She put his shirt down on the sink and turned on the faucet. In moments, she had a cloth covered in warm water and soap. She slid the cloth against his skin. Once more, she was very, very careful. His head cocked as he stared down at her. When was the last time someone had patched him up?
Other than, of course, an ER doctor. “I’ve had so much fucking worse, baby. I’m all right.”
“You think I don’t see the scars?” And the fingers of her left hand rose to trace over one of the thick, long scars that slid over his abdomen. “You’ve had too many wounds, Victor. You’ve come too close to death.”
He shook his head even as her touch seemed to burn right through him. “I’m still standing.”
“For how long? None of us will live forever, and when you face danger so much…” She stared at the cloth. At the wound on his arm—the newest wound. “If we’d still been in bed, still been sleeping, we could both be dead now.”
“We’re not.”
“Because we got lucky.” She washed off the cloth. Dried his arm. As she worked, she kept her gaze on his injury and she didn’t look up into his eyes. “He didn’t want to kill you, though. He was there for me. He even said you could walk away.”
Victor’s hand curled under her chin and he tipped her head back, forcing her to look up at him. “Did you think I was going to leave you?”
Her gaze was so deep. So green. “I wanted you to leave. I wanted you safe.”
She actually thought he’d abandon her? “I would never leave you like that.”
“Not even to save yourself? What is wrong with you?” Now she sounded angry. “Your life should come first. Not me, not—”
He leaned forward and kissed her. Not rough and hard. Not taking or demanding. Just…
A kiss.
Soft. Light.
Because he could be gentle, some of the fucking time.
“I would never leave you,” he said again, whispering those words against her lips. He needed her to understand this. “I don’t care how many hitmen come your way, I am going to be there. To get to you, they will have to go straight through me.”
Her lashes lifted and tears gleamed in her eyes. “That’s what scares me.”
“Baby, haven’t you noticed? It takes a lot to slow me down. Bullets, knife attacks…I don’t get taken out easily.”
Her gaze searched his. There were so many emotions in her green stare. “What are you doing to me?” Zoe finally said, her voice husky, breathless.
“I’m keeping you safe.”
“No.” She shook her head. “You are doing a whole lot more than that.” She leaned onto her toes and pressed her mouth to his. “You’re making me fall for you.”
His heart jerked in his chest.
“That’s so dangerous,” Zoe told him right before she lightly nipped his lower lip. “More dangerous than you can imagine.”
Hadn’t she realized it yet? He liked danger. His hands slid to her waist, and he lifted her up, positioning her on the sink.
“Victor! No, your arm!”
“I don’t even feel it.” He kissed her. Not so gentle this time. Harder. Rougher. He was riding an adrenaline high from the night and that powerful surge just blended with his lust for her.
You’re making me fall for you. Hadn’t that been part of the plan? That stupid bullshit plan? Only…
Baby, you’re getting under my skin.
He kissed his way down her neck. Her hands had fallen to grab onto the sink, holding it tightly. He wanted her holding him tightly, as if she’d never let go. He licked her. Sucked her skin. Felt the frantic beat of her pulse beneath his mouth.
“Victor…”
His eyes squeezed shut. Did she know that she sounded like pure sex? His every wet dream? That husky voice, that little moan that she gave…
“If you don’t want this,” Victor rasped. “Say no…now. Say it and I will walk away.”
He’d walk right back out into the cold night air because he’d sure as hell need to cool off.
“I want this. I want you.”
Those words were all he needed to hear.
His hand slid down her body. She kicked off her shoes, and they hit the floor with a little thud. He caught her jeans and her panties and pretty much just yanked the things off her.
Her breath panted out. Her eyes were bright with need. Her cheeks flushed.
“You are so beautiful.” He meant that. He’d always thought she was beautiful.
His hands slid between her legs. There was something about watching his hand…seeing his fingers touching her, stroking her…Zoe is mine.
It was a primitive thought, unsettling. He’d never been primitive with other lovers. Sure, he liked rough, hard sex, but touching someone, feeling this strange link that went far past some civilized surface, that went straight to his core…
I don’t know what the hell is happening to me.
She arched her back and gasped as his fingers stroked deeper. He wanted her to come, right there, with his fingers in her, with his gaze on her, with her body jerking at his touch.
He wanted to be in her, so fucking deep. He wanted her to know that she was his. He wanted her—
To think I belong to her.
“Victor! I’m so close—”
And his cock was about to burst in his jeans. But he didn’t have a condom. Shit, shit! He kept stroking her. Her pleasure would be enough. He’d watch her, then he’d jerk off. Or, hell, just watching her might send him over the edge. His fingers slid over her clit and her hips pushed against his hand.
“In me, Victor! Come inside of me!” Her voice was demanding.
“Baby, I don’t have another condom…” Just saying the words hurt. “This is for you. Just…you.”
His thumb pushed on her clit and his fingers thrust into her. She came right then, gasping, her sex squeezing him tightly and she was so insanely gorgeous. Even more beautiful when pleasure swept over her face
Yes. He could watch her pleasure all night. Never get sick of it. She was moaning softly and her hands were on him, holding him close.
He kissed her. Savored her.
But then…
“Not just me, Victor.” Her hands came between their bodies as she pushed him back. “I’m many things, but not a selfish lover.” She unhooked his jeans. Slid down that zipper. Her fingers closed around his cock and she started stroking him. Long, sensual strokes.
His hands flew out and grabbed for the counter top. He looked over her shoulder. Saw his reflection in the mirror behind her. Hard face. Narrowed eyes. Clenched jaw.
“My turn…” She stroked hard. Pumped faster. He was so erect, Victor knew it wouldn’t take long for him. The scent of her arousal—oh, hell, but it was driving him wild.
She pushed him again, just a bit more, just enough for her to slide off the sink. For her to ease to her knees before him.
He knew what she was about to do, and Victor almost came right then and there. “Zoe—”
She put her mouth on him, and his control splintered. The feel of her tongue, her lips…he was a goner. He held the counter as tightly as he could, and Victor erupted.
Chapter Six
He could have said the desperate need he felt for Zoe was a byproduct of the mad adrenaline rush that had burned in his blood. Victor could have rationalized his desire for her by saying that he’d been in freaking turmoil after the shooting—that he’d been so frantic for her because he’d wanted a reassurance of life. That he’d wanted to wash his sins away.
But those lies would have been all bullshit.
Victor glanced toward the narrow bed. Zoe was sleeping. Dawn was coming, and the mess they were in…it was about to get a thousand times worse.
Because he hadn’t been so desperate for her because of adrenaline or tangled emotions after the shooting or any other excuse that he wanted to throw out there. He’d been so wild…because he’d been with her. Because Zoe made him want and need like no other woman. When and where and why—
did any of that matter?
He. Wanted. Her.
This case was becoming so twisted, with every moment that passed.
He took another long look at her, then he eased out of the motel room. He made sure to shut the door as soundlessly as possible. Then, not wanting to take the chance that Zoe might wake up and decide to use her glass technique to eavesdrop on him, he took a few quick steps away from the door.
A few moments later, he had his phone at his ear and—
“Victor.” Russell answered immediately. “Are you safe?”
“Yes.” He gazed at the deserted parking lot. “Tell me you ID’d the guy.”
“You know you have to come in soon for a sit-down. This was a shooting, man. The paperwork alone—”
“Did you ID him?”
A long sigh came over the line. “The perp looked familiar to you, too, didn’t he?”
Yeah, he fucking had.
“We’re running his prints now and doing a DNA check with other cases. As soon as I have something, I’ll let you know.” Voices murmured in the background behind Russell. “I swear, I’ve seen his face before. Probably somewhere in all those files we have on Luther Bates.”
Luther Bates. “I have a name you need to run for me.” This part made him feel like absolute hell, but it had to be done. “When you’re digging into Luther’s files, look for an attorney…young guy, named Tom or Thomas.”
“What’s he done?” Russell asked.
Broke Zoe’s heart. One of his many sins. “Let’s just say I think he was pretty heavily involved in Luther’s world, and I want to know where he is now.”
“A lawyer…” Russell whistled. That was his thing. He tended to whistle when he was nervous or excited. “That would be the perfect person to turn against Luther. Lawyers always know where all the bodies are buried.” He paused. “You know, a last name would be very helpful here.”
“I don’t have a last name for you, not yet. But I know the guy was in Vegas a few years ago, back when Zoe was twenty-one. He was involved with her. Asshole thought he was going to marry her.”
Silence, then…“So I guess he knows all her secrets, too.”
“No, he doesn’t.” The idea of someone else knowing Zoe’s innermost secrets, her thoughts, her fears…why does this piss me off so much? “I want to know what the hell the guy is doing. Where he’s been, what he’s been up to…find out everything you can.”
“It’s working, huh?”
“What’s working?”
“You’re getting her to trust you. I knew if anyone could do it, it would be you. Has she told you any specifics yet about her father? Anything else we can use?”
“Yeah…” God, he was such a fucking asshole. “We need to take another hard look at her mother’s death because I think Luther Bates may have killed her. And…Zoe was there.”
“What?”
“Just get the case files, okay? I’m going off-grid for a while. When I touch down again, I’ll be in contact once more.”
“Uh, wait! Touch down? Touch—”
He ended the call. Not because he was an ass and enjoyed cutting off one of the few people that he called friend but…
Because he had to be very, very careful who he trusted, too. There had been a traitor in the FBI before, one who’d actually been working with Luther Bates. And someone had been recently leaking info about Zoe’s whereabouts. So until this whole case was closed, Victor couldn’t take any chances.
So he hadn’t stayed on the line too long. He hadn’t revealed too much.
Not even to Russell.
Victor headed back into the motel room. He locked the door behind him and stared down at Zoe’s still form.
In sleep, her expression was peaceful. So relaxed. Almost innocent. Zoe had been hurt and betrayed so many times in her life. And now, she was starting to open up to him. She was giving herself so fully to him and he…
I am such an asshole.
He was supposed to destroy her.
***
“How exactly did you get access to a private jet?” Zoe leaned back in the leather seat, feeling all kinds of comfortable in her new jeans, sweater, and awesome boots. And all of that gear had been waiting for her…on the freaking jet. New clothes for her and new clothes for Victor. “Not that I’m complaining. I just didn’t realize the FBI was quite this cash plush.”
He sat across from her, and a half-smile hitched up his lips. “This flight isn’t courtesy of the FBI.”
“No?”
“It’s from a…friend who owed me a favor or two.”
“Nice friend.” Though the way he’d hesitated and pretty much tripped all over the word friend told her that a whole lot more was going on with that particular acquaintance.
Victor glanced out of the window. “You heard of Drake Archer?”
She’d just lifted a glass of wine to her lips—seriously, there had been wine on the plane—and at that name, she nearly choked. “Of course! Who in Vegas doesn’t know him?” The guy owned a huge portion of Sin City. “I danced for him.”
Victor’s head snapped back toward her. His eyes had gone all glittery.
“Um, Victor?”
“I didn’t realize the two of you were so well acquainted.”
She laughed. “I was a showgirl. Dancing was my thing. And trust me, I was pretty spectacular.” She’d loved being on stage. Most people didn’t realize just how much work went into those performances. She’d practiced endlessly. Each morning, she’d woken early, gone to her dance classes—she’d loved ballet and jazz so much. Then she’d headed for the actual rehearsals for her show. She’d pounded across that stage, tapping out her number again and again and again.
“I bet you were something to see.”
Her gaze jumped to his face. She smiled at him. “When I was on stage, I became someone else. And not just because of the elaborate costumes…” Zoe laughed. “Though I confess, I liked those, too. I can rock some feathers.”
“No doubt,” he murmured.
“But it was different. The lights. The music. Out there, I was someone new.”
“Not Luther’s daughter.”
Her gaze slid toward the window. She took another sip of the wine. “No, not his daughter. Luther was always East Coast. That was his area. I thought…in Vegas, I’d be safer. Out of his reach” She exhaled slowly. “But sometimes, it doesn’t matter how far you go, does it?”
“Tell me more about the shows.”
She let the memories sweep over her. Happy memories. When she’d been a showgirl, those had been some of the best days of her life. “It starts with boot camp.”
“Boot camp?”
“Showgirl style. Doesn’t matter how much dance you’ve had before, nothing else is quite like being a showgirl. So you start each show with at least a month of training. After all—you’re not just dancing. You’re dancing on heels, usually carrying twenty or thirty extra pounds just with your costume, and you have to walk up and down about a thousand steps…” Her heart kicked up as she remembered those days. “You go home exhausted, sure that you won’t be able to move again, but the next morning…you wake, up, so ready to hear the applause from the crowd. It’s addictive.”
“And you…worked for Drake.” A faint furrow appeared between his brows. “He didn’t mention that to me.”
“Not like he knew me personally.” She waved that bit away. “Drake Archer has people. I was hired by one of them. I worked the show and was one of the best damn Bluebells there.”
He blinked.
Her fingers tapped against her wine glass. “You have no idea what a Bluebell is, do you?”
“No clue.”
Zoe laughed. She looked down at her chest, then back at him. “Two kinds of showgirls. Some do go topless…for certain roles. Others…like me…we usually had some kick-ass sparkly rhinestones that covered all our parts. Dancers like me are Bluebells.”
His eyes had widened. “I will remember that.”
?
??Good. See that you don’t forget it.” Her head cocked as she studied him and some of her happiness faded. Not surprising, really. Most of her happiness was fleeting these days. “Are you…all right?”
He just looked confused.
She glanced toward the front of the plane, then back at him. “After what happened last night…you didn’t talk about it…”
“That’s because I’m still getting used to the way I want you.” His voice deepened. “I should have more control. I should keep my hands off you, but I can’t.”
Oh, wow. She sucked in a deep breath. Then another. “I was actually, um, not talking about us.” She wet her lips. “I meant the shooting. The hitman.” Taking a life.
A muscle jerked in his jaw. “Not anything to talk about there. It was kill or be killed. Only one choice to make.”
He sounded so cold. “You don’t have to be that way, with me.” And she kept her gaze on him. “You don’t have to shut me out like you do everyone else. You can talk to me. Tell me how you feel. How you really feel. Tell me your secrets—”
“Will you tell me yours?”
The question caught her off-guard.
“No, wait, forget it.” He raked a hand through his hair. “You want to know how I feel?”
Maybe. Maybe not.
“I feel like the guy had it too easy at the end. He wanted to kill you, Zoe. He was hunting you like prey. He wasn’t stopping. His only goal was to take your life, and shit, he almost succeeded. When I think of how close he came to killing you…” His hands grabbed the armrests on either side of his body and held tight. “I want to shoot him all over again.”
That wasn’t the response she’d expected.
He laughed, and the sound was bitter. “Wrong answer, huh? Not what an FBI agent is supposed to say, is it?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never asked another FBI agent that question.”
His stare raked over her. “You were supposed to be so much easier to handle.”
Unease slithered through her. “You’re…handling me now?”
He smiled at her. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Nothing new there, he was always so guarded. Too guarded. “My job is to be your handler. Your protector.”