Chapter Twenty-Four
It was midnight before they ordered carryout. Chinese from the place down the street. A late dinner that fit her schedule to a T.
He’d pulled up ten minutes after she’d arrived home, talked his way past the security, and surprised her with a knock on the door when she’d been en route to the shower.
Needless to say, they were wet, clean, and satisfied now.
Who would have thought the man she’d once imagined strangling would fit seamlessly into her life?
“What?” He paused, chopstick halfway to his mouth, thankfully misinterpreting her look. “This is damn good.”
They ate thigh to thigh, him in his navy boxers, her in his T-shirt, their backs against the wall, two moving cartons serving as a table. She hadn’t yet had time for decorating or unpacking. The soft carpet beneath them the extent of the current luxury, the floor-to-ceiling window of her glamorous, mostly empty family room glittering with the bright lights from below.
Even at this hour, the city was bustling. And the little girl in her who’d skipped meals and shared a sagging couch in a rusted trailer still had trouble believing this was her life.
Yes, it would end eventually, but she’d seize what she could in the meantime.
“Tell me about your day.” Stabbing her chopsticks into her food, she smiled up at him. “Make anyone cry? Take over any vulnerable, unsuspecting companies?”
His gorgeous, vicious eyes lit with excitement. “Well, there was this one company—”
The shrill ring of a phone echoed from down the hall. The theme to Jaws.
His expression shifted to wary. “I have to get that.”
Jumping up, he gave her a spectacular view of a muscular back and an ass hard enough to bounce a quarter off.
He was almost to the door when he swiveled around, pointing at her. “Stay just like that. No moving.”
Bossy as ever, he disappeared down the hall. As if he’d been here a thousand times before. As if this was how it would always be.
Her heart gave a lurch.
“All okay with Lena?” His voice rumbled down the corridor.
She leaned a little closer toward the door.
“That’s why you’re calling me?” His tone sharpened to exasperation. “I don’t know the name of the nearest food delivery place, you idiot. If Morales is nearby, tell him to shoot you. Nothing fatal, but something that will hurt. And bleed. A lot.”
She leaned so far over she practically fell onto her side.
“I don’t give a shit what you do with your free time,” he continued. “What I care about is that you follow my instructions and, unless Lena wakes up and wants company, don’t bother me for the rest of the weekend.”
Her eyes went wide. The whole weekend? That was not part of their nonexistent ground rules.
Hands unsteady, she set her food down on the makeshift table.
“What?” This time his phone growl was tinged with excitement as well as exasperation. “Well, why the hell didn’t you lead with that?” More silence. “Interesting. Let me know the minute you find them.”
She was still trying to puzzle it all out when the chatter ended.
He appeared in the doorway, all wide shoulders and mouthwatering ten-pack. “Now, where were we?”
“I don’t…” She shook off her daze. “Is everything okay?”
He scooped her up, his amazing strength on display, every glorious muscle rippling, as he slid beneath her to sit against the wall. He settled her back on his lap, sideways, his shirt riding up so her bare behind was against the sudden prominent bulge in his boxers. “It is now.”
Lust made it hard to think straight. “I couldn’t help but overhear. You’re, ah”—she cleared her throat—“hoping to stay the weekend?”
“Yes.”
No explanation. No excuses. No circling around the issue.
Lord, what she wouldn’t give for one-tenth of his confidence.
She raised an eyebrow. “When were you thinking to ask me?”
He drew her closer, inhaled deep. “Probably Sunday, around ten p.m.”
She laughed. “You are unbelievable.”
He didn’t smile, but his eyes were playful. “It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.”
“I don’t see you asking for either.”
“Good point.” He nuzzled her neck, his voice that low, sexy rasp she’d come to associate with mind-blowing sex. “You have the softest skin.” While she’d been wrestling with the enormity of their nondecision, he’d moved on, his hand sliding up her thigh to dip across the curve of her waist.
She bit back a moan. This deliberate, slow seduction might just be the death of her.
“How’d you get this?” Catching her off-guard, his thumb circled the small scar at her hip.
“Hard to remember.” The vague explanation was old habit. Russell had never been close enough to see it. Francoise had hated it and told her to get rid of it. But she’d wanted it as a reminder.
A reminder that recklessness led to pain. Recklessness…just like now.
A chill swept through her.
“You cold?” He drew her closer.
“This is really stupid, isn’t it?”
His hands stilled. He knew exactly to what she was referring. “Everything leaves a mark, solnyshko. But I won’t hurt you. What you tell me stays between you and me.”
Heart pounding, she shifted to face him. She was so tired of playing it safe. “Then tell me what that phone call was really about.”
His expression blanked. “What?”
“You want me to trust you? Trust me.”
He blew out a breath, his gaze boring into hers.
She stared back, unblinking. This was it. Now or never.
“What you tell me stays between you and me.” She repeated his earlier words back to him. “This goes both ways, or it doesn’t go at all.”
His slow smile revved her up all over again. “Damn, I like your fire.”
“Then tell me.”
“Don Pierson may be missing, too.”
Shock slammed through her. “Missing?” She shifted on his lap. “Since when?”
“Around the same time as Paul.”
“Do the police think it’s related?”
“The police aren’t aware of this information yet. My team discovered the link and they’re searching for both men now. There’s a chance, after all, that one’s on vacation while the other’s just not answering his phone.”
“Or they could be together?” A shiver wound down her spine.
“My team will find out for sure. They’re also notifying the police.”
“Thank you for telling me.” Her gaze lifted to his. “Despite our less than smooth beginning, you’ve been a huge help every step of this mess.”
He cradled her jaw in his palms. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. You can trust me on that.”
Her heart fluttered once more.
“I got that scar when I was thirteen.” Her heart beat fast, her palms shook.
As if he sensed her nerves, he leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose. “I knew you were a fighter.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” The look of pride in his eyes egged her on. “My aunt kicked me out of her trailer for the night to do some entertaining. I took it as a sign I should go down to the lake with a bunch of older boys. Like an idiot, I dragged my younger sister with me.” She traced the teardrop lines of the scar, courtesy of a sharp rock that had sliced into her as she’d been dragged toward the trees by a bunch of drunk hillbillies who hadn’t heard the expression no means no. “Needless to say, we ended up over our heads. I…I would have probably come away with far worse, but the police were out that night busting kids for underage drinking. They broke things up before it got too ugly.”
He’d gone tense beneath her. “Are those motherfuckers in jail or dead?”
She laughed. “Given where I come from, probably.”
His scowl remained. “I take it they didn’t go to jail for what they did to you.”
“For messing with trailer trash? No.”
He squeezed so tightly she nearly lost her breath. “You are not trailer trash.”
“Not anymore,” she joked, or at least tried to, gesturing toward the view. “I get to remember it all from the safety of the penthouse now, but back then it kind of sucked. If I remember correctly, I was the one who got in trouble. I think my aunt beat me even worse than those boys for bringing the police around.”
“I don’t normally go after women, but your aunt deserves a special place in hell.”
“She got it. Pancreatic cancer at age thirty-six. Dead three weeks later.” She let out a long, slow breath. “What about you? Any scars?”
“More than I can count.”
“I don’t see any.” She shifted on his lap to take a closer look.
“They’re on the inside.” His expression remained inscrutable. “But if you look really close down here”—he pointed toward his thigh and the growing bulge straining against his boxers—“you might find something.”
She gave a playful shove. “Very funny.”
Then he put his arms around her as if she was the most fragile, precious thing in the world, and her emotions ping-ponged in an even more terrifying direction. “I like your scars,” he said. “Each and every one of them.”
“You haven’t found them all.” A familiar flare of shame seared through her.
“I can be patient.”
It was the way he looked at her when he said it.
Alarm bells flared, the hair at the back of her nape prickling as realization dawned. “You know, don’t you?”
He didn’t even try and feign ignorance.
“About France? Yes.” His tone was casual. Too casual. As if he’d known this moment was coming. Or decided to make it happen.
She skittered off him. Sliding until her ass hit the floor. Until they were no longer touching and she was on her own, the air chilling around her. “How long have you known?”
Deep down, she’d known her secret couldn’t stay buried forever, but she’d let herself hope.
“Tell me,” she demanded. “You owe me that at least.” Lord, she’d been such an idiot. Thinking she could let him in just a little. Thinking she could lean on someone else without getting burned all over again.
He watched her intently, his hands fisting at his sides. “I always do my research. You can’t be happy about it in the case of Don and Paul and then hold it against me now.”
“Watch me.” She skittered back farther. “Now, stop stalling. How long have you known?”
He blew out a breath. “I underestimated you during that first meeting. I wasn’t about to make that mistake again. I had my people dig deep. They’re very good at what they do. Within a week, I had all the expunged records from Paris.”
“Will you leak it to the board? The press?”
“What do you think?” His voice was an angry growl.
She couldn’t look at him. She was the one who should have been angry. He’d slept with her—several times—even knowing about her past. She should never have trusted him.
She stumbled to her knees.
He grabbed her wrist, locking her in place. “The first time I realized just how strong you really were was when I read that report.”
Her gaze leapt to his. The awe in his stare stole her breath—and sent confusion roiling through her.
She’d expected censure. Disdain. Judgment. Pity.
“You were just a young girl. Without anyone. Under the thumb of a monster. But you survived.” His thumb glided over her pulse point. “You found a way when most others would have given in. You fought against the life he tried to force you into.”
“Not too well.” Her voice was a broken rasp of shame. She crumpled back onto her heels. “I took the drugs. I did what he said.”
“He was hurting you. You had no choice.”
Nothing she hadn’t told herself a thousand times before.
But somehow, hearing it from this particular man affected her in a way her own words hadn’t.
And gave her the courage to tell the rest.
“When my sister died, he refused to let me go home for her funeral.” She forced the ugly memories past the tightness in her throat. Even after all these years, that failure still hurt like hell. “Not…not being able to be there for her broke something inside me.”
His hold on her wrist shifted, his fingers sliding downward until their palms were touching. His fingers interlocked with hers. “I understand. Believe me.”
She looked down at their joined hands, her heart slamming against her ribs.
Lines blurred. And all she could do was scurry faster toward her destruction.
“The day of her funeral, I was angry, talking back more than I had in a long time. We got in a big fight.” Something cool and wet rolled down her cheek. Alexi whisked it away with the pad of his thumb before she could. “When he finished hitting me, he told me to take my worthless ass upstairs and get ready to go to some party. I just…snapped. While his back was turned, I grabbed his camera with the giant lens and swung it like a baseball bat.” Saying it aloud was liberating. She’d never shared the full story with a soul. Not even Russell.
“I was so full of rage, I just kept hitting. Even after he crumpled to the ground. I just kept on—until some neighbor who’d heard the yelling pulled me off.” She paused, and then confessed. “I would have killed him if they hadn’t.”
Alexi’s thumb slid over her cheek once more. “Makes me proud. A lot of others would have given up, but not you. You’re a fighter. It’s sexy as hell.”
Scars she’d been carrying around for a long while suddenly felt a lot less ugly.
She inched closer, her knees pressing into his. “Thank you for saying that. It means…a lot.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Some truths are kinder than others.”
Their gazes tangled once more. “What happened after that?”
“Francoise lived, and I was charged with attempted manslaughter. I thought it was over for sure.” The memory of that icy certainty gripped her even now. “I was sure I’d never see the light of day again, much less make it back home to visit my sister’s grave.”
“And then”—her rival cleared his throat, and she could tell the next words out of his mouth weren’t easy—“Russell saved you by throwing his money and influence behind your case.”
She squeezed his hand. “And Francoise went to prison instead.” Her voice quivered as it always did when she thought of what happened next. He’d been a predator and an abuser, but a part of her would always feel guilty. “He was there less than three weeks before he killed himself.”
Alexi yanked her back into his lap—just like she’d been hoping he would. “The man was a coward till the end.” He wrapped his arms around her and settled her tightly against him, her side pressed to his chest. Solid. Warm. Alive. “The only thing sad about his death is that I can’t kill him myself.”
“You know what, Alexi?” She offered up a quivery smile, swinging one leg over and straddling him. “You’re a lot sweeter than anyone would ever expect.”
“Sweet,” he barked. “I just told you I wish I could kill that scumbag.”
“Sounds sweet to me.” She latched her fingers behind his neck and liked the way his eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to the dark tips thrusting through her white T-shirt before returning to her face. “Since my sister died, I’ve been alone. And a little lost.” Shifting forward, she pressed her mouth to the corner of his and offered up another confession. “Right now, I don’t feel that way at all.”
Nostrils flaring, his hands slid up her back to tangle in her hair. “Because you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.” His mouth closed over hers. Not the sweet kiss hers had been, but intense, demanding. Sinful.
Her head was spinning when they came up for air.
His hands cradled her jaw, his stare boring straight into her, as if he could see to the heart of her. “I won’t pretend I went digging for your secrets out of curiosity alone, but I can promise you I won’t use them against you. I’m not out to hurt you, Lily. I’m just…I’m just trying to help someone else, too. I hope you know that.”
Her palms covered his, her crazy stupid heart, numb for so long, roaring to life. Fueled by hope—and sheer terror.
Every time before she’d hoped, every time before when she’d counted on someone, it had cost her. With Francoise, she’d lost her dignity. Her pride. Her sense of safety. With Russell, she’d lost her autonomy, her ability to make decisions for herself, her strength.
Thanks to those poor choices, she was only just scratching and clawing her way back to some semblance of the woman she aspired to be.
And neither of those two men had affected her like Alexi Kazankov.
Still, she couldn’t stop from moving her mouth over his again. Her fingers sifting through his hair as need thrummed through her blood and she ground against the thick bulge pressing into the V of her thighs.
She’d thought when they first met that going to bed with Alexi would make her weak and dirty. Instead, she felt stronger than ever.
“I’m giving you permission to stay the weekend.” She whispered the invitation between deep, soft kisses, her back bowing as his callused hands slid beneath her T-shirt to cup her sensitive breasts.
His slow smile against her skin was sexy as hell. The way his thumb traced her nipple even more so. “Then I’ll save asking for forgiveness for something else.”
She should have asked what. She should have demanded to know what else he’d need pardoning from.
Instead, she let him lower her to the carpet and mold his mouth to hers, his hard body sliding up hers until they were skin to skin and he covered her completely. Because it was too late now. The worst had already happened.
She was falling for Alexi Kazankov.