Charlie punished the treadmill for a good hour and, when that didn’t come close to working off her mad, she increased the pace and went for a second. Toward the end, the tight band around her chest finally started loosening.
She hadn’t been angry when Vince knocked her to the ground. She hadn’t been scared—at least not beyond the first few seconds of no oxygen. What she’d been most was worried. Despite how much he wanted it to be true, the man was definitely not fine.
She knew nightmares. For close to two years after her abduction, she’d slept with her room lit up like it was a spotlight for the Hubble. What made her furious was the whole I-shit-testosterone business—alpha freaking men.
Charlie smacked the off button on the treadmill and reached for a towel. In mid face-wipe, she glimpsed the tall figure standing just inside the hotel gym entrance.
“Voluntary physical exertion, Sunshine? And here I am without a camera.” Hands shoved into his pockets, Brock leaned heavily against the wall, watching. “How far did you just run?”
She shrugged. “Only twenty. I was going easy. It’s been a long day.”
“Ah. Brunch.”
“Yeah, brunch. It went about as well as you’d expect.” Charlie grabbed a bottle of water and downed half of it until she came up for air. “What are you doing here, Brock? More importantly, how did you know I was here, specifically? Or maybe I shouldn’t bother asking, considering your newfound friendship with Arturo.”
Brock didn’t look amused. “Actually, you trained Eric well in the art of computer-sniffing. He found out where you were staying, and it just so happens I used to date the cute security guard on duty. She was all too eager to help me out for old times’ sake.”
Charlie rolled her eyes. “Some things never change.”
“And some things do.”
Brock stepped into the room and, for a moment, he looked like her old friend, the twenty-two-year-old veteran with a new outlook on life—and evidently, a new secret job. But had he ever been her friend? Or had she been a means to advance his career? His link to bringing down Arturo’s organization? Had he played her so thoroughly? Was he playing the DHS now?
Either way she approached it, he was a traitor to someone, which wasn’t a characteristic she held in high regard.
“What the fucking hell is that?” The deep bellow snapped Charlie’s head up. Brock stalked across the room, his eyes locked on her throat. “I’ll rip off his balls and put them in a fucking grinder.”
“Relax.”
“The hell I will. Is that fucking fiancé of yours upstairs? Never mind. I’ll find out myself.” In full rage mode, he turned back toward the door.
Charlie grabbed his arm. “It’s not what you think, so just back off.”
“It’s pretty damn hard to misconstrue fucking finger marks. Christ, Charlie. After all these years, you still haven’t figured out the difference between a good and bad decision? Where’d the fuck you find this asshole? A prison yard?”
“You’re not in a position to question my decision-making. After all, I did see you playing the part of my uncle’s lapdog.” At Brock’s tightening jaw, she continued. “What? You didn’t think I’d call you on it? The Brock I knew couldn’t wait for the day when the entire Franconi organization went under.”
“Yeah, well. The Charlie I knew would’ve never let a man do that to her”—he gestured to her neck—“and live to tell the tale.”
Charlie scoffed. “We both know the Charlie you knew was a whole lot of talk and not a lot of action.” Which was one of the reason why she’d been determined to become full-fledged Alpha. Never again would she let herself feel that helpless—be that helpless. “I don’t have to stand here and explain things to you. Leave Vince alone, or you’ll find out how much I’ve changed.”
“Fine. He’s a swell fucking guy. Wouldn’t lay a hand on you. That doesn’t mean he’s not a bastard for bringing you back here after everything you went through.”
Charlie turned away, both so he couldn’t read her face and to get her room key so she could get the hell out of there, but it was too late. He’d seen.
“Goddamn it, Char. He doesn’t know, does he?”
His incredulous tone stoked Charlie’s already brewing emotions. “No! Because it’s nobody’s business but mine.”
“What the hell are you trying to prove? Do you not remember that night? Because I sure as fuck do. I’ll never get the image out of my head of you shoved into that filthy fucking crate, bloodied and bruised and prepped to be shipped God knows where.”
“I remember it all in explicit detail. I don’t need you repainting the picture for me,” Charlie snarled, wincing at how dry her throat had become. Five days. That’s how long the authorities said she’d been gone. “You mean in the hospital.” Charlie forced her voice calm.
“What?” Brock looked momentarily confused.
“You said you’d seen me in the crate, but you didn’t come until I told the authorities to call you—after they’d already taken me to the emergency room.”
“That’s what I meant,” Brock lied oh-so-effortlessly. “The cops told me what those bastards had done to you. It still makes me sick to my fucking stomach.”
That wasn’t what he’d meant, Charlie knew, and it confirmed the fact that he’d been there when she’d been found.
She finished her water and tossed the empty bottle into the recycling receptacle in the corner of the room. “Is there anything else you want to discuss, because I have to say, sliding down memory lane wasn’t exactly in my plans for the evening.”
“If you’re not going to leave Miami, then you need to be careful.” Brock stepped closer, gripping her chin between his fingers.
Charlie didn’t need a map to read Brock’s mind. “I may not have much love for my uncle, but even I can’t link him to what happened twelve years ago. It could’ve happened to any young woman in Miami.”
“But you’re not just any young woman, Char. You’re Arturo Franconi’s niece.” He dropped a chaste kiss onto her forehead, something he’d once done a million times over…but it had been so long, and he’d done it so effortlessly, it took her by surprise. “Just be careful, Sunshine. I may not be around when you need saving.”
“Good thing I’ve gotten used to saving myself.”
* * *
Vince pushed his arms out in front of him and breathed through his nose. His muscles automatically glided through the repetitive motions as he shifted his torso to the side and did the same off to the right. Inhale and flex. Exhale and push.
Meditative tai chi was about as close as he got to drugs. His muscles now craved the beautiful, stress-relieving movements. That’s what he sure as hell needed after watching Charlie storm out of the room two hours ago.
The door had closed, and there’d been an unfortunate incident where a vase met the floor. He’d regretted it the moment the glass left his fingers, but by then, it was too late. So he’d cleaned the mess, gotten rid of the evidence, and prayed a little meditation would sort out his head before Charlie returned.
If she did.
Their balcony suite, which conveniently overlooked the beach and the front of the hotel, allowed for prime viewing of everyone who came in and out of the resort. Even a few floors up, there’d been no mistaking Brock Torres and his merry band of hoodlums.
Fuck, for all he knew, Charlie could be downstairs at the hotel bar, reminiscing about old times with the ass-hat himself.
Behind Vince, the suite door opened.
Vince sensed Charlie’s eyes moving over him as he slipped into another pose. Five minutes passed before she cleared her throat. “We need to talk.”
“Talking defeats the purpose of clearing the mind,” he said, being purposefully asshole-ish.
“Then unclear your mind and stop for a bloody minute,” Charlie snapped.
He almost ignored her—almost. Turning around, he fought not to wince at the welts on her neck. They were still pink, in the obvious shape of a handprint, but there was a chance—though slim—they wouldn’t bruise.
“How long have you had them?” Charlie questioned pointedly. “And don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you don’t know what I mean. The night terrors.”
He knew what she meant. He folded his arms over his sweat-laden chest and waited for her to realize that her efforts to get him to talk weren’t going to work.
She realized it quickly, giving an exaggerated sigh. “You want to play the macho card and don’t want to talk about it with me? Fine. But there are people out there who specialize in treating PTSD.”
Which Vince knew. Anyone who’d ever put on a uniform was warned of the downside of fighting for your country. He clenched his jaw until it creaked—but remained silent. Hell, he didn’t know what to say, and even if he did, he sure as hell wasn’t about to purge his nightmares onto her. The fact that they’d touched her as much as they had ripped a hole in his gut.
Charlie waited one breath, then two. Tossing her hands up in the hair, she stormed toward the bedroom. “Forget I said anything, okay? Forget I even care, and continue letting your bloody nightmares control your life!”
“Thanks, I will,” Vince quipped, without an ounce of humor.
Charlie whirled around, anger sparking in her dark eyes as she stomped back. “And you say I’m a stubborn arse?”
“Among other things…but it’s not personal, English. It’s not something someone like you would get.”
“No?” Her anger changed to something else, something Vince couldn’t register until the words stumbled out. “For days, weeks…hell, months or more, you avoided going to sleep at every turn, right? Even now, you function on as little sleep as possible because as long as you keep moving, keep your mind busy, it’s easy to delude yourself into believing everything’s fine and dandy.”
She paused, studying him, and continued to glare. Her throat seized, working harder at getting out her words. “But it’s not sunshine and bloody roses, is it? It’s hell and brimstone. Every time you close your eyes, you invite the shadows back into your life, and once they have you, they drag you under like fucking quicksand.”
Vince listened. He watched. And then he realized—she wasn’t speaking about him. If this was the only glimpse she was going to give him inside her own troubles, he’d take it.
Charlie subtly avoided eye contact. “It was bad. I get it. Maybe someone got hurt. I get that too. But you’re not doing yourself—or anyone else—any favors by not talking about it.”
“Spoken like someone who has some quicksand of their own, sweetheart,” Vince pointed out. At risk to his digits, he cupped her chin and slid her gaze back to him, and surprisingly, she didn’t tug away. “Why don’t you tell me the real reason you left Miami? After years of being under Arturo’s controlling thumb, what happened to finally make you head for the hills?”
Charlie’s guard snapped back up in an instant. Pulling her chin from his grip, she drilled him with a look that could’ve frozen lava. “I wasn’t talking about me.”
“I think we both know that’s the not the case. We’re both fucked up. You just don’t want anyone pointing it out to you. I’ll tell you what, English. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“There’s nothing for me to show.”
“That’s how we’re playing it?” Her lack of trust conjured a rush of anger. “Then I guess you’re going to have to deal with my broody silence—and remember to leave me the fuck alone when I’m sleeping.”
“How did you manage working with a SEAL team? That’s like five living and breathing humans who you have to trust on a daily basis.”
At the mention of his former SEAL team, Vince neared his boiling point and stepped close, matching her glare for glare. “You know jack shit about my team.”
“You’re right. I don’t.” Charlie moved forward until her shoes bumped his. “But I’d bet Gregor they have something to do with your quicksand. Be careful, Navy. While you’re trying to measure how deep mine is, you’re already knee-deep and sinking fast in your own.”
Boiling point fucking achieved. They moved at the same time, their bodies clashing together in a tangle of mouths and hands. Vince gripped Charlie’s hips, holding her against his as he walked them against the nearest wall.
“You drive me fucking crazy,” Vince muttered against her mouth.
“Feeling’s mutual.” Charlie took his lower lip between her teeth in a playful nip.
Vince growled. His fingers bumped the silver hoop in her bellybutton and glided up her bare torso. Her skin, like silk over his palms, was all beautiful, sleek curves. Her breasts, covered by her cotton sports bra, fit perfectly in his hand.
“What the fuck are we doing?” Vince stroked his thumb over her hardening nipple.
“Don’t know. Don’t care.”
Fuck, neither did he—and that was goddamned dangerous. Shit happened when he didn’t keep a lid on his emotions.
Vince gripped her hair, holding her still as his tongue slipped into her mouth, but with the release of a breathy moan, she stole his control. He palmed her ass, and her legs, already opening, wrapped around his waist. Hiding his raging hard-on became an impossibility because it pushed through his shorts and rubbed against her abdomen.
Charlie sucked in a quick breath. “Oh hell. This is a bad idea. A really, really bloody bad idea.”
“The fucking worst.” Vince dragged his mouth over her jaw. “Goddamn…you smell like fucking flowers and you’ve been down in that gym for hours.”
Charlie arched, exposing the line of her neck to him even more. He nibbled and licked, enjoying the faint sting of her fingers digging into his shoulders. She anchored her body against his and swiveled her hips. The provocative move brushed her mound against the tip of his erection.
Vince ran the backs of his knuckles against her stomach and lower, making her tremble, right before he paused at the band of her stretchy pants. “One quick release. We’ll burn this off and let it fizzle out. No discussion or play-by-play. Then we go about our business.”
Panting, she pulled back just enough to unzip his pants and cup his aching cock. “Both of us.”
Charlie’s small fist wrapped around him and coaxed out a reflexive thrust.
Under normal circumstances, he’d fear for his fucking nuts having her this close to his genitals, but what was happening right then was anything but normal, and the only thing on his mind was Charlie’s pleasure.
He breached her pants and received yet another shock to his system. “What the fuck are you wearing? Silk?”
A coy smirk pulled up the corner of her mouth. “Just because I don’t like pastels doesn’t mean I don’t like nice things.”
Vince dipped one finger through the damp folds of her pussy. Drenched. She was soaked through and getting wetter with each stroke of his fingers. When he brushed his fingertip against her clit, she pumped his cock. When he paused, she paused. They brought each other to the brink of their restraint and back, teasing. Tormenting. It was the best goddamned way to lose track of time—and reality.
Vince pushed his finger deep into her tight sheath, enjoying the way her body immediately clamped down, and pumped once…twice. After her body adjusted, he inserted a second, then a third. For every few thrusts, he gently rubbed her clit, and Charlie, beginning to squirm in his arms, gave the same degree of attention to his throbbing cock.
Her hand slid up his shaft from root to tip, slickening his rod with pre-come on the downward plunge. So slick. So good…not as good as being buried inside her would be, but they were rocking the goddamned boat of professionalism as it was.
Vince took her mouth in a kiss. Who needed to fucking breathe? They kept at it, their heavy breathing and damp bodies the only sounds in the room.
Her body tightened around his fingers, her hips moving faster.
“I’m not going to last much longer,” Vince growled out against her mouth.
“Good, because I’m not lasting at all.” On his hand, Charlie erupted. Head falling back against the wall, she rode out her orgasm and took him along with her in two more firm pumps.
Goddamn, he didn’t think he could come this much, or this long. As he continued to empty himself, Charlie’s body trembled in his hands. He rubbed her clit in soothing circles as they both road their highs back down to earth.
“Holy hell.” Vince dropped his forehead to the wall just above her shoulders. Her heavy pants pushed her chest against his, and when he regretfully removed his hand from her panties, her moan made him go half-hard all over again.
It took everything in him not to carry her into the bedroom, where they could keep exploring this very bad idea.
“Well”—Charlie smirked, still breathless—“I’m not an expert or anything, but I think that was more stress-relieving than tai chi and running any day of the week.”
It was. And that was going to be a huge fucking problem.