“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Whoever it was gave us a fake name—Charles Merrick would have as well, but we’re all well aware of Merrick’s description. This guy wasn’t nearly as tall, was thicker around the middle, and had a Cockney accent.”
“That was definitely Charles Merrick on that video.”
“Yeah. Which means what you sent me was a different transaction, or—”
“Or the video was doctored.”
“Exactly. As I said, I’m going to chat with Morris in the morning to verify but he usually keeps accurate files. So I’m pretty sure this isn’t wrong.”
“What’s he on medical leave for?”
“Gunshot wound. Shoulder. From a human trafficking raid last week. Your Houses keep us busy over here.”
I knew they did. Just as I knew that someday, I planned to change that.
“Thanks for all the info.”
“Hope it helps. I’ll text you once I hear from Morris. You wanna tell me what this is about?”
“I’m still not sure. But I think someone’s trying to set up House Merrick to take a major fall within the Entente.”
“That can’t be good.”
“No.” House Merrick was the only House in the Entente actively trying to make changes for the good at the moment. “We need them to stay in the game.”
“Absolutely. And how does House Salvatici figure into all this?”
“Not sure yet. When I know, I’ll be sure to fill you in.”
By the time we hung up, the only thing I knew for certain was that the man who’d actually turned over that video to Interpol was likely the person trying to set up Felicity and her father. Somehow, I had to figure out who that was.
“Hey. Everything okay?”
Felicity’s soft voice washed over me like a heated caress, and I glanced from the phone in my hand to her sleepy face where she stood next to the couch looking down at me.
“Yeah. Fine. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“You didn’t.” She dropped onto the couch beside me, tucking one leg under her and perching her elbow on the back of the cushions as she covered her mouth and yawned. “How’s your hand? Are you in pain?”
“No. And it’s fine.” I set my phone on the coffee table because I didn’t want to get into everything with her just yet. At least not until I heard back from Patrick about who had really delivered that file to Interpol. Leaning back into the cushions, I said, “How are you?”
“Sleepy.” She rested her head against her hand as she looked over at me in the dark. “You talk in your sleep.”
“I do not.”
Her lips curled in the sweetest smile. “You kept mumbling words like lightning and mine and bam.”
“I did not.”
Her grin widened. “It was actually very cute. Until I was trying to sleep. The ‘bam!’ kept waking me up. You said it just like that, too. ‘Bam!’”
I chuckled. “I was delirious from pain and alcohol. I have no other excuse.”
“It’s enough. Here.” She reached for my injured hand resting against my thigh. “Let me see.”
Heat sizzled across my nerve endings everywhere she touched me. She turned my hand right and left in the low light coming through the windows, making sure the wound wasn’t bleeding through the bandages, and even though there was absolutely nothing sexual about the way she handled me, blood gathered in my belly and shot straight into my groin.
“I think you’re going to survive.”
“Thanks to you.”
“You would have been just fine with any old nurse or doctor.”
“I’m not so sure. I have an aversion to hospitals and doctors.”
“Why?” she asked, still checking out the bandage.
I shrugged. “PTSD.” When her curious gaze lifted to mine, I said quickly, “From that car accident that killed my parents. I was in the backseat. Spent two weeks in ICU. Lost my spleen and part of my liver. Lots of broken ribs. I was pretty banged up.”
“How old were you?”
“Ten.”
“Oh my God.”
I had not intended to turn the conversation into a downer. “It wasn’t as bad as it sounds. I got to live with my uncle who let me get away with a lot of shit my parents never would have.”
“Yeah, but still.” She’d stopped examining my hand and now was just holding it—which I liked—but not when she was pitying me.
“And hey,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “I got a pretty damn cool scar out of it that makes me look like a serious knife fighter. All I have to do in a tough situation is whip my shirt off, and guys back away, trembling in fear.”
Her lips curled once more. “Oh, I have to see this. Lift that shirt.”
I reached for the tail of my untucked dress shirt and lifted it halfway up my ribs before I realized I could have used the opportunity to strip in front of her. Something I desperately wanted to do. Something I would have done if she were any other woman.
“Oh, wow.” Her soft fingertips landed against my ribs and gently traced the long scar that ran vertically down my side. And, holy hell, her touch felt good. Warm, soft, electrifying.
“Does that hurt?” Her gaze lifted to mine, but she didn’t stop touching me. And when I looked over at her, I realized she was close—closer than I’d thought—her lips mere centimeters from mine as she leaned toward me.
“No. It’s still a little numb.”
“So you don’t feel this?” Maybe I was imagining things, but I thought I detected a hint of arousal in her voice as she skimmed the scar again. And even just thinking she was enjoying touching me—any part of me—sent sparks ricocheting from her fingertips straight into my dick.
“Oh, I feel it,” I managed, fighting not to give in to the lust churning inside me.
“You’re right,” she whispered, still not moving back. “It’s definitely a damn cool scar. Mine’s not nearly as cool.”
“You have a scar?”
“Yeah. Motorcycle accident when I was a teenager. Was out in a field with some friends. Got thrown from my bike and hit a rock.”
“Merda. You were lucky you weren’t killed.”
“Yeah. Could have hit my head. I was a stupid kid.”
“Where?”
“Up in Scotland.”
I smiled. “No, where’s the scar?”
“Oh.” She reached for the hem of the thin white T-shirt she was wearing and tugged it up and over her head before I even realized what she was doing. In nothing but the cream-colored bra that molded to her sexy breasts, she turned her back toward me and pointed at her shoulder. “Here.”
Mother of God. The image of her in that bra was going to flash in my brain for at least the next week. Swallowing hard, I shifted on the couch so she couldn’t tell what she was doing to me and placed my suddenly shaking fingers on the crescent-shaped scar on the back of her shoulder that was roughly the size of my palm.
“This must have hurt.”
She drew in a breath that lifted her back beneath my hand as I traced the curve of the scar. “Not right now, it doesn’t. Feels bloody good at the moment.”
My fingers stilled against her skin, and my gaze lifted to her face and perfect profile in the dim light. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I detected a hint of seduction in her voice.
My pulse notched up. I tried not to read too much into that as I looked down at her sexy skin once more. “I think it’s a pretty kick ass scar.”
“Yeah? You don’t think I should get a tattoo to cover it or anything?”
“No way. A woman with scars is mysterious. A survivor. Real. Tattoos are like a mask. Scars are the windows to a person’s history.”
She turned a tiny bit more and met my gaze. And the second I saw the heat in her light green eyes, it was as if another zap of lightning slammed into me and stole my breath. “History, huh?”
I nodded. “They also make for way better stories than a needle and ink.”
Her lips
curled. Twisting around, she faced me once more in her bra and tipped her head, but she didn’t move to put her shirt back on. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah,” I said slowly. Not because I didn’t want to answer, but because, holy God, her bra was so thin I could see the outline of her areolae through the fabric.
“If I had surrendered to you in that room the way you wanted, would you have really fucked me on that bed with the drugged Frenchman passed out on the floor?”
Mother of God... My whole body sizzled at just the thought. “That would have been dependent on your level of kink at the moment. Are you into being watched?”
She shrugged and shot me a sensual grin. “I’m not not into it. I’m definitely not a prude. That would have been a new one for me, though.”
Fuck me. The more time I spent with her, the more she was becoming my ideal woman. I nodded because it was all I could think to do to keep from grabbing her and devouring her, which wasn’t a smart idea in our current situation.
“Speaking of the French guy, there is one other question I have.”
“Oh yeah?” I glanced her way. “What’s that?”
“Well, the guy was a total letch.” She rested her elbow on the back of the couch and perched her head on her hand, sifting her fingers through her silky locks. “He asked me if I wanted him to spank me, which, okay, fine, some women are into. But then he also asked me if I wanted him to make me bark like a dog. Now, I’ve never met a man who could make a woman bark like that, and I’m fairly certain if any man could, it wouldn’t be him. But then you came into the room and got me all hot and bothered with your words and lips and touching and everything, and it made me wonder...”
My whole body was on the verge of exploding. “Wonder what?”
“Well...” Her sultry gaze locked on mine. “It made me wonder if you’re that kind of man.”
Mother of mercy...
My pulse skyrocketed, and any hope I had of keeping my erection under control completely evaporated.
She reached back for something from her pocket, then held up a small square object.
A condom. A condom that looked exactly like the ones I’d seen in the bathroom cabinet.
“Don’t suppose you’d be up for finding out?” she asked. “If, that is, your hand isn’t hurting too much. Seeing as how we’ve got time to kill and neither of us seems all that tir—”
I closed my mouth over hers and kissed her. Just gave up the fight and dove in headfirst. And when she groaned and wrapped her arms around my neck, I tugged her onto my lap and kissed her the way I’d wanted to kiss her since I’d first set eyes on her.
She was breathless when she drew back and looked down at me. Breathless and not nearly as confident as she’d seemed only moments before. “Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
Her gaze skipped over mine. “Promise me there won’t be any lingering effects from this after tonight.”
“I know how to use a condom without breaking it.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
The vulnerability I saw in her eyes made my chest seize, because I understood she wasn’t talking about anything physical.
Another bolt of lightning slammed straight into my chest, jolting my heart to life like a defibrillator. And unable to make that promise, I kissed her again.
I kissed her hard, intent on making her feel that lightning too.
Chapter Six
Felicity
I was probably being reckless, but I didn’t care. The moment I’d seen him sitting out here in the dark, I’d wanted him.
No, that wasn’t right. The second he’d kissed me earlier tonight, I’d wanted more. I’d wanted everything. And I didn’t care about the consequences any longer. I just wanted him.
I sighed as he explored my mouth, as he drew back and nipped at my bottom lip, then dipped in for another sinful taste. God, the man could kiss. I felt my whole body melting as he used that wicked tongue to tease me to new heights of desire. And I knew if I wasn’t careful, I was going to do exactly what I’d vowed not to do earlier—surrender not only my body to this man’s demanding touch, but my mind and heart as well.
Sex was one thing. Falling for the guy? Not possible. Not this soon, and definitely not when I barely knew him.
“Mm, cara,” he whispered against my lips. “Sono pazza di te.”
My Italian wasn’t all that great, but I was a sucker for that accent. And I knew enough about the language to know he’d just said he was crazy about me. “Show me.”
His arms tightened around my waist, and he pushed to his feet. Gasping, I held on and said, “Oh shoot, your hand. I didn’t mean for you to—”
He kissed me quickly as he turned into the bedroom. “I know exactly what you meant, bella.” He knelt on the bed and laid me out in front of him. Letting go, he looked down with smoldering dark eyes as he made quick work of the buttons on his shirt. “And I plan to give you exactly what you want.”
My stomach caved in. Heat rushed between my legs. Biting my lip, I pushed up on my elbows and helped him with his shirt. When the buttons were free, I slid the fabric down his strong arms so he could wiggle out of it, and nearly groaned at the muscle beneath.
I’d been right. He was built. Impressive pecs, carved abs, and that sexy line of dark hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his slacks.
I couldn’t keep from pressing my palms against his muscular belly then skimming my lips over his skin. He sucked in a breath and worked faster to get his bandaged hand out of his shirtsleeve. His spicy scent surrounded me. Made me light headed. Made me hungry for more. I slid my lips to the right until I found his scar and kissed my way up and down until I heard him groan.
“Cazzo.” He threw his shirt to the floor, slid his fingers into my hair, and tugged my mouth up to his as he pushed me down to the mattress. “You make me wild, Felicity.”
His mouth closed over mine, devouring me. I gasped and kissed him back, spread my legs so he could press between them, then moaned long and deep when I felt his very hard and very thick erection rubbing against me, right where I wanted it most.
“Oh, yes,” I whispered against his lips. “More.”
His fingers streaked down my arms, then one slipped between us and freed the front clasp of my bra. Warm fingers shoved the garment aside, and then he was cupping me, squeezing my breast until I groaned, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger in a way that sent electrical arcs of desire straight into my sex.
“Marco... Oh, fuck, yes.” I held on to his face as I rocked up against him. As I dropped my head back to the mattress, his lips explored my jaw, my throat, as they worked their way down. My skin was on fire. My sex completely drenched. If he slipped his hand into my pants, I was sure I would come. It had been a while for me, and the man already had me on the edge of a blinding orgasm. That should have embarrassed me, but it didn’t. It just made me hotter. Especially because we’d barely just begun.
“Dio, sei bellissima,” he whispered, sliding lower until I felt his lips at my breasts. “I have to taste you everywhere.” I moaned as he traced my nipple with the tip of his tongue. “Then I promise to make you bark like a dog, amore.”
I laughed. Then that word he’d used hit me—love—and I faltered. I knew it was a common term of endearment, like calling someone your lover, but just the sound of it from his lips caused my heart to jerk as if someone had shocked it, and our conversation earlier to roll through my mind.
“What if that kind of love actually exists?”
“It doesn’t.”
“It did for my parents.”
“Then your parents are the exception, not the rule.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. All I know is that when that lightning hits me, I’m gonna go for it and not hold back. Lightning never hits twice.”
“Hold on to the comforter,” Marco said in a low voice.
I blinked up at him only to realize he was gripping my pants at the waist a
nd trying to tug them down my legs, only they were tight and he was having trouble.
Hands shaking, I reached for the comforter at my sides and fisted the white fabric while I lifted my hips. He tugged, and the fabric slid down my legs. My head was still spinning as I heard him shrug out of his own pants, as I heard the condom wrapper tear. Seconds later he climbed back over me, all naked and warm and already ready, and as I looked up at him in the dark I thought again of what he’d said. About that lightning. And I felt it. Striking right in the middle of my chest. So strong, it was as if something had finally shocked me to life.
“What?” He hesitated on his elbows above me, his hands in my hair, his worried gaze suddenly skipping over my features. “Did you change your mind?”
“No. Absolutely not. I just...”
Oh my God. I blinked up at him. I wasn’t sure I was ready for this. I barely knew him. This kind of thing didn’t happen in real life. It certainly didn’t happen to people like me.
“Felicity?”
I couldn’t describe the force of what I felt. I only knew that I couldn’t fight it. “I want you,” I whispered.
He pushed back and started kissing my breasts again, my belly, but I didn’t want that. I wanted him. I grasped his face and pulled him back up to me. “No. I’m already on fire. I need you inside me. Now. Right no—”
He groaned and captured my mouth in a searing kiss I felt everywhere. And then he shoved me to the mattress and pushed my legs apart. And when he thrust inside me, I moaned and lifted toward him, taking him deep in one stroke that felt like pure heaven.
“Santo Dio,” he gasped, drawing back, then shoving in deep all over again. “So wet, so tight. I think you were made for me, amore.”
He gripped my jaw in his bandaged hand and pushed his tongue into my mouth while he thrust hard again and again, using his other hand for leverage against the mattress. And with every plunge, with every slip and thrust and glide and stroke, I felt his cock striking my G-spot, hitting it at the perfect angle, driving me faster to a release I was sure would destroy me.
“More.” I licked into his mouth. Lifted my hips against his every downstroke. Gripped his shoulders with my fingertips, and squeezed my pussy around his thick length. He answered by driving harder inside me. Faster. Fucking me deeper than before and grunting every time he bottomed out.