Chapter 10
Avery woke in the dark. Achy, and cold, she could only make out the outline of furniture as moonlight peeked in through the windows. She wanted to sleep, be oblivious again, but her muscles were cramping so badly she couldn’t ignore it, and when she yawned, her jaw clicked, reminding her that an asshole had sucker punched her at the diner.
Vincent’s arms encircled her, pulled her close, spooning her. She sighed with relief as his heat eased her muscle pain. He’d taken his shirt off at some point during the night, so her cheek pressed to hot skin when she turned in his arms, cleaving to him, her lips now against his neck. She felt a little bad about splaying her cold hands on his back, dragging her palms up to the back of his neck, threading her fingers through his hair. But he was so warm, and she needed his heat to sleep.
He shifted his body, lying on his back, bringing her with him, so she didn’t even have to try to touch him. She was draped on him, splayed, dead weight, and when he turned his head and his warm lips pressed against the hollow of her neck, it felt right. She sighed, lifting her knee and dragging it up over his naked belly, curling around him so more of her could touch him and benefit from his warmth. When his lips moved left and right along her neck’s hollow, she didn’t think much of it, beyond that it felt nice, relaxing, because she was drifting off again.
His hot hands splayed on her back, his fingers bent and gently kneaded her, easing the ache of strained muscles as her mind took note of serenading bugs and frogs outside. She heard the crackle of a fire, and remembered they were in Vincent’s cabin, on borrowed time. She didn’t have to do anything, be anything, because it was that limbo point after midnight and before dawn when the world stopped and expectations ceased. Avery could just be. She could allow this small pleasure with Vincent. Him, easing her sore muscles, his lips moving against her neck.
She found the strength to loll her head to the side to give him better access, and then he was tugging at her T-shirt’s neckline. The shock of his tongue touching her skin wasn’t enough to open her eyes, but she stopped breathing for a moment, and then sighed as its drew a line up the band of muscle from her shoulder to her ear. There, he lingered, having left a cool dampness behind that he used as a marker to return to with his open mouth. He nuzzled her neck, sucking, tasting her, driving her crazy as tingles of desire laid waste to her body. Overwhelmed, more aroused than she’d ever felt before, she found it impossible to think past his mouth on her, and how he made her feel.
Avery’s hips arched, rocking, as delicious tension twisted up her belly. It took a moment to recognize her rhythm matched his kisses, and another to recognize it felt right. Necessary, like breathing. Her chest rose and fell, and tension nudged aside sleepiness. She wanted Vincent.
Her first tiny moan startled her. The second came after Vincent’s kisses prompted a spike of arousal so powerful, her eyes open. Then she saw him beneath her, the fire to the left, its flickering light dancing around the cabin, as they lay there, her hand pressed to his chest.
She should stop this.
She should, yet her eyelids drooped when his teeth nipped at her neck, and another wave of desire hit her, making her tremble, urging her hips to move harder against his. Vincent’s palm moved to her waist, and then to her waistband, teasing its edge, slipping under the fabric. Then he reversed direction, and his hand moved under her T-shirt, between their bodies, even as he teeth grazed the sensitized skin near her throat. He cupped her breast, his thumb brushed its tip, and her body arched toward him, seeking more.
This is wrong. She was wrong. Avery was uniquely wrong for Vincent.
She could ruin him. Get him killed. He had no idea what she’d done.
She had to stop this.
Vincent turned them onto their sides, and then his kisses, licks, and nibbles moved from her neck to her breasts, mouthing her through her T-shirt, leaving damp marks where he covered her nipples and sucked. It was one of the most erotic experiences of her life. Vincent seemed starved for her, and it was intoxicating, made it hard to think, to feel guilt, to resist him.
When her hand found its way to his fly, she felt his arousal straining against the fabric. Vincent covered her hand, stopped her caress. “I’ll explode,” he said. The words seemed to burst from him. “This is out of control.” He guided her hand to his chest, holding it there. “My fault.”
She pressed her face to his neck, forcing herself not to taste his hot skin. She’d just…lay with him. “Go to sleep,” she said, knowing it was impossible. It felt as if she’d never sleep again.
“Yeah. Sleep.” He rolled her onto her back, and settled his weight between her thighs, pinning her to the mattress. “Kiss me good night, sweet Avery.” Elbows resting on either side of her head, she looked up at him, but his face was in shadow. “Kiss me.” He lowered his head, brushing his lips against hers. She told herself one kiss…one more kiss. Then he swept his tongue inside her mouth, and their kiss was hot, and wet, and lingering, banishing all thoughts on what she should do.
She grabbed his ass with both her hands and arched her hips higher, needing him closer. “What are we doing?” Out of breath, out of her mind. This wasn’t right. She didn’t deserve a man like Vincent. “We have to stop.”
He rolled off her, eyes squeezed shut. “Stopping. We’re stopping.”
“Good night, Vincent.” She stared at the ceiling, blinded by her failures as she curled up, facing away from him.
If he learned her secrets, he’d hate her. How could he not? Yes, she’d allowed him to worm his way into her…what? Heart? Head? She needed to protect herself, be strong, where she was weak. A few more moments of kissing, and she’d have begged him to be inside her. Even now, swollen and pulsing, her panties wet, Avery feared she still might beg.
But some instinct told her that if they made love, he’d never let her go. He’d use that intimacy to excuse his “protection,” maybe even force her to deal with the Feds. She shuddered at the thought.
She’d come to care if Vincent lived or died, and that caring made him a vulnerability. This man, this Fed, made her vulnerable. He could destroy her, would destroy her if he knew the truth, so why the hell was she playing with fire?
* * * *
Something woke her abruptly, and she didn’t know if it was the sunlight, birds chirping, bugs clacking, or the chill in the air. Vincent’s warm arm was draped over her side, and he was spooning her, his hand tucked just inside her unzipped waistband, as if poised to slip into her panties and cup her heat. The thought had her lady parts clenching. She turned her face against the pillow and suppressed a groan.
Vincent tensed, and then his arm twitched, making her recognize what had woken her. He was having a nightmare. She looked over her shoulder, at his face, and saw a furrow between his brows, his jaw muscles flexing and releasing. He was suffering. Pressing her hand to his forearm, she snuggled close, seeking to give solace where she could, because she sympathized. It was rare she didn’t suffer nightmares. Dante had hired a counselor just after they’d been married. He didn’t like her thrashing about in bed, crying as he attempted to sleep. Her nightmares eventually chased Dante from her bed, so they were a welcomed plus in the end.
Vincent tensed again, so she tightened her hold on his arm, feeling the need to keep him company as he waged his internal battles. Soon, his breath no longer caught, as if poised to shout, and his arm no longer squeezed her close. Twenty minutes later, he was smacking his lips and nuzzling the back of her neck. She couldn’t help but smile as she felt him pressing his erection against her ass. Her warrior, randy after winning the battle.
She turned toward him, propping herself up on her elbow. Her hair had completely fallen from its bun, so now draped over her shoulder, pooling on the pillow. He smiled back at her, looking sleepy. It occurred to her that she must look a fright, that the bruise on her jaw had to be spectacular, but consoled herself that Vincent didn’t look much better. Swollen nose, purple bruises under his eyes, there was a line of scabbing across the bridge of his nose.
“Hi,” he whispered.
“Hi.” It felt as if the bubble they’d been living in since last night still encapsulated them, and the real world was held at bay. “I’m sorry I broke your face. You used to be pretty,” she said.
His shoulders shook as he chuckled, still struggling against sleep. “Who you kidding? I’m still pretty.”
He certainly was. “You’re the only guy I know that can pull off a broken nose and two shiners and still be sexy.”
“Sexy is good.” He inhaled deeply, and released it with a moan, his eyes focused on her lips. “Why do you say it like it’s bad?”
She swung her legs over the bed’s edge, sitting, keeping an eye on him. “Stop digging for compliments and tell me where the bathroom is.” She had to pee.
He’d closed his eyes, and was lifting his brows as if struggling to open them. “No bathroom.” He tucked his hands beneath his head, and created a feast for her eyes; his corrugated abdomen, thick arms, broad shoulders, not to mention his hard-on from heaven. “There’s an outhouse in the back.” As he spoke, his stomach tightened—as a stomach is want to do when a person speaks—but Vincent’s abdomen was not like others. His rippled with muscles, and had the effect of forcing the air from her lungs.
“Damn. Are you doing that on purpose?” The man was gorgeous. Did he have any idea how he was affecting her? When she could look away from his body, their eyes locked. He winked. So, he did know what a turn on he was, laying there, tempting her to touch him. She licked her lips, totally tempted.
“Didn’t you say something about having to go to the bathroom?” he said.
Yes. Right. “Is the outhouse nasty?”
“Define nasty.”
“Lie if you have to,” she begged.
“Expect turf wars with spiders, but you’re tougher than they are.”
“Which part of that is a lie?” She held his gaze, telling herself not to look at his body.
He smiled back, offering himself up for her viewing pleasure. “I don’t want to lie to you.”
Her stomach clenched, because his words sounded like the truth, and she wasn’t a hundred percent positive they were still talking about the outhouse. “If I use the woods, I’ll have to fight mosquitoes.”
He nodded, his gaze lingering on her breasts, her belly, and the jeans he’d unzipped last night. “Some of life’s biggest decisions are between two evils.”
Dante killing her or life in jail. Truer words were never spoke. “Spiders it is.”
Avery grabbed the sheaths and knives that he must have stripped from her last night, because they were on the floor, and she didn’t remember him taking them off. Yes, that unnerved her as she strapped them into place, and then retrieved her Glock from the side table. Tucking the gun into the back of her waistband, she headed for the door to kick some spider ass.
Vincent’s phone rang as the screen door slammed behind her. It reminded her that there was a world outside of the cabin, and it wasn’t friendly. She didn’t stop to eavesdrop. She preferred to delay bad news, and it had to be Benton, and he was probably calling to give them the all clear. Their borrowed time had expired. Too bad, really, because she’d liked it here, liked being alone with Vincent, her sexy beast. She absolutely loved that her hardest decision was choosing between spiders and mosquitoes.
The outhouse proved easy to find. As promised, the small structure had its share of spiders, and they’d died beneath her boots. She took her time, because she still had no idea how to escape her sexy beast, and the Feds that pulled his strings. They thought she was the pot of gold at the end of the Coppola Syndicate rainbow, so their grip was tight.
Fact was, they wanted to believe Dante’s lie, so nothing she could say or do would convince them otherwise. Human nature, she supposed, but it forced her to run from them, and she had a feeling they wouldn’t be as easy to escape as Dante’s men. The FBI task force was smart. Maybe smarter than Dante. Definitely smarter than her.
Barely a high school graduate, Avery had abandoned thoughts of college when she’d married. There was Millie to raise, and she had other training to keep her busy. These federal agents probably spent most of their lives in school, probably studied people like Dante in a classroom. Maybe people like her, too. They probably thought they had her number, a fleeing ex-mob wife with evidence they wanted. They’d smarten up soon enough, so Avery needed a plan while the Feds remained in the dark. If she didn’t make them her bitch now, they’d make her theirs soon.
Entering the cabin, she froze, causing the screen door to hit her ass. Vincent’s expression screamed bad news. “What?” she said.
“That was Benton.”
She’d assumed as much. “And?”
“They’re interrogating one of Coppola’s men from the sheriff’s office. He’s asking for you. Says he’ll only speak to you.”
“His name?” Her anxiety ratcheted up.
“Pinnella. Know the guy?” Vincent was studying her, as if he knew the answer already, but wanted to see if she’d lie.
Yes, she knew “Fingers.” He’d tried to kill her after she’d hit him with the stolen Audi back at the federal building. “He’s one of my ex-husband’s men.” Pinnella hated her, and would do his best to screw her with the Feds. There was no upside to speaking with the contract killer. At the very least, he would sidetrack her efforts to escape. “I don’t want to talk with him.”
Vincent nodded, as if he understood. “Benton’s thinking if you won’t flip on Coppola, maybe Pinnella will.” He shrugged. “This might be your way of deflecting the FBI’s attention. Could be a win for both of us. All I’m asking is for you to think about it.”
That was crazy talk. Pinnella wouldn’t snitch. There was no one more loyal to Dante than Pinnella. “You can’t trust a thing he says.”
“Of course not, but it’s something. Maybe he’ll give something up without meaning to, or we could make a deal. He’s looking at life in prison. Murder one. He’ll want a deal.”
Pinnella knew too many of her secrets to completely ignore this problem. Her choice was bleak. See him, and risk Pinnella messing with her plans to meet up with Millie, or ignore him, and risk him data dumping to the Feds everything he knew about her. “It’s a bad idea.”
“If we can’t use Pinnella, Benton will want to use you. Make a decision. What do I tell him?” He tossed his iPhone in the air and caught it. “He’s expecting a return call ASAP. He says if you won’t talk to Pinnella, he expects you to tell him where you’re hiding the files.”
She forced herself not to growl at him, but she wanted to. “The damn files.”
“It’s not about the files, Avery.” He slipped his phone into his back pocket and approached her. His pants were still unbuttoned at the top, though he’d zipped them. That little detail didn’t make him any less sexy, because his waistband sagged low, giving her a tempting view she wanted to explore. He wrapped his arms around her hips and pulled her into his embrace. She leaned back, resisting with two palms to his warm, hard chest, inadvertently positioning them groin to groin. He smiled, all sexy and sweet.
“It’s about taking down Dante Coppola,” he said. “We both want that, don’t we?” He inched his hands up her back, pulling her chest closer to his, hugging her. He pressed a kiss to her temple. “The files will do it.”
“Meaning it is all about the files.” His shoulders sagged, and his hands moved to her hips, giving her a pang of regret that she needed to disappoint him, but damn, the Feds wanted something that didn’t exist. Hell, Avery wanted something that didn’t exist. A life beyond her involvement with Dante Coppola, but her ex just wouldn’t leave her alone.
Pinnella didn’t want to talk with her. Dante ordered him to kill her, so he wanted her dead. She replayed the memory of him at the federal building, lying on the ground next to the Audi. Gun aimed at her, his leg all broken and shit. Pinnella had to have been in extreme pain, and yet his one thought was to end her life. He would have, too, if she hadn’t lucked out, and he’d been out of bullets. His goal didn’t change simply because he was in a hospital, his pain dulled by meds. She’d be crazy to meet with him, and even if she did, she couldn’t speak to the guy with the Feds in the room. She had too many secrets.
Avery groaned, and buried her face against Vincent’s chest, hiding her indecision. His heat, his smell, reminded her of the feelings she’d enjoyed last night. She wanted to feel that again, but this time, without her worries of him scratching at her heart. Just a sliver of happiness. Was that too much to ask? A sliver would go a long way to soothing her unease, and maybe it would help her solve this problem.
Millie was in Boston, afraid, waiting for her, and Pinnella was looking for trouble, possibly poised to spill the beans on her. And Dante, damn him, was probably still asleep, probably nestled with a lover, dreaming of her execution.
Avery needed to escape Vincent and get her ass to Boston.
He tilted her chin up with a fingertip. “Hey.” He compressed his lips, and donned puppy dog eyes. “Stop it. You keep acting as if you’re alone. You’re not. You’ve got me.”
A Fed. She’d be a fool to trust him. “We’re not a team, Vincent. We’re not even on the same side. You want to take Dante down. I want to escape him.”
Vincent frowned. “Is this you warning me not to trust you?”
“Of course not,” she said. “That would be a waste of breath. We both know you don’t trust me. But know this, Millie comes first, before the Feds, Dante, you, even me. Keep that in mind, and you just might have a future.”
She pushed out of his arms, averting her gaze as she hurried outside. The woods, the locked car, was a splash of reality. She was trapped here, and couldn’t leave unless Vincent drove her out. Frustration had her kicking the car’s tire.
Not soon enough, he had the cabin locked up, and was at the Audi’s driver’s side door. Avery had worked herself into a frenzy, worrying about a confrontation with him, but he seemed calm, absently tossing and catching the keys in the air.
“So? Where’re we going, Avery? The hospital or to pick up the files?” He leaned his forearms on the Audi’s roof, peering at her, his expression devoid of emotion. He was hiding something, and she suspected it was glee for giving her two bad choices. Both were win/win for the Feds, of course, Pinnella or the files, but they were lose/lose for her; one wanted her dead and the other didn’t exist.
“Let’s see what that pissant has to say,” she said.
At least, Pinnella existed. It seemed the safer risk, less likely to invite the fury of a thwarted FBI. Didn’t mean she was happy about it, so Avery didn’t hide her resentment. It was real, and she saw no benefit to hiding it. Not that Vincent seemed to care. After a quick call to Benton, he turned on the radio, smiling as he shifted into gear. Smiling.
He wasn’t going to be smiling when she gave him the slip, or when she drove off with the trunk full of weaponry and money. It was happening. Avery just needed to bide her time.