Elsa m carruthers, p.18
The Hitman's Vice, page 18
He didn’t let her pull away. He caught her hip and pulled her, unresisting, onto his lap. “I know you love your family. And I know you love me, Zara. But—”
“But you’re already wanting an annulment so you can ditch me?”
“You know that’s not true. I would do anything for you. Except make you miserable.”
“Then shut up.” Zara sat up, using his chest to lever herself up further, so she could look him in the eyes. Tempting as it was to straddle his lap, she was a little too aware of her lack of panties and that it would just end in sex. Immediately. “Dane. The only way I’d ever consider going home now is if you left me. And even then? I’d probably just go marry Cristoforo from the bar and—”
His lips silenced her. She gasped but didn’t fight it. Next thing she knew, she was on her back, pinned beneath him. “I don’t know who the fuck Cristoforo is, but I’m going to make sure you forget him.”
“Mm. A lovely goal.” She slid her hand through his hair and let her lips find his pulse point, just below his left ear. “One you can pursue after you talk to the captain.”
He shook his head then kicked the suitcase to the floor. “I’ve got plenty of time.” Kneeling between her legs, he lifted his shirt above his head. “Unless you’re too tired, love.”
“Never.” Zara let her legs part further, and rubbed her foot along his calf. “But considering your track record, I don’t know you’re capable of this kind of rush job, Mr. Ryan.”
Dane stared down at her, a smile almost dawning. Without breaking their contact, his hand flew to the nightstand. Zara bit her lip to muffle her laughter as he brought the corded phone to his ear. “Captain? Dane. Change of plans. My darling bride wants to go to Capri.” He licked his lips, nodded, then hung up the phone. “You were saying?”
Zara giggled, but she was already reaching for him. “That you definitely won’t be done before we set sail?” She tried her best to look serious as his brows arced and he unfastened his pants. “It’s okay to admit your limits, D. You’re just not good at going fast.”
“Oh, I can go fast.” His hand slid down her side, between their bodies. He stopped short of where she wanted his touch. “But some things demand my full and thorough attention. Don’t you agree?” His fingers hovered above her pussy.
She tilted her head up, playing imperious despite the quickening beat of her heart and her fingers digging into the tangled covers. He knew exactly how much she liked his thorough attention to detail. She liked playing games too. They both did, luckily. “Hm… You’re saying thoroughness isn’t compatible with speed?”
“Maybe.”
Zara smirked. “So, you’re admitting your limits.”
Dane rolled his eyes and sat up. “You know, maybe I am. You’re so right.” He grabbed his shirt and started to pull it back on.
She laughed, dragging the hem of her shirt up as he was pulling his on. “You’re giving up so easily? Damn. Marriage really did change you. Guess I’ll handle myself and—”
“Like hell.” His shirt flew across the room, and he gathered her in his arms, dragging her back onto his lap, straddling him the way she’d hesitated to do earlier, his erection finding her entrance with disconcerting ease, especially considering the way his grip tightened on her. Not that her own body minded—the dangerous glint in Dane’s eyes only made her hotter. “Who said anything about giving up?” Before she could reply, he buried himself inside her, in a fast, brutal thrust, anchoring her with his forearm at the small of her back.
Zara didn’t answer, except in pleasured gasps and the way her nails dug into his skin. She was aware, dimly, that she ought to care that his pants were still on, the zipper rasping along her thigh. But nothing mattered except the pressure building inside her with each rough movement and the taste of his lips on hers. When she could think even for a moment all she said was, “Don’t stop. God, don’t ever stop…” Then everything else was moans and half-finished syllables as a wild climax slammed her with his next thrust, throwing her back into a delicious exhaustion.
She opened her eyes, finding her head was back on her pillow, her chest still heaving. Dane was no longer beneath her. Zara opened her eyes, turning her head to find him stretched out alongside her, blocking her view of the door. Rarely did Dane ever look vulnerable. Even when he slept, he seemed slightly on edge. But right now, he looked worlds away, a wicked grin lighting his features. “That fast enough for you?” His words came out breathy as she felt.
“Not bad. For a first attempt.” Zara’s laughter bubbled up—she couldn’t hold the game face anymore. “Are we doing marriage wrong, do you think? I don’t remember anyone saying it’s supposed to be fun. I thought it was the opposite.”
“That’s because you’ve only seen your dad’s set of trainwrecks.” He set his hand on her hip.
“Good point.” Zara nodded, but her teeth caught her lower lip as some of the future caught up to her orgasm-clouded head. “But you don’t mind either, do you? I know I’m signing away my family. You’re giving up your career. And running off with me. Permanently.”
“Before you start to wonder about my regrets, let me make it clear. I only have only one.”
“And that is?”
His grin melted into a tender expression she’d never thought him capable of. “We should’ve done this years ago.”
“When we weren’t talking to one another?”
“Fine. I should’ve kidnapped you until you forgave me.”
“You say the sweetest things.”
He propped himself up on his elbow and ran a finger along her cheek. “I love you. Wherever we go, so long as we’re together, that’s more than enough. God help me, corny as it is, it’s true.”
“I promise not to make you say it very often.” She turned her head to kiss his hand, sighing as he nuzzled her shoulder. “Wouldn’t want you losing street cred.”
“I’ll make it up to you, baby.” His lips brushed hers. “I promise.”
“You already have.” She caught his shoulder and tugged him down. “But I’ll let you keep trying anyway.”
****
DANE
Capri, Italy, October 23
This is stupid. What are we fucking doing? What the hell was I thinking? We should have kept going. But they might track the boat. We need to ditch it now and disappear. This is the best choice. There are plenty of smaller things to rent here in the off-season. We hit Monaco, and I’ll check in with Pedro. He owes me a favor or two. Then use the next ID sets, and disappear in Switzerland.
Dane slumped in the biggest armchair in the cabin and stretched one leg over the ottoman, trying to keep his frantic thoughts hidden. His foot tapped on the floor in an uneven rhythm counter to the ship’s constant, faint rocking. He held a book—one of hers—but hadn’t read a single word thanks to the alluring dance of bare skin, lace, and gauzy cotton happening right in front of him. The constant urge to get up and drag all Zara’s clothing back off of her didn’t fade even when he was losing his mind, apparently. They needed to get the fuck out of this boat. Maybe the planet. Besides, I can’t pull her through the streets of Capri naked. I’d have to kill too many people.
She glanced over, and he smiled, then set his cheek against his fist to keep from reaching for her. Zara returned to her makeup, and Dane’s smile fell away, his tongue gliding back and forth along his teeth. It wasn’t like telling her to hurry would help—they were stuck in a holding pattern until the boat could reach the berth. And they’d been stuck for almost two hours.
He heard more than felt the engine kicking up. Cleared to dock? Thank Christ. He dropped the book in his lap and glanced out the window. The wait wasn’t quite as long as he feared—not as many tourists this time of year—but the endless doubts and second guesses circled his skull the same way they had for twenty-four hours.
Standing up, he tossed the book on the bed and brushed his hair out of his face. Capri was twenty minutes away, and they had no better option. Nowhere in Italy was far enough from Adam Fitzgerald. At least here, if shit went south, they could get another boat relatively fast and make a break to Santorini or Egypt. Anywhere, really. It didn’t matter. Not now. He only needed breathing space to set up somewhere with the new identities. No matter where they landed, someone would be needing wet work and cleanup.
Meanwhile, Zara sat at the vanity, painting on makeup like she didn’t have a goddamn care in the world. Like this was just a honeymoon, and they weren’t fleeing for their lives.
Dane jammed his hands into his pockets, wincing at the cheap material. Fucking board shorts. Jesus. The pastel blue color didn’t help—but Zara thought they were hysterical, and he’d lost the argument. Better than the flip-flops. I think. God, he could punch himself. Dressed like one of Z’s douchebag fuck-buddies. At least he’d drawn the line at Hawaiian shirts, no matter how much she pouted. “Babe? About done putting on your face?”
Zara grimaced at the mirror. “I’ll be done when the ship stops. Being ready before won’t help unless you plan on jumping into the harbor and swimming for it.”
“I’m considering all options.”
She slipped whatever piece of cosmetic nonsense she’d been wielding into her bag and smudged something on her cheekbone before arching her newly emphasized brows at him. “Why are you fidgeting? This is Capri. It’s off-season, but there’ll still be enough of a crowd to hide in, and you’ve gone over every step past this one at least hundred times. I know it by heart. Including the fifteen different if-we-get-separated options.”
“Maybe it’s the goddamn clothes. I feel like a fucking idiot.” Or because Adam won’t hesitate to have one of us shot on sight. And I can’t even blame him.
“You’ve worn stupider things. Your old school uniforms, for one.”
“That was a lifetime ago. I seared it out of my memory.” He threw himself on the bed, glaring at the light fixture.
“It’s not the clothes. You’re still worried Dad’s tracked the ship, aren’t you?”
He bit his bottom lip. “And I can’t find my coin.”
Zara huffed, muttering God-knew-what in French. He doubted it was a compliment. “The coin’s in your bag, in the left side pocket. And I’ve seen you handle Gia, me, Hannah, and Ethan walking into exposed arenas without ready backup more gracefully than this. Not to mention our lovely excursion through St. Louis, Atlanta, and Madrid. So, tell me what the heck’s got you wound up, or I’ll drag my feet about leaving this boat for the next two weeks.”
He gritted his teeth. “You’re all of ten pounds, Z. I’ll carry you.”
“Kicking and screaming loud enough to get outside attention?”
“Chloroform is a hell of a drug.”
Zara snickered. “You don’t have any. Nice try.”
He sat up and stared at her, his expression softening as he took a steadying breath. “It was different before.”
“Oh?” She gestured impatiently with her hand. “How?”
“I didn’t give a shit what happened to me back then. I wasn’t…” He knew the words he wanted to say, but saying them? Jesus, I’m a fucking child. “I wasn’t scared before.”
She frowned again, but this time she got up and came closer, holding out a hand. Dane reached for her without thinking, drawing her to stand between his legs. Her rose-and-candy scent caught his attention just before she leaned in and kissed his forehead. She’d been buying new perfume at almost every stop they made as some inexplicable accompaniment to her changing hair colors and wigs. He’d only vetoed one that smelled like a hippy opened a bakery. But, for all the wardrobe changes, she hadn’t put contacts in, so her familiar blue-and-green gaze bored into his. “Funny. Because I was always scared for you.”
His breath caught, and his chest tightened. “I’m sorry,” he uttered before he could stop himself. He didn’t even know what he was apologizing for. Lifting his hand to her cheek, he kissed her gently. “I’m so sorry, Zara.”
“For being yourself?” She laughed against his mouth, and her arms encircled him. “Don’t be. I love you. Even when you’re a reckless asshole. I’m the one who’s sorry. The nerves are about me, aren’t they? You’re trying to run like a professional, but you’re stuck dragging me along. Forever.”
He pulled her closer, guiding her head to rest on his shoulder while her fingers combed through his hair. “I can’t lose you, Z.” He kissed her temple, and splayed his hand protectively across her back. “You aren’t an assignment. You’re my wife.”
“I am.” Her smile returned. “And I’ll learn all the tricks. I promise you that. Now, let’s get out of here and find somewhere stable for a few weeks. You can teach me how to disappear and fight and—”
“I’m not giving you a gun, I like living.” He smirked but Zara only sighed.
“Dad would probably forgive you if you manage to toughen me up at all. I know he thinks I’m useless.”
“Who gives a fuck what he thinks?” Dane smoothed her now-blonde hair back from her face. She looked beautiful no matter the color, but he still wasn’t used to the bleached-out beach girl vibe she’d gone for. “If he knew anything about you, he’d know what I have always known.” He looked into her eyes. “You’re perfect the way you are.”
“Thank you, my darling husband. But I’m not dumb. I know I need to learn how to do, um, what we’re doing. Running. And how to do things when you eventually decide you need to go back to work for … someone.”
“You’ve got time to work that one out.” Dane swatted her ass lightly, allowing a smile to break through the worry as she got to her feet. “Finish getting ready. I need to make sure the crew has our bags prepped.” He kissed her, then stood, adjusting his shorts. “Sweetheart, next time you shop for me, buy a size down. Christ, we may have an incident with these things.”
“Use a belt,” she said with an airy shrug. “You can always strangle someone with it later.”
“You know me so well.” Dane laughed, kissed her again, then snatched his sunglasses from the nightstand and hurried on deck, where their luggage waited in a neat row, right in place. Leaning against the rail, he watched the yacht slowly back into place, enjoying the ocean-and-citrus breeze. There weren’t as many people milling around the harbor as he’d hoped, but a decent crowd to get lost in. His eyes scanned the harbor and lifted higher. Why is everything in Europe uphill? Good thing it’s beautiful. Jewel-tinted buildings glittered against the crystal-blue sky. He understood why tourists loved the place. It was a living goddamn postcard.
The deckhands shouted across to the dock workers as the ship edged into place. Ropes flew, and the gangplank extended. Dane turned as Zara emerged from the cabin, a large floppy hat on her head, shading a face half-covered with designer shades. Dane held his hand out for her. “Subtle, love.”
“You said to look like everyone else.” Her fingers shook slightly against his, and she hitched the oversized bag she held higher on her shoulder. “I remember the plans.”
His hand tightened around hers, and he drew her closer. “You could never look like everyone else,” he teased. “Stay close, baby girl. It’s just another day in paradise.”
“The first of many.”
“I like that idea.”
Once the captain dealt with the harbor officials, and everyone’s paperwork checked out, they gathered up the bags and departed. Dane kept a hand on Zara’s arm as he led her over the gangplank and down the dock. He matched the general pace of the sparse crowd, despite his instincts telling him to full-on sprint to the nearest seedy hotel. Do they even have those here? The billionaires have to take their hookers somewhere, right?
The initial stretch behind them, he paused at a quiet intersection and pulled out one of the burner phones he’d picked up in Madrid. “We should probably find somewhere to—” The words caught in his mouth. His eyes were playing tricks on him. Gotta be fucking stress. But at the cafe across the street, a face almost exactly like Zara’s stared right at them. It’s stress. I’m seeing shit. It’s stress. She took off her sunglasses and rose, stepped in their direction, and— “Go. Hurry!” Dane swept in front of Zara, grabbing her waist to push her in the right direction.
“D? What—Oh.” He heard her gasp, but a worse target hit his peripheral vision.
Dane’s knee buckled. Sawyer. Walking right toward them. They didn’t just track the damn yacht. And if he’s here… “It’s a fucking trap. This way.” Hopefully, they could lose the team in the next alley. Capri’s ancient maze of streets could buy a minute or two. He could work with a minute.
“Wait! Zara!” Gianna’s voice confirmed this wasn’t a nightmare. She dodged between people to get to them, while Sawyer kept a steady, slow pace. At least he didn’t look armed. “Zara. Parley!” Gianna waved a frantic arm, and Zara froze beside Dane.
“I have to talk to her.”
“You fucking don’t.” He tightened his grip to drag her off her sandaled feet if necessary, but Zara’s hand pushed into his chest.
“You have eighty-three backups. I know what to do if we’re separated, but I must do this.”
He’d never actually shaken Zara, but she was playing it close. But in all the plans and contingencies, he’d never factored in Gia and Zara’s mind-scrambling attachment. My mistake. I should’ve known Adam would use whatever would stop her. Dane turned, checking over his shoulder. Fate bore down. Sawyer was too close. The window was already gone. He couldn’t make it out now, unless he did so alone. “I’m not going anywhere.”
A large hand dropped on his opposite shoulder. Dane ripped a knife from his pocket, the blade flashing open. He spun, bringing up the razor-sharp edge beneath the man’s chin. A hostage might—Fuck.
Are you fucking kidding me? Dane’s eyes narrowed, but he kept the knife in place. Ryan “Grim” Mayer grinned like this was a standard greeting. Maybe it was for the Storm Crows MC. “Really?” The biker’s brows rose. “Put the knife away, bro.”
“Dane!” He didn’t turn around to look at Sawyer. “Calm down,” his former partner continued, far too calmly. “We aren’t going to hurt you.”
