Breaking Daylight

by M. J. Fredrick

  “You don’t have to answer to me. Like you said, I don’t know what you’re going through, what you’d do to change what’s happened. I’m in no position to judge.”

  “Yet that doesn’t stop you.”

  He didn’t say anything as he checked the rearview mirror. He was tired of being followed night after night, and he couldn’t let his frustration with Isabella get them in trouble because he wasn’t paying attention.

  “I made him think I was going to,” she said when they turned onto the highway. “But I didn’t want to seem too desperate. I figured it was better to leave him wanting.”

  “So you’re going to see him again?”

  “No. But I made him think I was.”

  “He doesn’t know where you’re staying.”

  “Of course not.”

  “But he knows who you are to Santiago?”

  He couldn’t shake the feeling that the night had been a trap. For Jorge to part with the information, for him to let her go.

  “No. I mean, he doesn’t know Santiago was holding me down in Honduras. He doesn’t know I’m the mother of his child. He just thinks Santiago is my sugar daddy.”

  Alex frowned. “I don’t trust him.”

  She saw him glance in the rearview mirror and twisted to look behind them. “Are they after us?”

  “No. Not that I can tell.”

  She turned back and leaned her head against the seat with a sigh. “Thanks. For being there.”

  “What?”

  “I wasn’t as scared as I thought I would be. I knew you were there if I needed you. Thank you.”

  “This isn’t the first time.”

  “Well, it’s the first time I’m saying thank you. So take it.”

  “All right, got it. Jesus.”

  “Alex.”

  He slid her a look and she reached across the cab to lay a light hand on his lap, determined he would understand her meaning.

  He did, because he went all stiff, and not just in the good way. “Don’t,” he said through his teeth.

  “I know you were aroused back there. You forget I know you. I can see in your eyes when you want me. I wanted you to want me.”

  “So you can fuck with my head?”

  “Not really what I want to fuck with.”

  “Why? You need your release?”

  “Maybe.”

  She turned in her seat then, shifted her touch to cover his erection. He growled her name and swerved, just a little, when she squeezed. Then she released him long enough to unzip him.

  “Not here,” Alex said, pushing her away, his resistance melting as he zipped himself up. He wasn’t made of steel. Steel-like at the moment, though.

  He made the drive more quickly, tense, silent. He passed his keys to the valet and followed Isabella into the lobby. She didn’t look back, but he could tell by the swing of her hips, the tension in the cab of the truck, what was on her mind.

  The elevator opened as they approached, like the answer to a prayer, and he swept her inside. The doors slid closed with no one else getting on. Winding her arms around his neck, she gave a soft purr against his mouth. Sliding his touch down to her bare thigh, he eased her weight back against the wall as he sought her taste with his tongue, her soft skin with his rough hands. She lifted one leg along his thigh, rubbing lightly. Needing to be closer, he pressed into her, angling his mouth for a deeper taste. He scooped her hair back from her face and rested his palm against her smooth cheek. Longing swamped him and he let her kiss carry him deeper.

  The ringing of the elevator echoed in his head a moment before he realized what it was, and he moved back from Isabella. She opened her eyes slowly, lips parted as if she was savoring the last of the kiss.

  He didn’t want to see realization snap back into her eyes, not yet. He took her hand and stepped into the hall. When the elevator doors thumped shut, he dragged her close to kiss her again.

  And ignored the flash of hope he saw in her eyes.

  “Alex,” she whispered.

  “Hush.”

  She gasped when he nipped her lower lip between his teeth, then slid his tongue over it. His name was a plea against his mouth, and he dipped his tongue between her lips. His fingers tangled in her hair for a minute, released, and he moved back, trying to remember which way the room was.

  “Here,” she said, apparently seeing his confusion and tugging his hand.

  With trembling fingers, she pulled out her key card, turned toward a door—God, he hoped it was the right one—and he crowded her against it, nuzzling her throat through her hair, pressing his erection against her ass.

  She laughed his name and shoved open the door. They stumbled in together. He pushed her hair out of the way to get to the skin of her throat, salty and musky.

  So fucking sexy.

  She stepped out of her heels as he turned her, and was suddenly tiny. Clasping her rib cage under her breasts, he raised her on her toes to bring her closer and bent to deepen the kiss. She wound around him, arms, legs, as he held the heat of her over his erection. Her breath came hot and heavy as she worked the buttons of his shirt. Shaking with the desire to feel her beneath him, he dropped her to the bed, following her down, nestling between her thighs.

  Willpower kicked in. He had to slow down, had to ease back. This wouldn’t be like last time. He would make her see he was different than the other men. He would make her understand it was about more than release.

  If he could hold out, he would make her as crazy as he was. He rose on his knees and loosened her dress, parting it to bare the sexy underwear.

  Mine.

  The thought was so loud in his head that he jolted, but Bella rolled her hips, drawing his attention back.

  “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, sliding his fingertips from the base of her throat, between her breasts, over her belly and the triangle of lace, to rest on her thigh.

  “Alex.” She sat up and took his face between her palms, brushing her thumbs over his stubble, and then kissed him, her mouth hot and mobile, her legs parting around him on the bed.

  Her eagerness played havoc with his vow to take his time. He tilted her back on the bed and lowered his head.

  Chapter Eleven

  Isabella parted her lips for his kiss. This wasn’t a lip-crusher, one of those kisses that told her he wanted her but that he hated the wanting. This one was—not soft, because nothing about Alex was soft, but tender, just a shadow of the overwhelming desire she’d received from him before. He brushed his fingertips over her cheek, so lightly the caress sent tremors through her.

  He smiled against her and shifted, pressing her into the pillow, slanting his mouth over hers and just—kissing her. She hummed in the back of her throat, needing to discharge the energy spinning through her.

  She stroked her fingers over his hair, the soft prickle of it adding another dimension, another layer of sensation to the slow, dreamy kiss.

  His breath feathered against her cheek, the pulse of his heart against her arm as he rolled his tongue along hers.

  Still he didn’t touch her, only kissed her. The last time she’d just kissed a boy had been when she didn’t know any better, didn’t know where these sensations could lead. Didn’t know that sex was about control. Learned that she could be the one in control.

  Except with Alex. God, what was he doing to her? Was he trying to forge a deeper connection, stronger than she had already? Didn’t he understand how hard she’d worked to put her guard in place?

  “Alex—”

  “Shh.” He eased his lips along her jaw, then back up to her chin and down the line of her throat.

  Even her fingers spasmed with pleasure as he brushed his stubble over sensitive nerves. “Can’t.” She said the word on a shuddering breath.

  He palmed her jaw, turned her head to the side for better access to her throat. “Smell good,” he said.

  When he touched his tongue to the area below her ear, her body heated, and she
arched toward him, encouraging his touch. Instead he kissed her again, slowly, tasting every crevice of her mouth until her blood buzzed, her breathing sped up, her hands moved over his face and shoulders, without thinking.

  It would hurt, yes, when he left her, if she opened herself to him this way. But she wasn’t backing away from this chance to be cherished. To be seduced.

  He stroked her back and circled his fingers lazily, sending her tingling nerves directly where she needed his touch. She whispered his name, not a protest this time, and slid her leg along his. He applied only the slightest pressure at the small of her back, drawing her closer against his body.

  He was warm and smelled so good, musky with that hint of soap beneath. His erection pressed against her through his boxers, and she teased him with her proximity, back and forth, until his breath became as ragged as hers. He rose over her, not taking his eyes from her as he dragged his fingers down her chest. She lay breathless, boneless, when he lowered his mouth to her skin, starting at the hollow of her throat and moving down, a combination of soft, firm lips and scratchy stubble. The moan pushed its way past her tongue, filled the room, vibrated the bed, and she gripped the back of his head as he shoved aside the lace cup and nuzzled her naked breast. Desire twinged through her, almost painful, as he plucked her nipple with his lips before settling into a deeper caress, a worshipful one, his hands on either side of her body.

  Then, with a gentle bite to the underside of her breast, he slid his fingers into her thong. But instead of pushing her panties down, he closed his palms over her ass and lifted.

  Languorous with what he’d been doing, she didn’t understand that he meant her to turn over. Of course, he was an ass man, he would want her in that position. She hated the stab of disappointment. Up till now it had seemed to be about her. Slowly she turned and shuddered with pleasure when he framed her thighs between his arms and blew across her naked skin. He chuckled at the gooseflesh he raised, then bent to kiss her spine at the small of her back, his caress just as careful, as worshipful, as his kisses to her mouth had been.

  Her nerve endings exploded in quick bursts as pleasure shot out from each contact of his mouth, his chin. He slid his hands up her thighs and down again, without touching her, without caressing her swelling flesh, her body desperate for him.

  “Alex, please.”

  He nipped the curve of her ass and rose. She braced herself for his thrust, but instead he brushed his thumbs over the sensitive flesh where her buttocks met her thighs, and the wash of desire was so powerful she dropped her head back to the pillow.

  “Don’t get comfortable,” he said and turned her onto her back with a flop, pulling down her thong. “I want to watch you.”

  Suddenly she wished he’d taken her in the other position. What would he see in her face when he entered her, when he made her come? Would she be able to school herself against showing him too much, giving him too much power?

  He sheathed and positioned himself at her entrance, watching her as he slowly pushed into her.

  Desire radiated from every nerve he pressed against as he entered her. She arched her head back but he stopped and cupped her face in his palms.

  “Watch me.”

  She never thought looking into a man’s eyes—into Alex’s eyes—would be so hard, watching the flicker of emotions that only deepened her own, the longing, the pleasure, the need. She gasped as he filled her, then began to move. She wanted to close her eyes against it, to protect herself, to bring that wall back between them, but he challenged her as he moved over her, caressing her body with gentle strokes that only stoked the desire he’d already built. Keeping the same rhythm, he grasped her ass.

  She shattered, was only vaguely aware of his urge for her to look at him, until he enfolded her in his arms, lifted her onto his thighs, still thrusting. Unable to hold her head up, she met his gaze, watched his eyes darken, deepen, heard the catch of his breath. She tucked her head against his shoulder as he gathered her close, shuddering with his own release.

  He pulled out of her, but they stayed in the same position, as if moving would reveal something more of themselves than they’d already done. Finally, she slid sideways off him, not looking at him, gathering her dress.

  What had they done? How could she face him after being so vulnerable in front of him?

  She turned toward him, wiping her hair from her eyes with the back of her hand. She would not cover her nakedness, would not give him that satisfaction.

  Alex watched the play of emotions over her face, none of them the gratitude he thought he’d see. Hell, she looked scared, and pissed because of it. He opened his mouth to ask her what the hell was wrong when his phone rang.

  He swore and dove for it, digging it out of his discarded pants. Bella took advantage of his distraction to head toward the bathroom, but her curiosity must’ve got the better of her, because she hesitated in the doorway and watched as he answered.

  “Yeah?”

  “Get your rocks off?”

  Alex scowled. Who the hell? While he was working on who it was on the other end, the voice continued.

  “Turn on your TV.”

  Danes. Christ. “What the hell, Lionel? You scared the shit out of me.” He reached over and turned on the TV, aware Isabella had walked back into the room, her attention on the TV.

  There, on the news, was video of a fire. Alex couldn’t place it at first, though it was familiar.

  “Jorge’s club,” Isabella murmured, clutching her dress in front of her. “We were just there.”

  “And just missed the shit,” Lionel said. “You two left, some guys came in with guns, looking for Isabella. Chased out most of the people, put some bullets in anyone who tried to stop them, including the bartender who drew on them. Not sure if they meant to set the place on fire, but it damn sure went up fast.”

  “Christ. Are you hurt? Julian? Dave?”

  “All got out by playing perverts instead of heroes.”

  Alex could hear the disgust in the sergeant major’s voice. “Who died?”

  “Don’t know. I stayed outside till the ambulances started carrying out bodies. Jorge was one. Looked like the fire got him, along with any of his men who rushed to his aid. One of the girls.”

  Alex’s stomach rolled. It could have been Isabella. He studied the screen, looking for any familiar face. Isabella slipped on her dress and sat beside him, leaning forward, doing the same.

  “Did you get a look at them?” Alex asked, reaching behind him for his boxers.

  “Big Hispanics carrying cannons,” Lionel said dismissively. “Not out of the ordinary. Except—shit.”

  The screen flickered for an instant to show Alex and Isabella in the elevator, in the hall, him pressed up against her, his hands all over her. Alex sat forward.

  “What the hell? Where are you?”

  “Security,” Lionel said. “I was entertaining myself waiting for the two of you to finish. I gave you enough time, I hope?”

  “Why are you in security?” How had he wired it to the TV in their room? Hell, how did he know which room was theirs? Which hotel they were in?

  “Watching for these guys.” The screen flipped again as three big Hispanics who looked like they were carrying came through the lobby doors.

  Alex swore. “Get dressed,” he ordered Isabella quietly. “They’re not on tape too, are they?” he demanded into the phone when Isabella burst into action, yanking open drawers before turning to pick up the room phone. He was about to yell at her when he heard her ask for the valet to bring his truck around. Smart girl.

  “Not on tape. You better hurry. Call me when you get out.”

  Alex stood and pulled on his boxers with one hand while folding his phone closed with the other. He watched as Isabella shrugged the loose dress off and tugged on her underwear as she dashed to the closet.

  “Something you can run in,” Alex said, kicking aside the heels she’d been wearing earlier.

  She ripped jeans off a hanger
and stumbled into them while he whipped his shirt over his head and started throwing clothes into his duffel. She twisted her way into the jeans and a snug T-shirt, then grabbed clothes from the hook, tossed them at him and ran into the bathroom.

  “No time for your makeup,” he muttered.

  She threw their toothbrushes into her purse and scowled. She shoved her feet into some wedge-heeled things and grabbed her purse and the key card.

  “Are you kidding me?” Alex finished lacing his own shoes and stood, looking pointedly at her feet.

  “They’re the most practical things I have.”

  “God help us.” He shoved his gun into the front pocket of his cargo pants and hefted the duffel. “Go. Stairs.”

  “Won’t they expect that?”

  “They don’t know we know they’re coming.” God, he hoped. “Element of surprise.”

  She raced down the hall toward the stairway door, but he stepped in front of her before she could open it.

  “Just in case,” he muttered and pushed open the door that made too much noise. He checked the stairwell, then glanced over his shoulder at the elevator bank before ushering her ahead of him.

  She headed down the first flight, grasping the rail, stumbled on the second flight, snatched off her shoes while she was still moving and continued down barefoot.

  She started breathing heavily around the fifth flight, coughing at the sixth.

  Ten more to go. Shit.

  “Just—my breath—a second,” she panted, leaning over the rail. She looked down, groaned, and stepped away from the rail.

  Above them, a door opened and closed like a damned alarm.

  “No time,” he muttered, grabbed her arm and started hauling her down the stairs so her feet struggled to keep up.

  “Alex,” she protested and started coughing again.

  He touched his fingertip to her mouth when he heard footsteps quicken on the stairs above them. Fuck. He rounded the staircase to the next exit door, shoved it open and pushed her out onto the carpeted hallway.

  “Where?” she asked breathlessly.

  He wished he could trust the elevator. Instead, he dragged her to the other end of the hall, the other stairwell, pressing the elevator buttons as he passed. Hopefully the men following them would think they’d taken the elevator.