’t get any better, it flip-flopped and couldn’t get any worse. “I grew up on the beach. It’s not all that it’s cracked up to be.”

  “Can’t be that bad.”

  She tugged her hand back. “I hate the beach.”

  He chuckled. “Some guy break your heart beachside?”

  Her stomach turned. Her father’s screams echoed in her brain even this long after the massacre. “Something like that.”

  She watched the passing trees and the sad gray sky, and ignored whatever Rocco was saying. An aching heart and a guilty conscience drowned out the rest of the world. If she hadn’t asked for her birthday to be on the water. If she had asked for her daddy to stop saving the world for just one day, just long enough to eat cake and play games with her, then her family might be alive. Her throat burned with uncried tears. She pinched the bridge of her nose, willing the tears to evaporate before falling. Instead a memory certain to make it worse rose up. Such bad timing.

  “No, daddy, no. Not today. Today’s my day.” She sat on his lap trying to take off the badge he displayed so proudly.

  “Every day is your day, my little one.”

  She shook her head. “This is the big one. Ten years old!” She snatched at his badge again, and he let her take it this time. “Please,” she begged. “Mama hates the guns. Leave this at home.” She tossed the badge.

  “Mama hates the gun runners,” he corrected. “Not guns.”

  She hated the guns. They scared her. Her bottom lip came out. “Please.”

  He sighed, shaking his head. “But today, we’ll make it just us. No good guys and bad guys.”

  “No guns.” Caterina smiled, triumphant.

  He smiled and kissed her cheek. “A birthday present to you. Only cake and presents.”

  “Cat?” Gravel spun in the wheel wells, and the car jerked to the side. Rocco tugged her arm, dragging her from the wretched grip of her real life nightmare. “What’s wrong?”

  She blinked, dazed. Where to begin? Streams of sadness fell down her cheeks. It may’ve been seconds ticking by, but they felt like lifetimes. When she did look up, Rocco’s surprised concern melted into gentle prodding.

  “Caterina.” They were stopped, the car in park. He faced her, his fingers brushing her cheek. “You’re crying. What just happened?”

  The memories were too much, and she couldn’t tell him about her family. She never told anyone. To voice that day, to explain what had happened and how she’d survived…that was too much. Too much regret. Too much sadness. She’d never survive the pain. Remembering was all she could stand.

  “I can’t—” Her throat cracked. She couldn’t even say no.

  Her head shook, and her mind shut down. She swallowed away the lump in her throat and pictured the country house they’d just left. El Mateperros. El Mateperros. El Mateperros. Channeling her lonely misery into hatred, she fueled her obsession, vowing once again—as she had every time her heart hurt—that she would end El Mateperros’s life. Slowly. Painfully. And he would know why he was dying at her hands, just as her family had died on his order.

  “Where you at? Come back to me.” Rocco’s strong voice reached her, sturdy and safe, comforting, as his warm hands cupped her face.

  She took a breath so deep her lungs might explode and let it drift out. “Guess you don’t end up where I am without a little crazy.”

  “That wasn’t crazy. That was…awful.”

  “Same difference.” They sat in long silence. “I’d kill for a Diet Coke.”

  “Funny, I think you might.”

  “And Funyuns.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Nice combo.”

  “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

  His thumb caressed her cheek, maybe searching for any last minute tears. “You sure you’re okay?”

  A weak smile was all she could muster, but she righted from his hold and clicked her seatbelt into place. “Okay enough. I’ll be better once I get my soda.”

  The gear shift click
ed softly, and he eased them back onto the road. “You’d better warn whoever hurt you on the beach bad enough to warrant that kind of reaction because, baby, once you tell me, I’m gonna kill them.”

  Not if I get to him first.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Rocco walked into the hotel bar, sweeping his eyes over swanky decor and a piano he was intimately familiar with. Roman sat the bar wearing a sports jacket, and it looked so absurd Rocco had to muffle a chuckle. One false move and the expensive fabric over his buddy’s back would split at the seams. They weren’t meant to wear the corporate getup. A tie was a noose, slacks, shrink wrap, and don’t even get him started on the lack of convenient places to carry a weapon. He nodded to the bartender to bring him whatever Roman was drinking, then dropped onto a barstool.

  Two of them in collared shirts. The odds were unreal. Rocco cleared his throat. “So that file you brought explained nothing. What’s the real deal?”

  “Guess Boss Man thought you might need an extra set of hands; it’s easier to have someone stationed by if shit goes down. Use me, don’t use me. That’s your call.”

  Made sense. Jared hated solo jobs. Even though Rocco was working with Cat, no one else from Titan meant no one else at all. “Fine.”

  Roman’s brow furrowed. “Fine? What’s got your boxers in a bunch, dude?”

  Rocco’s drink arrived, and he took a sip, grimacing. “Fuckin’ gin?”

  “Should’ve asked what it was first, dick. Liam Laird happens to love gin.”

  “Liam Laird. Christ, what a name.”

  Roman shrugged. “Whatever. How’s the job going? That Mrs. Locke of yours is something to look at. Whoa, buddy.”

  “Watch yourself.”

  Two hundred pounds of soldier-in-a-sports-jacket turned in his chair, eyebrows raised, and tilting his head. “Is that right?”

  Rocco took another sip, confirming that gin tasted like bark off a pine tree. Pine was for household cleaners, not liquor. “Eyes off the missus.”

  “Come on now, Daniel. What fun is it to bust your balls if you act like a prissy bitch, all sipping your drink like it’s high tea over at Buckingham Palace?”

  Rocco ignored him, taking a larger gulp. Goddamn, he hated gin. “She’s a cool chick. I happen to dig cool chicks, so it works out well.”

  “You two playing house?”

  He held up his left hand, showing off that prime piece of jewelry that, only days ago, had made him cower in his camo. “Married for the job.”

  “And you’re avoiding the question. Not bad, man. Not bad at all.”

  “Shut your face, Roman.”

  “Liam.”

  “Dick.”

  “And—” Roman’s eye twitched as he looked over his shoulder. “I do believe we are in play. Guy at your four o’clock has been on my radar, and he’s on the move. Three, two—”

  Rocco turned his head. “Can I help you?”

  “Message from El Mateperros. He will send a car for you tomorrow afternoon.” Dark hair. Dark complexion. Dark suit. He fit in the pricey hotel but had a definite ACG quality to him. “Be ready.”

  The messenger retreated without waiting for a reply, leaving Rocco and Roman holding their highball glasses. Rocco turned to face the bar and set his glass down, grumbling.

  Roman tilted his head toward the exit. “Bossy little fuck, wasn’t he?”

  “Something about this rubs me the wrong way. We’ve been tracking El Mateperros, Parker’s been watching him, but I knew that fucker was watching us.”

  “Everything about El Mateperros rubs me the wrong way.” Roman threw back the rest of his drink. “He’s a bad guy’s bad guy. Did you read Parker’s intel briefing? You know why a North African Muslim has a Spanish nickname? Shit’s fucked up.”

  Rocco had been shocked reading the report on his way from the States. El Mateperros had earned his chops breaking open seaport cities for a gun runner. He slaughtered families, even their dogs. El Mateperros had been their slang for the Dog Killer. That name had started in Spain and worked its way out. “That’s a hell of a message to leave for your enemies to think about.”

  Roman signaled for his check. Anger bunched the muscles in Rocco’s shoulders. “Someone’s gonna fry him.” He shook his head. “As long as half of Europe doesn’t file for extradition.”

  Roman nodded. “Let’s knock this op into the done column and hightail it on home.”

  “Yeah.” Rocco rolled his shoulders, antsy to get back to Cat and not think about how quickly this could be finished. What was his little game-changer up to? Getting ready for bed? Cleaning her weapons? Drinking Diet Coke and eating Funyons?

  Roman signed his bill and stared at him. “You know you got this look on your face? Like you’re falling for your partner and don’t know what to do with it.”

  Rocco drained the rest of his glass. Tasted like crap, but the burn was good. He rolled his shoulders again and rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s a lone ranger. I’m based on another continent. Nothing to fall for.”

  Roman slapped him on the back. “And another one bites the dust.”

  “Let’s not get carried away with the impossible.” He smiled, shaking his head but his insides hurt—ached—and that was something worth thinking about.

  ***

  Caterina had transformed the hotel bathroom into a spa. Satellite radio played Flamenco guitar. The scent of exotic fruit burned from scented candles. Caterina had one leg hung over the side of the tub when she heard the bathroom door click open. Bubbles covered up to her chest, a warm cloth covered her eyes, and an empty wine glass sat on the edge of the tub. She peeled up a corner of the cloth up. With the overhead lights turned out, the candles glowed. A book she’d nabbed from the hotel’s lobby sat on the bathroom floor, and a man that she couldn’t ignore stood in the doorway.

  “Kitten.” His eyes smoldered, and his body was a testament to the hard work of his job. He leaned against the door jamb, elbow above his head, forearm hanging down, so relaxed when everything on his body was perfectly carved and sculpted.

  Deep within her stomach and so much lower, warmth spun and spiraled.

  “Hola.” Hi would have been just as easy without it, but she knew how to make his eyes dance. His dimple appeared, and she wanted to press her lips to it. “I was just getting out.”

  “Don’t.”

  A rush of adrenaline made her heart and lungs teeter-totter. This husband-and-wife routine was becoming much more than an act.

  Rocco shucked his shirt, revealing that pinky, fresh scar and kicked off his shoes and socks. “Met with Roman. One of El Mateperros’s men made contact.”

  Her heart raced, partially because his hand rested on the buckle of his belt and partially because their target had found them, just as they had found El Mateperros. She and Rocco were so close, their cover as the Lockes holding up amid the ACG’s scrutiny. This time she would catch the Dog Killer. They would find him, then she would kill him. Simple.

  “They made contact…and?” She wanted to know more, but her stare was transfixed by his hand. He worked the thick leather belt open, unsnapped his pants, and nothing outside the room mattered.

  With his pants hanging open, precariously clinging to the solid curve of his buttocks, Rocco took a step toward the tub. “And we have a meeting scheduled.”

  Her eyes shot up. “It’s happening?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Too much hope obscured her thoughts. Too much Rocco skewed her priorities. She needed to jump out of the bath and plan the next day to the most microscopic detail. Rocco took another step forward, hooking his boxers and sliding them over his solid erection. His clothes dropped to the floor, and she leaned forward, reaching for his hand.

  He nodded. “It’s happening.”

  So much was happening. Her head was spinning. Distracted and focused. Confused and certain. So very soon she could sink her claws into her family’s killer. A smile broke her cheeks. Then her heart crashed, sinking past the bubbles
in the oversized tub. When El Mateperros was dead, after she had killed him, Rocco wouldn’t be around. The job would be over, and he would be disappointed in her. He liked rules.

  Didn’t he?

  At least she thought he was the kind who frowned upon assassinations. Murder. He’d never know about her family. Jared would never tell. So Rocco Savage, all-American hero, would think that she pulled the trigger like a mercenary instead of turning the terrorist over to be tried, judged, and punished.

  Trickles of bubbles dripped off her arm, quietly splashing in the water. His hand found hers, and shocks of excitement rushed at his touch. She inhaled and embraced everything they would share. When it ended, it would end. She wouldn’t regret any decision she made, either bringing her closer to him or chasing him away.

  “Why the long face?” He stepped in, sinking chest-and-tattoos deep in water and faced her. The splish-splash of lapping water made the bubbles wave around them. Their legs scissored underwater, and the coarse hair on his thick legs brushed her calves, her thighs. Somehow, surrounded by bubbles and candles, he still looked Titan tough.

  “You look unbreakable.” She stared across the valley of bubbles. Impossibly broad shoulders spanned the end of the tub. He spread out his arms, resting them on the sides, and she couldn’t tell if he had relaxed or was preparing to propel himself across the sudsy water.

  “That’s not a bad thing.” His dimple flickered on and off. “Come here.”

  He reached forward, hands gripping her hips and pulling her close. Each of her breaths weighed heavier than the last. Her cheeks and chest warmed, and he folded her legs behind his back, leaving her weightless in the water and bobbing against the hardened length of his cock. Rocco smoothed her against his body.

  She wanted to feel him everywhere. Inside. Outside. All over.

  Her tongue licked his neck, savoring the delicious taste of his skin. Hints of his cologne made her mouth water, and her eyes closed as she tried to memorize his smell.

  “You are battle-hardened.” Her fingers explored, stroking over the taut skin, touching the old wounds and scars that he claimed didn’t bother him. She fingered his tattoos, the colors dark against his wet skin.