by Shannyn Leah
Izzy rolled her chair to the table. “Terminated? What does that stand for? Unfinished details? Deals gone wrong?” She feigned excitement as he handed her a package of highlighters.
“Highlight ‘terminate’ in yellow, ‘foiled’ in pink and ‘finished’ in orange. Understood?”
She pulled a pink highlighter out and tossed the rest of the box on the table, spinning the pink tube between her fingers. “Could you write it down for me so there’s no mistaking?”
He only stared at her.
She tossed the single highlighter on the table. “I’m not getting paid to do your work.”
Gunner jammed his finger into a file.
“Aren’t the lives I’m sorting on your hands?”
“The sorting is all yours,” Izzy said.
“And afterwards?” His voice deepened. “Do you plan to help then?”
“My family has it covered.” Even if she tried to step in they would shoo her away like a lost animal.
“You mean your parents.” He grunted sitting back down. “Rumor has it Carl was fooling around with your mom and out you popped.”
Izzy’s jaw locked. “Fooling around?” She recognized the defensive nature in her tone.
Gunner didn’t notice, or he didn’t act like he noticed. “I could have said screwing.”
“You could have said neither.”
He resumed work, but Izzy fumed now, finished with this charade. She rolled the chair to the bottom of the stairs, and standing up, grabbed each arm, lifting the chair into the air.
Gunner grumbled behind her, but she ignored his warnings to stop.
She’d suspected, even before starting, it might be impossible getting up these stairs, but it didn’t stop her determination. She’d gotten out of worse situations and survived to tell the story. Perhaps, at the very least, Gunner would be pressured to un-cuff her. She sampled heading straight, moved sideways, struggled the other way, wiggled and shifted the heavy piece beside her, behind her, above her head and finally rested it on her back with no progress. To conclude her failure, she tumbled backwards, landing her butt on the chair seat.
Uh-oh.
She landed hard, wobbling on only three casters and finally tipped over, tumbling sideways and finishing her escapade with the chair landing on top of her.
Shoot!
She agreed with the curse Gunner grumbled. The only thing they agreed on.
Her wrist throbbed in pain as Gunner lifted the chair, freeing her from the wooden jail she’d landed herself in. She felt the handcuffs no longer attached to the chair, and relief streamed through her. They still encircled her wrist, but she was free.
Take that, jerk-face.
“What the hell are you thinking?” Gunner roared.
With her backside splattered on the floor, she stared up at him. “Escape plan.”
“Does it include killing yourself? On my watch?”
She rolled her eyes, grinning as his strong fingers dug, gently but firmly, into her upper arm—his version of helping her to her feet.
“It worked. Look, chair free.” She wiggled her wrist, about to lift her hand, when she felt tension. Glancing down she found the empty cuff locked around his wrist.
“What? No. Gunner...” She couldn’t help the whine that slipped past her lips. Her body’s energy had drained, boredom had stolen her mind, and she wanted to change into real clothes.
“I’m going to be straight with you,” he said.
“That’s all you’ve been.” A half whine, half snarl.
“This isn’t one day’s worth of work. It’s more like a week. Probably two. I won’t do this without a Caliendo present. The less of a distraction you are, the more work I get done. If you lift a hand to help, you’ll get out of here quicker. But, if you want to play rough...” He paused, his dangerous eyes darkened black as coal. “I can play rough, and, doll face, you haven’t seen my kind of rough.”
She’d admit, but only to herself, he was intimidating. Downright scary, in fact. At the same time, was it wrong that his words turned her on? What was wrong with her? She should be nodding like a good little girl and listening to the threat that didn’t go unnoticed, but her mind wandered to different territory. She wondered what kind of “rough” he brought to the bedroom. Her mind spiraled from there. She’d never had a rough lover before.
Why hadn’t she ever had a rough lover?
She’d had a sweet lover, a greedy lover, a quick lover—lots of quick lovers, finding any place from a bathroom bar to the back seat of a vehicle—she’d even had a crier once...she could have slapped that wimp upside the head. But a rough lover? Nope. Never. And she knew the reason. She’d never trusted a man enough to experiment past a quick fling.
Over the years, she’d perfected a system: meet, small talk, laugh and locate privacy. Taking the time to get to know a guy, his likes and sharing her likes sort of thing, didn’t appeal to her. The more you gave someone a piece of you, the higher risk you had of them crushing you when things got messy. And things always got messy. She’d learned from the best—Robert—not to trust people. That piece of advice had been the only solid, useful thing he’d ever given her.
She certainly didn’t trust the man standing before her now. Although, something about him drew her deeper into wanting to explore him and on a different level than desire.
What was wrong with her?
Maybe not enough oxygen made its way into this dank basement level because her thoughts weren’t normal or wanted.
“Are you listening to me?”
Izzy blinked at his question. “I don’t know.”
Could his jaw tighten anymore? “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
She couldn’t even remember what he’d been nagging her about in the first place. “It depends what the last thing you said was as to whether I was listening or not.”
“Did the chair bang your head?”
“No,” she said. “I was thinking about sex.”
His jaw dropped.
“With you,” she added, loving the confused look she caused in his eyes. “You said rough and my trail of thoughts went south. Like south.” She glanced down. “Wet panties. Hot and heavy. Slip the material off my shoulders—” She looked up at him. “—south.”
His mouth parted, his eyebrows drew together, creasing his forehead again, and he stared for a few beats before saying, “Do you hear yourself?”
“In my defense, you have me handcuffed to you and, well, you’re hot. You know it.” With her free hand she gripped his bicep. A blaze of heated desire shot through her fingers, transmitting a shudder through her body.
Damn, his muscles were brawny hills of strength.
Where was she going with this? Oh yeah...
“What else would I be thinking about?”
“The files.”
He scrubbed a hand across his face, taking Izzy’s arm with it. The unexpected action tipped her balance and she tumbled against his chest. On contact, the muscles beneath his shirt flexed against her front. Her hands automatically moved to shove off him, but the more she touched him, the more desire passed between them.
She stilled. The heated band of his arm wrapped around her back, balancing them. A flicker of excitement sparked inside her and she tried to swallow it down. Their noses brushed, their lips only inches apart, their bodies pressed together as one.
Countless aspects contributed to what should have been an easy decision: get as far away from this man as possible.
But Izzy wasn’t like most women. She didn’t shy away from her sex drive. Instead, she accepted her enjoyment of sex, wanted sex, and had sex with no strings attached. And, right now, this man was the hottest piece of ass she’d ever encountered.
Ever.
And she’d traveled the world. No man had ever given her attitude the way Gunner did. Or tested and pushed her to limits...nor handcuffed themselves to her.
Damn, she was aroused...and she wasn’t the only one.
She
rubbed her leg against the growing bulge in the front of Gunner’s pants.
“Feels like I’m not the only one forgetting about the files.” Her low, lusty tone ignited a fire deeper within.
She’d watched her family hide their lives in the shadows, scrutinize their decisions, but Izzy had decided a long time ago her life would contain no regrets. Leaving this basement without tasting the goods of what she knew would be the best flavoring of her life wasn’t an option.
Izzy leaned in for what she anticipated would be the hottest damn kiss of her life.
Chapter Eight
IZZY DIDN’T BORDER crazy—crazy dominated her. Did she really believe he was naïve enough to fall for her sexual advances? Or fall for her attempt at distracting him in order to acquire the keys to the handcuffs? The day would never come when Gunner would be caught kissing, making out, or having sex with a Caliendo.
But that was easier said than done with the closeness of her luscious lips. The warm smell of summer beach, and her blonde hair—he had a thing for blondes—had combined and turned him rock hard. This situation was a prime example of the self-centered women in this family. He swore it ran through their veins like currents of electricity. He needed a distraction before her electric shock surged into his soul.
“You smell like a popsicle,” he said, wanting to slap himself upside the head the second the insult,—which sounded like the taunt of an elementary bully at recess—came out of his mouth.
Izzy blinked, fluttering her thick, long black eyelashes. Likely fake. “Excuse me?”
“Like a life-size popsicle. Is it orange? Or cherry?” He darkened his stare. “With the way you are grinding against me, it can’t be cherry.”
Fire lit her big brown eyes into large round circles of shock. “What is wrong with you?”
“I have a shit load of work and my supervisor wants to pull my pants down.”
She stepped back, making space to glance down at the front of his slacks. “Your words are the only thing that doesn’t want your pants down.” Her lips puckered tightly as she looked back up at him.
“I don’t have time for games.” He walked away, forcing the princess, through their connected hands, to follow. She grumbled unladylike sentences the entire way back to the table.
Gunner resumed his position sitting at the table, leaving a pouting, stubborn Izzy standing beside him. Her huffy sigh wrapped around them as her hands planted firmly on her waist, his fingers only inches away from touching her curves.
He couldn’t deny that she had that chic, tall and skinny beauty about her. Under any other circumstances, he might be more intrigued to divulge in the obvious sexual connection between them. A quick lay between two single and consenting adults never hurt anyone. But what happened when he stripped away her beauty? What was left? A selfish, money self-absorbed trophy wife? Gunner hadn’t wanted a trophy wife when he’d married his first wife and he certainly didn’t want one now.
He scolded himself for thinking about marriage, but the possibility was more real now. But did he want a wife? Even when Anton gave him the “go ahead” to live his life, did he want to get mixed up with a woman? Yes. No. Maybe? His heart couldn’t handle the rise and falls of love, cracking his insides like an earthquake and swallowing everything he’d believed was real.
He’d almost forgotten Izzy standing next to him now, until she moved atop the table, positioning herself on her back, and stretching the arm which connected them above her head so he could at least flip pages with it. Her head tilted toward the ceiling, her hair spilling over the table. He’d bet the back of her bright white cover up would be stained when she stood.
His aggravated fingers tightened around the pen as she bounced her one leg off her opposite knee. “You’re going to knock over the piles,” Gunner grumbled.
“I guess that’s what happens when mini Gunner is forbidden to come out and play.” Izzy chuckled at her distasteful joke, grating the little patience he had left. No woman ever referred to his manhood as mini.
Thankfully, before he snapped, Izzy stopped tapping her feet, rolled onto her stomach and surprised him by picking up a highlighter. He was almost tempted to ask her if she knew how to use it.
Working together proved to be challenging now that they’d resulted in linked wrists. She overplayed her awkward movements to irritate him further, he knew it. But, most of them time, he managed to keep both of his hands at his work.
His marginal vision scrutinized Izzy’s one-handed, opening, reading and marking of the files, noting her leisurely time in doing so. Meanwhile, she drove him nuts announcing detailed facts about the contents of each of her folders.
TWO.
Hours later, and only two folders sat in her finished pile. His stomach began to grumble for food. He hadn’t planned on an early night, but continuing any later with this woman would make him as crazy as she herself.
“Oh, this page has ‘terminated’ written on it,” Izzy said, sounding as pleased as a kindergarten student exhibiting her work to the teacher. If she understood the definition of terminated, she wouldn’t display the satisfied smirk across her face.
“Which pile is terminated?”
He’d already told her three stacks to her left...ten times.
The headache pounding behind his eyes was a direct result of this woman and not the numerous pages he’d read today.
Why the hell had he agreed to come back?
For your freedom.
The constant reminder didn’t ease his decision. After hiding for years, he’d resorted to dipping his nose back into the illegal activities of the Caliendos for his freedom. Something didn’t sit right about this, but nothing ever did with the mob.
“Ouch,” Izzy said, slicing into his thoughts, and physically dragging his hand away from his work.
She sucked a breath through teeth. “I got a paper cut. It stings.” She frowned down at the finger she squeezed, his hand simply dangling from the metal handcuffs. “Oh, bugger. And I chipped the paint off my nail.” Her glare fell on him. “This is your fault for not un-cuffing me. I likely ruined them trying to escape from you.”
His inner strength was once again tested when his first instinct was to push her off the table. If only their hands weren’t connected.
“The end of the season town bash starts this weekend and now I’m going to need another manicure.”
He could flip her hand over and scrape the painted surface over the rough wood table.
He couldn’t decide which type of Caliendo proved worse: The one who carried out the deeds or the one who turned a blind eye for a designer handbag.
Gunner pulled his hand back, only to have Izzy wiggle closer, examining each of her nails. “Tomorrow night is the festival at the beach...” she began.
He did not care.
She tapped her nails on his paper. His eyes moved to look at her, but nothing else.
“Don’t give me that look,” she said. “Just tell me which pile is the terminated pile.”
Gunner nodded toward the right pile and, with a little extra spunk in her movements, she dropped her file down and flipped open a new one.
Her attentiveness only lasted a half hour this time before she asked, “Do you work for a Caliendo family in Italy? Do you work for Anton?”
“No.”
Not anymore, but he didn’t add the latter part.
“What are these? Are they accounts?” Izzy held up the pages. “What exactly are you finding in these files? Do you understand all these statements and numbers and—”
“Yes.” She proved to be peskier than a cricket.
“What do they mean?”
“That your dad was not a saint.”
Izzy plopped down on her elbows, dragging his hand so her chin could lean in her palms. “I think we’ve covered the part where Robert’s not my dad. I’m more curious about who the people in the file are. I don’t recognize anyone. Not yours or mine.”
Had she forgotten she’d only opened thre
e files?
“These people aren’t from town. Oh wait...” She grabbed her previous file and opened it. “Yeah, they’re from everywhere. More specifically, they reside in towns where we have other resorts.”
That was because Robert made sure he had the upper hand in every town where his resorts had been built—where he’d weaved people into the online gambling scene.
“Yes, see...” Izzy sat up, knocking their arms together and into the pile beside them. All of Gunner’s sorted paperwork slid from the table, tilting over the edge in slow motion, spewing open and floating to the floor. He watched his entire day of work lost.
“I’m sorry.”
To make it worse, when Gunner looked at Izzy, he found her smirking against her apology.
“Do you comprehend what you’ve done? If you stopped being a spoiled brat for five seconds you would realize this is bigger than simply sorting a few files.”
“Please, enlighten me.”
Good lord.
She was exhausting.
“You want to know? You really want to know?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, rising to his feet.
When Izzy slid off the table, his long footsteps dragged her across the space and into the room that made Gunner disgusted he’d ever worked for a Caliendo. Laundering dirty money was one thing, but this room was an entirely different act of evil. A dark evil.
He flicked on the lights, letting the seriousness of this room snap a harsh reality into the bubble this princess lived in.
His speech was on the tip of his tongue. This is where those who are “terminated” ended up. Not all of them left in one piece, or even alive. He’d been ready until he looked down at her and watched her reaction.
He instantly knew he’d made a mistake.
This princess wasn’t prepared for the reality of Robert’s ways and he’d just thrown her into it without a warning.
Damn it.
GUNNER WAS AN ASSHOLE. A bon-a-fide jerk who needed someone to kick his ignorant, selfish ass.
Izzy looked around the room before her. All thoughts leading up to this moment quickly forgotten at the sight.
