Touch

Avril Ashton

TOUCH

1

Six months after a brutal attack, Dahlia Pierce still jumps at her own shadow, but the green-eyed stranger holding her at gun-point has her yearning to feel him. His touch, his kiss. He robs her bank and leaves, only to reappear in her bedroom later.

Cruz Doriaye has always been more interested in business than pleasure. The bank job should be no different, but the need radiating off Dahlia gets to him. Calls to his own hungers. He answers, but his line of work stands between them. As does her secrets.

TOUCH Copyright © 2011 by Avril Ashton

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

http://avrilashton.webs.com

Author Warning: Contains material offensive to some. Y’know, the usual: anal sex/play, violence, and some dirty talk ;0)

Avril Ashton

TOUCH

TOUCH

by

Avril Ashton

.

2

Avril Ashton

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Chapter One

“You.” The towering man in charge gestured to Dahlia. “Come with me.” His words weren’t yelled, voice wasn’t even raised, but she flinched as she kept her eyes on the barrel of the gun he pointed at her. There went her hope the three bank robbers would take the money and leave. She raised her head and looked at the one who spoke. Forest green eyes locked on her through the cut out in his ski mask, freezing the breath in her lungs and pinning her to the cold floor of her office. Why did I choose to come back to work today of all days? Her boss told her to take all the time she needed after the attack, but hiding had never been her thing. Now she cursed herself. For once she should have listened, should have stayed in bed with the covers over her head. Her heart leapt to her throat at any movement she caught in her peripheral. Loud noises had her steady jumping out of her skin, but it was the nearness, touching people that made her stomach cramp and her skin crawl. Made her want to hurl. “Move it, now!” The leader hauled her to her feet. Dahlia stumbled and fell into him. Strong arms wrapped around her shoulders, kept her upright, held her in place when she would’ve scooted back. At least her mind wanted her to move, but her body refused to budge. She melted into his hardness. On the floor behind her, Brenda, her assistant whimpered. The new security guard—Dahlia couldn’t remember his name—shushed Brenda. “Wh—what do you want? Where are you taking me?” Dahlia’s voice trembled as she glanced sideways at the hulking figure. He’d removed his hands from around her, but remained close. Solid and cloaked in black, he smelled like the air after a spring rain. Turned out she liked that smell. Tears clouded her vision as his sharp gaze held hers. Frustration at being a victim once again, helpless against whatever lay ahead, over rode her fear. She lifted her chin. “Unless you tell me where you’re taking me,

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I’m not moving.” It might be a mistake, she couldn’t not fight back. Not again. His eyes flashed. Was that a glimmer of respect in their emerald-green depths? Couldn’t be. Long, dark lashes swept downward, hiding his reaction before she named it. Dahlia held her breath. Her heart thudded in her chest and tension rode her spine. “There’s something very important in the vault, Ms. Pierce. You’re going to get it for me.” That deep voice resonated with a finality that kicked Dahlia’s speeding pulse into overdrive. As manager of Rivers’ Bank and Trust, only she had access to the vault. In her absence, the higher-ups brought someone to oversee, but now she was back. Green Eyes needed her fingerprints and her voice to scan at the entrance to the vault. “Boss.” One of Green Eyes’ cohorts stood in the doorway and tapped his wrist, indicating time. The leader nodded and turned to Dahlia. “Come on. The sooner we do this, the sooner you guys get to leave.” He held out a hand to her. “Unharmed.” Dahlia worried her bottom lip with her teeth, and glanced back at Brenda and the security guard. It was Dahlia’s fault they were in this mess. The three of them stayed late once the bank closed for the evening. She’d been on edge and jittery all day. Her worked suffered, some calculations hadn’t balanced. In the end she’d had to redo everything, and Brenda insisted on helping. The guard wouldn’t leave until they did. She had to help them get out of this safely. And the best way to do that was to give Green Eyes what he came for. Silent alarms were placed all over the building for this very reason, but the men with guns seemed to know that. They kept Dahlia and the rest out of reach of any of them. With a sigh, she ignored his outstretched hand and walked around him to the door. “Let’s get this over with.” Green eyes’ mocking chuckle echoed behind Dahlia. “Keep an eye on those two,” he ordered his men. They nodded and took up position on either

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side of the doorway, guns trained on Brenda and the guard. “Don’t—tell your men not to hurt them.” Dahlia’s voice wobbled as she pleaded with the man in charge. He paused and looked down at her with surprisingly soft eyes. “Believe me, I’m not here to hurt anyone. Give me what I want and we leave as quiet as we came.” A gloved hand touched her cheek in a fleeting caress. A spark of flame heated her tummy and moistened her La Perla’s. Stifling a gasp, she steeled herself from leaning into that dangerous touch. In the blink of an eye she went from hating to be near anyone, to wanting the man holding her at gunpoint. She bit the inside of her cheek, the pain a reminder of where she was. Where she’d been. “Go on, Ms. Pierce.” He motioned for her to take the lead and she hurried past him. The quicker she gave him what he wanted, the quicker he’d be gone. Dahlia led him down the stairs and into the vault. The sound of her clicking heels echoed in the stillness, but her companion didn’t make a sound. At the vault’s entrance she pressed her palm to the pad then spoke her full name into the invisible microphone. A series of loud clicks, then the heavy steel door swung open. “You’re in.” She stood to the side and waited for him to step inside, but he remained where he was, staring at her. “Wha-what?” She looked away. The menacing gun in his hand, and knives strapped to his ankles didn’t scare her as much as his eyes. He’d see through her bold act to the truth— where everyone else left her chilled to the core, his tiny caress heated her, made her feel again. “Take this.” She turned back as he held a key out to her. Dahlia plucked it from him with trembling fingers. A key to a safe deposit box, number thirteen. “Get the contents out the box,” he ordered. Her mouth dropped open. “Now, Dahlia.”

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Her name on his lips sent a jolt through her body. A low sound left her throat. Could’ve been a moan, but when he took a step in her direction, eyes mirroring what she felt, Dahlia turned and ran into the vault. Escape should be the only thing on her mind. Not what he looked like without the mask or how their skin would look next to each other, naked. Hard muscle against her softness. Would his touch be as hot as she imagined? And how sick am I to be thinking that at a time like this? Dahlia swallowed as she searched the many boxes until she got to—ah, there it was. Thirteen. She used the key to open it, sweaty palms making the job harder, taking up more of the time she didn’t have. Finally she got the damn thing open. She pulled the long, metal box out of the wall and lifted the lid. The only thing inside was a little black pouch. Dahlia picked it up and placed the box on the table beside her. “I’ll take that.” He reached a gloved hand over her shoulder and plucked the pouch from her hands. His chest brushed her back and she stilled, skin prickling with gooseflesh. “Thank you, Dahlia.” Warm breath tickled her ear. Her lips parted. He brushed her hair aside and nuzzled her where neck met shoulder. Dahlia panted, her nipples pebbled. A rough beard scraped her skin, sending a shudder through her. The mask wasn’t on! She tried turning around to get a glimpse of his face, but he held her still with a hand at her nape. “Don’t move.” Firm lips pressed to her skin, teeth nipped her ear, and Dahlia groaned. Her pussy wept in need. It was wrong, so wrong to feel this with someone like him. But her awakened body felt too good after all she’d been through, she didn’t want to pass up the chance to feel something other than fear. “We don’t have time,” he murmured, voice husky. “If we did, I’d give you what you want.” He rocked into her. “What do I want?” Dahlia pushed back on to him. Trapped between

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their bodies, the thick length of his cock nudged her ass crack. She whimpered and grabbed the edge of the table. Her knees no longer worked. “You want to touch,” he said softly, “and be touched. Yes?” Not like she could deny it when she was practically throwing herself at him. “Yes.” Pulled from her dry throat, the one word came out as a breathy sob. “Another time, Dahlia. Another place.” He kissed her neck then moved away abruptly. “Stay like that and count to one hundred.” Voice shaking, she did as he instructed, but by the time she got to twenty she felt his absence. The quiet seemed suddenly heavy and oppressive. Dahlia remained in place, counting, needing, tears running down her cheeks until Brenda called her name. Three hours later, tired, hungry, and all talked out, Dahlia stepped into her apartment. The cops were all very understanding and went pretty easy on her since they remembered her from three months ago when her ex almost beat her to death. She was allowed to leave the interrogation only after she agreed to return first thing in the morning to tie up some loose ends. One thing no one knew was what had been in the safe deposit box. Dead on her feet, Dahlia stripped off her clothes as she made her way to the bathroom. She needed to wash it away, this need she had for someone she didn’t know. Couldn’t know. It didn’t matter he was the one who’d awakened her. In the shower she scrubbed until her arms tired, but her body remembered. Dahlia squeezed her eyes to shut out the memory of his intense gaze. Still, she heard his husky voice. Finally she sank the floor, knees to her chest, and cried. She remained on the shower floor until the water turned cold. Wrapping a towel around her body, Dahlia used another to dry her hair and made her way to her bedroom. Her feet dragged. She did not look forward to going to bed, the bad dreams always found her.

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She froze with one hand stretched out to turn on the bedside lamp. The room was still shrouded in darkness, but she felt it. His presence. Her whole body trembling, she flicked the light on. Green Eyes sat in her chair next to the window overlooking the street, arms folded, in a tight black shirt and dark jeans. A lock of thick black hair fell over his right eye. Fear crawled up her spine, mixed with the need that refused to go way. She didn’t want to know how he found her. Didn’t care. Those gorgeous eyes smiled reassurance, promised he wouldn’t give her what she didn’t want. Dahlia licked her dry lips. The logical thing to do would be to call the police, turn him in. Make him pay for what he did. Their gazes held as he got to his feet and approached. Silent, so unlike the urgent thumping of her heart. The towel in her hand dropped to the floor. “Dahlia.” He brushed his thumb across her lip. “Call me Cruz.” “Another time?” A grin revealed even white teeth. “Another place.” She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, nerves taking over. This was insane. I don’t know this man, he can be anyone. He can do anything to me and no one will ever know. Rough hands shackled her wrist, yanking it above her head. Her eyes widened as Cruz pushed her into the wall. “You think too much, Dahlia.” His breath whispered on the sensitive skin behind her ear. He nipped her lobe then sucked it into his mouth. Her nipples grew rigid, the sensation of the scratchy material against them drawing a moan from her. Still, she tried talking herself out of it. “I-I can’t do this. It’s not—” “Not wise?” Cruz nipped her shoulder and cupped her breast with one hand, flicking a thumb over her nipple through the towel. “Not safe?” He pinched the nub and Dahlia trembled. “Yes. It’s all those things, but it’s also what you need.” He tore away the towel.

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“Oh, God!” She dropped a hand to cover her pussy. Liquid heat slid down her thighs and her chest heaved. Squeezing her eyes shut, Dahlia shook her head, blood rushing in her ears. “Dahlia. Dahlia, look at me.” His demand brokered no argument and her eyelids flew open as commanded. He’d shucked his t-shirt. Gloriously smooth, tanned skin and hard muscles filled her eyes. A Celtic knot was tattooed over his heart in vibrant, colored detail. Wide shoulders tapered to slim hips. His sharply defined abs looked rock-hard and her fingers flexed to touch and confirm. A line of dark curls trailed from his navel to dip under the waist of his low-slung jeans. An impressive bulge pressed against his zipper. Her mouth watered, her clit throbbed. “Someone hurt you.” Her gaze flew to his and she squirmed under the intense stare. His fucking eyes saw way too much. She opened her mouth, but breath seized when he stepped closer and cupped her cheek. “I can see the pain. It shadows your eyes.” He slid his hand down her throat, between the valley of her breasts, and past her stomach to cup her pussy aching so sweetly. Her thighs widened in reflex. He brushed his lips on her forehead with a chuckle. “Your body needs this even if your head refuses to allow it.” He traced her outer lips then slid a finger into her, slow and torturous. “Cruz.” She moaned his name, sinking her nails into his forearms. He added another finger, thrusting harder, sinking deeper. “Argh.” She arched, head banging on the wall. “You can take what you need from me, Dahlia.” His words fired her blood, speeding up her hips as she rode his fingers. He lifted his head, staring into her soul. “Forget the pain, tonight I’m all about your pleasure.” Dahlia groaned. Her eyes slid shut. She wanted that—the pleasure, but the memories of pain and hurt clouded everything. She lifted a leg, hooking

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it around his waist as his fingers worked her closer and closer to the point of no return. His scent—warm sandalwood and arousal—teased her nose. Dahlia inhaled slowly, pulling him into her lungs. “Open those eyes, Dahlia.” He paused his movements, breath kissing her cheek. “Watch me watch you.” God. She raised her eyelids caustically and shuddered when their gazes met. His eyes spoke of frayed control and fierce need. “Do you want this?” He pressed a thumb to her clit. Her body bowed as fire zinged through her. A cry gurgled in her throat. “Answer me, Dahlia.” “What else do you want?” She tilted her quivering chin in a weak attempt at defiance. “You’re in my house. Your hands are on my body.” Lips curved, he leaned forward and dragged his tongue down her throat. “But do you want my hands on you? If not, tell me now and I’ll go.” He flicked her clit. “If yes, tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you. Your call.” Her call? Not really, not when her head and body were on two different wave lengths. What did she want? Send him away and go back to her safe, dysfunctional bubble? Or break away from the fear with a hot man offering mindless pleasure? Pleasure I want. Need. Mind made up, she grabbed Cruz and pulled him to her, mashing their lips together. He parted his lips and she slid her tongue inside. She twisted her fingers in his hair, locked her weak knees and explored him as he did her. Tongues thrusting, swirling, he tasted coffee and the promise of carnal delights. Dahlia deepened the kiss. His fingers at her core sank back in, three at once, searching out her juices, sending them spilling down her thighs. She contracted around him and he groaned into her mouth. He broke the kiss, dipped his head and caught a nipple between his teeth.

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“Ah, God!” The pinch of pain didn’t last but a second. Cruz soothed her with his tongue then sucked, each pull making her pussy ache. He moved from one nipple to the other expertly then licked his way down her stomach. He sat back on his haunches and looked up at her from below dark lashes. Dahlia stared back. Removing his digits from her body, he held it up. Slick moisture glistened off the three thick fingers. Gaze on her, he brought them to his mouth, licking off her cream with a groan. She moaned, eyelids fluttering. Cruz grinned. Eyes gleaming, he said, “No turning back now.” Heart thundering in her chest, Dahlia swallowed and widened her stance. A silent come on. Way past words, she hoped her eyes relayed her acceptance. He got the message, it seems, because his lips curved and he leaned forward, warm mouth closing over her clit. “Argh!” Her body burned. Words came back with a vengeance, spilling from her lips. “God, yes.” Head tipped to the heavens, she slid her fingers into his thick hair and canted her hips to meet his insistent mouth. Blunt fingers dug into the flesh of her hips, the pain dulled by the pleasure he administered so well. Breath left Dahlia’s lungs in harsh gasps. So wrong, but still so fucking good—the things he made her feel. Cruz dipped his tongue into her and she rocked, pulling on his hair, pushing his face into her. More. More. More. She chanted the words in her mind, afraid to voice them out loud. Cruz hummed around her flesh in his mouth. A sound of pleasure. “Cruz,” she whispered his name. “Cruz, please.” He looked up with questioning eyes, stiff tongue flicking over her hardened clit. “More.” Her voice broke. “I want more.” A dark eyebrow lifted. “Like this?” Two fingers plunged into her, hard and insistent. “Ahh!” A sweet burning began in her pussy, weakening her knees and

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graying her vision. “Yes. Yes. More.” “Your wish.” Two more fingers joined in, stretching her impossibly wider, bowing her body, setting her insides aflame. Dahlia rode them, gaze on Cruz, orgasm in the periphery. “God. God,” she chanted. Heat tingled at her nape then flowed down her spine. She reached for the orgasm with a choked sob, toes curling, but Cruz pulled his fingers out. “No! No!” The bastard. How could he— Cruz lifted her off her feet and dumped her on the bed. Dahlia stared as he crawled up her body, his face a study in dark lust. Hands on her shoulder, he rolled until his back was pressed to the mattress and she lay atop him. Dahlia’s nipples grazed his chest, the sensation making her body contract, but she could only look on helplessly as he crooked a finger. “Come up here.” She frowned. “Up-up where?” “Come sit on my face, Dahlia.” Those eyes twinkled. “You didn’t think I finished tasting your sugar, did you?” God. She rose on unsteady legs and moved until her body hovered above his head, feet planted on either side. “Good girl,” he praised in a rasp. “Now lower yourself, slowly. I want those juices all over my face.” Her breath hitched and she almost fell over, but still Dahlia managed to lower herself onto his stiffened tongue. She cried out as he speared her, fucking her. Knuckles white against the headboard, she rocked her hips, painting his face with her moisture. The orgasm denied her earlier reared back up violently, shaking her body and tearing hoarse screams from her throat. She let go of the headboard and grabbed Cruz’s hair, pulling, urging him on. His grunts and groans vibrated on her clit and through her body, dragging her deeper into the heated vortex. “Cruz!” She collapsed onto his chest, eyes sliding close under the sudden lethargy. A hard arm pulled her close, lips pressed kisses to her

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forehead, but when Dahlia opened her eyes some time later, she found herself alone. Only the scent of sex and Cruz remained.

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Chapter Two

Cruz Doriaye sat in his stateroom aboard his yacht, Deception, staring blankly at the tiny black pouch on the table before him. He didn’t know what was inside, but it sure as hell was expensive. The man who hired him to retrieve the thing was filthy fucking rich and not someone to be played with. Not someone to double cross, but Cruz would and had crossed him. In more ways than one. He’d been instructed to wait until Friday to conduct the bank break-in. He’d gone in on a Tuesday evening. His client wanted only one specific witness to the heist, the one person who’d take the fall. Cruz made sure others were present. And last, the bastard wanted his scapegoat to know who’d set all the events in motion. Cruz rejected the idea as soon as he looked into Dahlia’s eyes. No way would he be setting her up for whatever the pompous prick had up his sleeve. And yet he had no idea of the relationship between those two. No clue as to why his client wanted her hurt so badly. Fuck. No idea too, of the emotions that overwhelmed him when he touched her. Of the feelings she pulled from him. He’d touched, kissed, and tasted her. Reckless. Amazing. Suicide. But amazing. And he’d slipped away while she still rode that orgasmic high, when he couldn’t look into her eyes and lose himself. Again. A knock came on his cabin door. “Sir, we’re ready to move.” He sighed and rubbed a hand over weary eyes. “Then let’s go, Sammy.” “Yes, sir.” His captain shuffled away. The weatherman forecasted clear skies and calm seas, perfect for his

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sail down to the Bahamas from Florida. Maybe he’d have time to clear his head, figure out the reason for this sudden turn at self-implosion. Women he’d always had, sex and lust he never tired of. This need to wrap Dahlia Pierce in his arms, wipe the pain and hurt from her eyes, protect her—he didn’t understand it. He couldn’t allow himself to get taken by wide brown eyes, and Freesia-scented skin. He moved away from his seat at the round table and climbed onto his bed. On his back, he laid his head on his arms and stared at the ceiling. Replaying the day in his mind, relieving the sounds Dahlia made and the triumph he felt when she opened to him. His cell phone rang and he pulled it from the front pocket of his jeans. Glancing at the caller ID, he smiled. Time for some information and maybe take back the upper hand from his new client. “Talk to me.” “Hello to you, too.” A chuckle echoed in his ear. “Sorry, I’ve been on edge waiting for your call.” “Huh, I can tell that.” His caller sniffed delicately. “All right, I won’t keep you in suspense any longer.” Paper shuffled in the background. “Issue one—he routed his calls through half a dozen countries and computers, but I finally found your client. He’s in New York City.” Cruz’s fingers tightened around the phone. “New York?” “New York. Issue two—Dahlia Pierce was born and raised in Miami, but has travelled to New York three times in the past two years. She was recently brought into the ER badly beaten. I’m sending you the pictures.” The click-clacking of computer keys reached Cruz’s ears. “Uh-uh. Fucking gruesome stuff, babe. Gruesome.” Cruz squeezed his eyes shut. “What’s the connection between those two?” “I have only one surveillance picture I got from airport cam at La Guardia airport. It shows Ms. Pierce getting into his limo.” “Are they—were they dating?” And why did the thought of that anger him so?

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“That would be my guess, babe. The cops questioned her extensively when she got hurt, but she refused to name anyone.” Jeezus. Cruz sat up, running a hand through his hair. “Something happened between them that has him looking to destroy her.” “Yup. And he’s using you to do it.” “He can think again. I’m not going to be the one who brings her to her knees.” An image of Dahlia in that exact position flashed in his mind’s eye, hardening him. Shit. “What will you do?” “I don’t know, Ricki. This is…unexpected.” His best friend chuckled. “You’ve got a jones for her, huh?” Cruz opened his mouth to deliver a scathing denial, but Ricki continued. “I’ve seen the pictures of her, remember? She’s not my type, but I’m still creaming in my Vickies.” “It’s not that simple, Ricki. I shouldn’t even be thinking about this woman.” “But you are?” He shook his head. “We both have a lot to lose and there’s the huge elephant in the room.” “She knows you rob banks, anything else shouldn’t be too much of a surprise.” Christ. Cruz scoffed at Ricki’s naïveté. “I robbed her bank under explicit instructions to set her up as the culprit. Most likely from the man who beat the crap out of her.” “But you didn’t. That should count for something,” Ricki insisted. He couldn’t help but smile. “Ah, Ricki. I love you, but you’re kinda biased.” She laughed. “I am. What’s next?” “Next I lay low at the hotel. I’ve been ignoring his calls, but I can’t keep doing that. Have the plane meet me in two days. I’ll go straight to New York to surprise our client.” And what a surprise that would be. He

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salivated just thinking about it. “You know, I still don’t get why you do all this,” Ricki said. “You’ve got almost more money than him, yet he’s the one calling the shots?” “But he doesn’t know that, Ricki.” He smiled. “No one knows who I really am, you’ve made sure of that.” “Still…” “He needs to think I need him, his money, his influence. When I drop my bomb I want him totally unprepared and completely decimated by the blow.” “What’s the plan?” “I don’t have anything concrete yet, just a few ideas. I’ll let you know what I need from you and when.” Ricki sighed in his ear. “All this for Dahlia Pierce?” “No. This is for Ciske.” Voice hard, he said, “Dahlia is an unexpected bonus.” After a soft command for Cruz to be safe, Ricki hung up. Cruz stared off into space, working out the details of a plan forming. Before he did anything else though, he needed to know what the little black pouch held. Hopping off the bed, he grabbed the thing and climbed back on. His back to the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him, he pulled the tiny draw string free and emptied the contents onto his lap. He’d hoped for maybe diamonds, or a piece of jewelry, something extremely rare. What he never expected was the gold flash drive, smaller than his pinky. No question whether or not he’d be looking at the contents. He retrieved his laptop from the bedside table and powered it up. Whatever was on the drive couldn’t be that important. Why else would Cruz’s client have it in a bank and not with him under heavy guard? Still the vault was pretty secure, the only one who had access was, of course, Dahlia. Foreboding tingled at his nape as Cruz plugged in the drive and clicked view files. Nope, not files, but a video. The picture wasn’t steady and had no

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volume, but he clearly made out the dark haired woman kneeling with her hands and mouth bound, pale cheeks wet with tears. Cruz’s eyes blurred. A large man hovered over the woman, gun pointed at her. She bowed her head, shoulders shaking. Next to the thug with the gun was Cruz’s client, multi-millionaire, Austin Harrington. Harrington spoke. The thug nodded and then pulled the trigger. Cruz cried out. The picture jumped as if the gunshot startled the person filming. “Ciske!” Cruz watched with tears rolling down his face, completely helpless as his sister toppled onto her back. The video shook violently, zooming in to bring the red dot on Ciske’s forehead into focus. She didn’t twitch. When they’d finally fished her out of the landfill Harrington had his people dump her in, The Medical Examiner determined she’d died from that first shot. There were two. Cruz clenched his fists at his sides, chest heaving, as the large man walked over his sister’s body and shot her again. In the heart. He scrambled off the bed and raced to the bathroom, emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Knees buckling, Cruz slid to the floor. Knowing his sister had been murdered and watching it play out live in front of his own eyes were two entirely different things. In that instant all his military training went out the window. This was family. Blood. He failed his sister. It didn’t matter he was out of the country, out of contact with everyone but his handler, Ciske needed him and he wasn’t there. He dragged his knuckles over his eyes and took a deep breath.

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Harrington would pay. Big time. **** The weekend. Time for relaxation, maybe hanging with friends and family, but Dahlia had no plans to do either. She remained in bed, covers pulled up to her chin even as the weather sweltered in eighty degree heat. Missing a stranger more than she ever missed Austin. Needing the touch of a man she knew less than nothing about. Twisted. But so fucking good. Two weeks since that night and she still felt his touch, still smelled his scent in the air. Ordered by her bosses to ‘take more time off indefinitely’ she had time to think. Time to hate, then give herself permission to indulge. One time. It’s not like she’d ever see the damn man again. He’s a bank robber for fuck’s sake, it’s not like he’s hanging around. Probably gone underground somewhere to hide. And really, haven’t I learned my lesson with Austin? She’d been painfully naïve with that one. Flattered he noticed her, until all the violence and murder she shouldn’t have witnessed. The beating he gave her personally, refusing to allow his thugs the pleasure. He didn’t want her dead though, because he knew she’d be too scared to talk. Who’d believe me? She handed over the video and he discarded her as quickly as he’d picked her up. Lesson learned. Men cannot be trusted. Yet she lusted after a bank robber. Shaking her head, she flung off the covers and padded on bare feet to the bathroom. A shower was in order then she’d order in—again—and go back to feeling sorry for herself. Not like I have anything better to do. Twenty minutes later, she turned off the shower, but she couldn’t get those green eyes out of her head. Shit, you’ve got it bad. Licking drops of

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water off her upper lip—wishing it was Cruz’s tongue on her—she pulled aside the shower curtain. “No!” She backed away from the two masked men standing in her bathroom, thick arms crossed. Terror shook her words. “Please, no. No!” They moved toward her as one unit. Dahlia looked around, nothing to throw at them except bath salts and shampoo bottles. A large gloved hand closed over her wrist. She screamed. Arms flailing, her feet gave out and she crumbled to her knees on the bathroom floor. Naked. “Why are you doing this to me? Please, don’t hurt me. Please.” She cried when she should’ve fought, hung limp in a pair of strong arms when she should be kicking, biting. “Ma’am, stay calm. We’re not going to hurt you.” She ignored the words spoken by the man who held her and finally kicked out. Her heel caught the second man across his temple. He grunted. “Ma’am, stop that or I’ll tie you up.” She stopped. “I haven’t done anything, why does he want me dead? Why?” Harsh sobs rushed from her heaving chest, tears blinded her. “I didn’t say a word. I promised.” No one spoke, but the second man tied a piece of cloth over her mouth, silencing her. She shook her head violently, eyes wide, heart in her throat. Austin finally decided she wasn’t worth the trouble. But why weren’t they killing her right then? He probably wanted to do it by his own hands. Like the beatings. Renewed self preservation reared up and she kicked out again. Thug two saw it coming and ducked. Circling both of her ankles with one giant palm, he snarled. “All right, tie you up it is.” No, no. She screamed into the gag. The man holding her lowered both of them until she lay on the floor, then he grasped her wrists and secured them with something cold and hard. Dahlia whimpered. Thug two pulled a

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thick, brown leather belt from his waist and wound it around her ankles, buckling way too tight. Wrists and feet taken care of, they disappeared out the room. Eyes squeezed shut, Dahlia lay on the cold floor trying to wiggle away while biting at the cloth in her mouth. She hadn’t made any real progress when she heard their footsteps approaching. Her eyes flew open. They car ried clothes. One positioned himself above her, tugging a tight t-shirt over her head and down her shoulders. Surprisingly he took care not to touch her tits as he smoothed the piece of clothing to cover her chest and stomach. The man kneeling before her released the belt long enough to slip on a pair of pink sweats. He lifted her hips with no help and pulled the sweats up over her ass and hips. When he was satisfied, he rebound her ankles. The thug over her angled her head. Darkness descended over her eyes. “Mmm. Mmm.” She twisted her head away, fresh tears pouring from her. In the end he got his way, quickly tying whatever it was, effectively covering half her face—from forehead to nose. “This is for your own good, Ms. Pierce,” the man at her head whispered. He lifted her shoulders off the floor, the man at her feet picked it up, and she was carried through her apartment and out the front door as she heard it click behind them. It wasn’t the middle of the day, but it wasn’t night either. Someone would see them, someone would help her. Humid air kissed the exposed skin of her stomach. They were outside, but how? Why wasn’t anyone helping? “Mmm. Mmm.” She tried screaming again, wiggling, but the hold on her body just tightened. Their footsteps quickened though. Help me. Somebody help! “Mmm. Mmm.” A low pop sounded then she felt herself descending. She twisted her body, but was placed into a tight place. Car exhaust, oil and dust filled her nose. No. No. A trunk? They put her in a trunk?

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“You’ll be fine, Ms. Pierce. You won’t be in there for long, but in the meantime…” Fingers shifted through the hair at her nape, pressed at something behind her left ear. “..Get some rest.” Blackness claimed her.

Dahlia came awake slowly. Two things burned brightest in her subconscious. One, the mattress she lay on was the softest, most luxurious thing she’d ever felt, and two, said mattress was freaking rocking back and forth. Gently, but still rocking, damn it. She jerked to a sitting position, eyes struggling to adjust to the dim light in the room. Her arms and legs weren’t bound, eyes weren’t covered, so she could only assume Austin meant to kill her this time. Finish the job he’d started. Fear shuddered in her lungs, but she bit her lip and examined the room. Strange looking room too, its appearance was nothing like your typical bedroom. For one, the caramel-colored interior was almost circular, the ceiling rather low, and let’s not forget the fucking swaying. Shit. She flung aside the covers. “Dahlia.” A very unladylike squeak fell from her lips. Placing a trembling hand at her throat, her gaze darted back and forth, scanning the room for the person who spoke. “Who-who’s there?” “I’ll be with you shortly, pretty lady.” Static then a click. Intercom. Jesus. Where am I? She got off the bed and walked to the beige blinds covering the small window over in the corner. Pulling aside the material, she gasped. Night had fallen, but the silvery-blue full moon illuminated the dark water. They were surrounded by it, miles and miles of ocean as far as the eye could see. She whimpered. The low sound carried in the heavy quiet and she

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shoved her fist into her mouth, teeth clamping down on her knuckles. The severe realization of her dilemma settled over her. Oh, my God. I’ve really been kidnapped! Dahlia whirled around and smacked into a warm brick wall. “Oomph.” Strong arms circled her waist, pulled her in closer and she got her first whiff of sandalwood. Her heart leaped in her chest, but she backed away from the welcome hold. “Cruz? What the hell is this?” She pushed her hair out of her eyes and glared at him. The arrogant bastard crossed his arms across his chest and met her eyes with a twitch to his lips. “Welcome aboard the Deception, Dahlia.” “Are you out of your fucking mind? Your people snatch me from my home, scare the shit out of me, and you’re acting like it’s nothing?” He shrugged and her body clenched at the sensuous move of those wide shoulders. Crap. “I didn’t think you’d come along if I asked nicely.” His smile was unrepentant, those green eyes mocking. “We have unfinished business, Dahlia.” His gaze slid from her eyes to her chest, and cruised lower still. Heat singed her skin at the blatant lust in his eyes. She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I want off this time boat. Now!” He gasped and clutched his heart. “Boat? I’ll have you know—” “I’ll have you know I will have your fucking head if you don’t stop this boat now.” She stepped closer, fists clenched tightly at her side. “Sorry, we’re too far out.” He stroked her cheek with a finger. “We’ll be in Nassau in a few hours though.” She blinked. “Nassau? Like in the Bahamas, Nassau?” What the fuck? He nodded. Dahlia moved on weak knees and sank down on the edge of the mattress. She stared up at him. “Why am I here, what do you really want?” Can’t be for the sex, they hadn’t even done that. He knelt between her thighs. “I want a lot of things from you, babe. A

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lot, but right now they’ll have to wait. I just want to taste you again, feel your skin against mine.” He kissed her, soft, asking permission without words. She hesitated for only a split second before opening for him, offering her consent. He latched on to her, tongue slipping inside, striking deep. They both groaned. She clutched his head, fingers digging into his scalp. He took control of the kiss, quickly turning it from soft to hard and demanding. Dahlia tugged at his t-shirt, struggling to pull it off as he dragged her sweats off her hips. She lifted up slightly, helping him as he bared her lower half. She wore no underwear, and he didn’t wait to remove her pants completely before dipping an index into her pussy. “Unngh.” She broke the kiss, finally removed his t-shirt and dropped it on the floor. Cruz released her and got to his feet, hands fumbling at the waist of his jeans as he stared her down. Dahlia met his gaze under heavy eyelids. Lowering herself onto her back, feet hanging off the mattress, she dipped two fingers between her legs, stroking. Stoking the fire. Shit, so good. Cruz’s breath hitched. He palmed his cock, stroking the thick length once before covering himself with a condom. Dahlia licked her lips and widened her legs. Spicy anticipation quivered through her body, lifting her hips and moistening her pussy even more. “Cruz.” “Right here, babe.” He grabbed her right leg, hooking it around his waist as he covered her body. He took her lips, tongue sliding over her teeth and flicking the roof of her mouth. His cock pulsed at her center, the round head bumping her clit once. Twice. He inserted a hand between them, guiding him to her clenching core, waiting impatiently. Finally he filled her in a single thrust, sinking balls deep into her cunt. “Yes.” Dahlia gasped into their kiss. Her lower half rose off the bed, legs widened to take him impossibly deeper. She hooked her ankles over his

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ass crack and moved, hips canting forward as she rode him. He sank the fingers of both hands into her ass cheeks as he pounded into her, each parry making electric contact with her spot. “Cruz. God!” She twisted her fingers in his hair, pulling with each thrust. Hoarse grunts echoed from him, firing her blood even more. Feeling the orgasm creeping up on her, she released his hair and dragged her nails down his back, clamping her pussy walls around his pulsing cock. He jerked. “Fuck!” His thrusts sped up. She kept pace with him, eyes sliding closed, legs trembling violently. “Oh, God. Oh, God!” The orgasm slammed into her, almost levitating her body off the bed. Dahlia cried out and lurched forward, sinking her teeth into Cruz’s sweaty shoulder. “Ah, shit. Shit.” He shuddered in her arms, cock throbbing as he came. They held on to each other, riding out the sensual storm with hungry, open mouthed kisses. And when their bodies gave out and they collapsed onto the mattress, he gathered her in his arms, pulling her to lie across his chest. Dahlia listened to the hurried clip of his heart, fingers drawing circles on his chest as the sweat cooled on her skin. Cruz kissed her forehead. “Tell me about you and Austin Harrington.”

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Chapter Three

Dahlia jerked away from his hold. “What the hell do you know about Austin?” She pulled the covers over her with cold, shaky fingers. Fear once again coiled in her gut. Shit. Who was this man? Cruz met her gaze with an unblinking stare. “You were involved with Harrington at one time or another. Tell me about it.” Funny how he made her blood rush in her ears, but his voice remained devoid of any emotion, his face a blank slate. Under his scrutiny she rolled off the bed, falling on her knees. She straightened with her back to him and pulled on her clothes. “You’re all up in my business.” She faced him fully clothed. “But I know nothing about yours. You rob my bank then show up in my bedroom—” “Because you wanted me to.” Those insanely soft lips curved. “You needed my touch, Dahlia. Now isn’t the time to scold me for giving you what you wanted so desperately.” Mother fucker. She clenched her fists at the urge to smack him upside the head. “I wanted your cock, not your fucking interference in my private life. You have some nerve.” “I do, but you won’t get away with stalling.” Those eyes cut through her like green glass. “Tell me about you and Austin Harrington.” She sank to the floor, legs folded in, arms crossed over her chest. “I’m kinda pooped from the way your lackeys manhandled me. Back ache and such.” Watching him from below her eyelashes, she grinned. “You understand.” The mattress dipped as he shifted. He lay on his stomach across the bed, head inches from her. “Look at me, Dahlia.” She ignored him and he tipped up her chin with a finger. “I understand more than you think and if you allow me the chance I can help, but first you have to tell me.” She scoffed silently. Yeah, like that’s going to happen. “I learned a lesson

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with Austin: men are not to be trusted. Especially the pretty, rich ones.” Fine lines appeared on his brow. “You’ll spread your legs for me, but you won’t talk to me?” “I don’t know if you realize this, Cruz, ole boy, but the fucking and the talking aren’t mutually exclusive.” She met his gaze coolly. “I have no qualms with you playing between my legs, you’re good at it.” A storm brewed behind his darkened eyes. “It’s the stuff that comes after I won’t be doing, so forget whatever plan you’ve got in mind to make me tell you my life story.” He remained silent, jaw clenching, eyes burning holes through her, and Dahlia knew she’d hit home with her words. She refused to feel bad for someone who’d made her freaking life hell from the time he entered her bank. The couple subsequent orgasms hadn’t erased those memories. How did he know about Austin? She and the Austin hadn’t been a secret, but they were hardly public. Austin’s high profile status didn’t lend itself to many public outings, at least that was the excuse he gave for why they didn’t venture outside of his Penthouse at Trump Towers. “You’re different.” She lifted an eyebrow at Cruz’s words. “Yeah, different how?” Shaking his head, his green gaze searched hers. “You’re…harder than the last time I saw you.” Dahlia laughed. “That’s because the last time you saw me I wasn’t myself. You robbed me on my first day back at work, a time when I was vulnerable. That’s the only reason you were able to get under my skin.” “I know the reason you were off work was because Austin beat you up.” Cupping her cheek, he whispered, “You can trust me, Dahlia. Tell me what happened.” Scrambling away from his touch, she stood up, rubbing her forearms to warm the sudden chill. “You know everything, right? What else is there to say?” He swung his feet off the bed and sat on the edge, naked and glorious.

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She looked away quickly. Damn man shouldn’t look so lickable when she wanted to punch his lights out. Why was he insisting on bringing up memories she tried her best to forget? “I want to hear it from you,” he said. “Yeah? Well, you’re shit out of luck ‘cause I have nothing to say to you or anyone else.’ “Fine,” he snapped. “Then let me tell you what I know. I was hired to rob your bank by Harrington. He told me to wait until you were on duty, that way it could be pinned on you.” “Wha-what?” She couldn’t breathe. “Yes.” Cruz continued in that hard, unforgiving tone. “He tried to set you up, get you sent away for robbing the place.” “No. No.” She backed away with a hand at her throat. “I don’t believe you. Why would he—” “Yes, why would he when he’s had your silence for all this time? Why jinx it?” He leaned toward her, hands flat on his thighs. “Did you know what was in the pouch I stole, hmm? The pouch he wanted me to get.” Eyes burning, she shook her head. Words failed her. “It was a thumb drive with a video on it.” He got to his feet. “My guess is someone spooked him, and he wanted it in his hands, under his control. Why he had it there in the first place escapes me and I’ll have to remember to ask him that.” “Wha-what was on the video?” Dread was an icy fist in her throat, but she closed her eyes and waited. “You should know, you shot it. The video of Austin and his men killing that woman, you shot it.” Her knees gave out and she crumbled in a whimpering heap at his feet. Scalding tears rushed down her cheeks. “Why didn’t you go to the police, Dahlia, why? You turned right around and handed him the tape, burying his crime and leaving a woman’s family with no idea as to what happened to her.” He squatted beside her

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and grabbed a fistful of hair, yanking her head back. “Did you love him that much to cover up murder for him?” She sobbed brokenly, squeezing her eyes in an attempt to stall the tears but they kept on coming. “Open your eyes,” he ordered. “Open your eyes, look at me. Do you still love him that much, Dahlia?” “I hate him!” She opened her eyes, met his murderous glare. “I hated him then, I hate him now, but he threatened me. Threatened people I love. I had to protect them, and he said she—that woman—was a crackhead with no family. No one would miss her.” “He lied!” Cruz roared. He fumbled in his pants pocket with one hand, pulling out his wallet. “She had a family that loved her. They cared, they searched and searched when she went missing.” He pulled out a photograph and shoved it in her face. “Look. Look. Her name was Ciske. She was my sister.” His voice broke. The hand in her hair trembled. “Oh God. Oh God.” Bile rose in her mouth. Bitter. Acidic. His sister. “She was my fraternal twin. And you,” his voice dipped to low and deadly,” you’re going to help me avenge her death.” “What?” She snapped her head up, gaping at him through wet lashes. “What do you want from me?” And how did she get away, for God’s sake? She’d done nothing to help his sister and she didn’t think for a minute he forgave her. Or forgot. The wild, dark look in his eyes sought revenge, and after he found Austin he’d be turning his sights on her. Maybe he wouldn’t wait that long. She jumped to her feet and ran to the door. “I want out of here. Let me out.” Jesus, how insane was it that the fear lacing through her was way more intense than anything she’d felt around Austin? With Austin she knew his capabilities, witnessed it up close. I know nothing about Cruz. She’d been right to be afraid of him from the

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start. He’d been sent to set her up. Get her locked up. But he hadn’t? She whirled, wrinkling her brow as she watched him watch her. Arms crossed over his naked chest, legs apart, and jeans zipped but unbuttoned he looked so…fierce. Hard and unforgiving. Yet those hands of his spoke a different language. A softer language, filled with whispers and a knowledge of her body she wasn’t privy to. “Why didn’t you set me up?” He blinked, but she knew better than to feel smug that she’d surprised him. “I watched you for two days before I came into that bank.” He held her gaze, speaking though his lips barely moved. “You were in pain and I’m not talking physical. I watched you jump out of your skin at every blared horn and slammed door.” Dahlia looked away, biting her lip. She’d been a mess, reduced to a shell. “For all that, Dahlia, you went to work. You put on a brave face, smiled, and did your job without a word of complaint.” He shifted. She caught the movement from the corner of her eye and turned just as he reached her side. She jumped. Damn man moved like a ghost. Cruz cupped her cheek, the rough pad of his thumb brushing her chin and bottom lip. “I admired your strength and the courage it took to do that. I admired you,” he whispered. Dahlia stared into his eyes, at the black circle ringing the piercing green and covered his hand with hers. “But that was before you learned of my involvement in your sister’s death. Before you understood the full extent of my cowardice regarding Austin Harrington.” She removed his hand and brought it to his side. He twisted his wrist, trapped her fingers with his large palm then linked them with his thick digits. Dahlia dropped her gaze to stare at the

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area where they joined. “I don’t blame you for Ciske’s death.” That brought her gaze back to his. His eyes were clear, serious, but honest. “I’m angry you didn’t go to the police.” His lips firmed. “I’m angry you didn’t feel you had any other choice, but I don’t blame you.” The weight in her chest eased a bit, allowing her the chance at breathing. No hope at having it all disappear. He didn’t know the full story. He’d kill her for sure if he did. So while he didn’t blame her for his sister’s death—now—she still blamed herself. Because I am to blame. “Say you’ll help me bring Austin down.” He wrapped an arm around her waist, bringing her flush onto his chest. Dahlia didn’t resist, she couldn’t. She laid her head on his chest, over his heart beat, and inhaled warm sandalwood. Whatever his plan was for Austin, it’s better she be on Cruz’s side. Austin had power, money and prestige, but somehow she knew whatever Cruz had in his arsenal was way more potent. Way more dangerous. And if he caught one whiff of the real story, of the true part she played in his sister’s death, he’d turn them all on her. Did she want to be near him when he found out? “Austin’s not someone to be played with,” she said softly, “but you already knew that. You have the video, why not take it to the cops?” Why was it so important that he go after Austin? “No.” The word rumbled in her ear. “He’d get off since he didn’t actually pull the trigger. He has enough money to make everyone believe his thug did it without direct orders from him.” “But the video—” “Is not enough, Dahlia. He needs to suffer.” His voice grew tight, clipped. “Harrington has to experience the fear and humiliation Ciske

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suffered. He has to feel it all.” A tremor ran through her at the level of hate in those words. He’d kill Austin, that was a certainty. She had to safe-guard herself. Time to protect me. With Austin gone, no one would know her secret. As it stood, only two people knew. She was one. Austin is the other. The only way to keep a secret safe is if one of the two people with knowledge of it died. To make that happen, she had to help Cruz find Austin before he found them. Lifting her head off his chest, she took a step back and met the inquiry in Cruz’s gaze. “What do you want to know?”

Dahlia lounged against the pillows, eyeing the door Cruz abruptly disappeared through. He questioned her relentlessly for almost an hour, wanting to know everything from what the inside of Austin’s bedroom looked like to how many people he had around him at any given time. She gave him all the answers, holding nothing back until a phone call interrupted the interrogation. It’s about time she found out about Cruz. Who was he really? What was his sister doing hanging around a man like Austin? I know my reasons for wasting time with the pompous prick. Austin had a certain charming façade he hid behind in public. It was only when he hooked his prey he allowed the mask to drop, and even then that only happened behind closed doors. “Sorry about that.” Cruz shouldered his way into the room carrying a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. Dahlia raised an eyebrow. “Come to ply the hostage with liquor and have your way with her?” “Are you still referring to yourself as a hostage?” He looked down at her with those mocking eyes. “And last I recall, I didn’t need the excuse of alcohol to slide up inside that tight pussy.” He winked. She rolled her eyes, vacillating between a smile and kicking him the

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nuts. Blasted man. “Just pour the freaking wine.” Cruz complied with a chuckle, handing her the glass of red. She sniffed then sipped. “Not bad.” “Hmm.” He sat at the edge of the bed, sipping his. “Yeah, it’s good shit.” “Do have what you need regarding Austin?” He eyed her steadily. “For now. But I may have more questions as they come to me.” She shrugged. “You know where to find me.” His darkened eyes turned predatory. “We’ll be in Nassau in about an hour.” Inching along the mattress, he drew closer to her and dragged a finger along the inside of her thigh. “How shall we pass the time?” Goosebumps blanketed her skin at his deliberately low-pitched tone. She licked her lips and watched him through her lashes. “Why don’t you tell me about you? I know absolutely nothing.” “We can do that,” he whispered, “or I can do all the things I’ve wanted to do to you since we met.” Leaning over her, he tore away the shirt she wore. His shirt. She gasped as buttons popped. “I, uh-I vote for talking.” Judging by the way her voice shook, talking should be much safer. He ignored her words, staring at her exposed chest. Dahlia inhaled sharply, breasts rising and falling with the movement, nipples already pebbled from his hot scrutiny. A sound escaped Cruz’s throat—harsh, needy—sending shivers down her spine. Her body trembled. Cruz lifted his gaze, searching hers. He must’ve found what he sought, because the corners of his mouth lifted in the tiniest smile. Liquid heat pooled in Dahlia’s pussy, scenting the air with her needy musk. Cruz took the wine glass from her unsteady fingers and brushed his lips to hers. “Lay back, baby.” He climbed fully onto the bed. Clad only in his boxers, the hairs on his naked legs scratched her skin in the most tantalizing way. Dahlia obeyed his command without thought, lying back on

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the bed, head on the pillows, legs spread in wanton invite. Cruz was right—this was a much better way to pass the time, talking would come later. Way later. She stared up at the man above her as he straddled her thighs. He still held her wine glass and the liquid red swirled with every move he made. “Rise up on your elbows.” His chest heaved. “Arch your back.” She did. He grabbed her nape, tilted her head back and licked his way down her throat before pulling away. Dahlia’s eyelids fluttered under the sensual heat. She moaned. “Watch me, baby.” She opened her eyes as Cruz tipped the wine glass. The first splash of the wine against her skin practically sizzled. She watched as a thin red trail ran from the hollow at her throat down to her navel, pooling there. Cruz bent, his tongue licking at the skin, following the same path and stopping only to suck at the wine in her navel. “Hmm.” Dahlia sank her fingers in his hair, holding him still, shuddering under his nips and licks. Without looking up from his task, he dripped more wine on her chest and repeated the unique tasting. When he finally lifted his head, he rose up on his elbows, focusing on her nipples. His wet mouth closed over a hard peak. “Ah, shit!” She arced into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders. Cruz tormented her with hard sucks and soft bites. All registering in her burning core. “Cruz. Damn.” He released her nipple, staring her down with wild eyes and flared nostrils. “Spread your legs.” Placing the wine glass on the floor beside the bed, he sat up and kicked off his boxers. Dahlia swallowed at the sight of his hard cock flushed rose red, and the mushroomed crown tipped with glistening pre-cum. She circled his length, brushing her thumb over the wet slit. He bucked in her hand. “Fuck!” ****

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Cruz bit his lip in an attempt to stifle the moans crowding his throat. He surged one last time into Dahlia’s hold then shifted away. Dropping to his stomach between her spread legs, he took in a deep breath of heat and aroused musk. His cock throbbed, mouth watered. Dahlia curled her legs around his shoulders, trapping him as he brushed his nose over her clit. She jerked. Trembling fingers sifted through his hair and tugged. She lifted her hips closer to his face, the darker folds of her sex glistening with slick juices. Cruz bucked into the mattress, grinding his leaking cock into the sheets, wishing he was already inside Dahlia’s tight pussy. Already his heavy balls ached, screaming for release. He slid his arms under her ass, sank his fingers into the flesh of her buttocks, and pulled her onto his face. Stiffening his tongue, he speared her center, licking up her tart cream. Dahlia’s soft cries echoed in the room as she writhed, painting his face with her juices. Cruz growled. His arms trembled. Flicking his tongue over her hard clit, he teased it—circling, sucking until she begged with hoarse cries. “Cruz, please. Please.” Wrapped around his shoulders, her thighs shook uncontrollably, but she didn’t let up, keeping him caged as she undulated on his mouth. Dipping an index finger into her pussy, he made sure it was well lubricated with her cream before trailing it down to the tight rosebud of her ass. Dahlia gasped, her entire body stiffening. He looked up into the wide wildness of her eyes. Feathering the pad of his finger over her back passage, he whispered, “Let me in. Let me in, babe.” Her hole relaxed enough for him to breach the tight ring of muscle and he worked his way inside, wiggling his finger until he was in past the first knuckle. Eyes glued to his, Dahlia’s nose flared and her moist lips parted as

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he sank the rest of the way in. Her lashed fluttered. Tight heat scorched him. “Fuck,” he rasped. “You’re so hot in here, babe.” He dropped an openmouthed kiss on her clit, nipped, then met her gaze as he thrust his finger in and out of her ass. “Burning me up. Burning me.” “Cruz.” She thrashed her head back and forth on the pillow, sweat glistening on her furrowed brow and upper lip. The muscles in her ass clamped down on his finger in a painful squeeze. “Shit.” He scrambled to his knees, palmed his throbbing cock and tugged. “Shit.” He was two seconds away from coming, the ache in his heavy ball unbearable. “Rub your clit,” he commanded. The impending orgasm dried his throat and roughened his voice. “Let me see you come.” She complied with a lick of her lips, legs parting even wider. He jerked himself off, fucking her ass with now two digits, eyes glued to her fingers as they worked her pussy. Tingles heated the base of his spine and nape, darkening his vision. Dahlia’s hips and fingers sped up and her cries reached his ears as if from a distance. “Cruz. Oh, God. Oh, God.” Any other time, he’d have grinned at the need her voice, but all he could do right then was shout out his release. Hot seed poured through his fingers and he leaned forward, dripping his cum on the insides of Dahlia’s legs. She arched off the bed with a muffled scream, chest heaving, body trembling as her orgasm tore through her. Her ass contracted around his fingers, almost breaking it. “Damn.” Cruz watched the sensual writhing of her body, still milking his cock. She was a sight—his cum trickling down her thighs, her fingers on her wet pussy, his in her ass. His chest constricted, his breath shallowed. Over the thundering of his heart, Cruz realized he’d had no chance from the moment he looked into her wounded eyes at the bank. She’d burrowed under his skin. Trouble. Harboring feelings for Dahlia meant trouble for him.

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Chapter Four

“You gonna stare down at me all night or finish this?” Dahlia looked at him with heavy-lidded eyes, her voice hoarse. Cruz blinked out of his haze, mentally shaking his head. He’d examine his feelings for Dahlia at another time, a time when she wasn’t giving him that come fuck me look and self-satisfied smile. She lifted a leg, brought her foot to his chest, and dragged her toes down his chest. His cock—semi hard—pulsed. Damn. Dahlia’s lips curved as though she heard his inner curse. “You’re staring at me like you don’t know me, Green Eyes.” Her foot continued its journey down his body, toes sliding across his hip before she moved to the front, lightly touching her toe to the wet tip of his cock. “Shit.” Cruz jerked away, gritting his teeth. “Fuck, woman, are you trying to kill me?” She chuckled. Stretching a hand over to the stash of condoms on his bedside table, she grabbed one and threw it at him. He caught the black plastic square with one hand. “I just might kill you if you don’t suit up and give me what I want. Now.” Fuck. A repeat of that command wasn’t necessary, not when she brought her knees up and trailed a finger down to the slick folds of her pussy. Her body arched and Cruz tore open the condom, spitting out the piece in his mouth and tugging on the lubricated rubber with impatient grunts. Gaze on Dahlia’s naughty fingers, he almost swallowed his tongue when she plunged three into her core then brought them to her mouth and licked off the glistening juices. Mouth watering, nose filled with the musky scent of sex, he pulled

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apart her knees with less than gentle hands and drove into her waiting pussy. He groaned at her heated clasp. Her knees shook, fingers grabbed the sheets, tearing at it as he reared back and thrust in. Balls deep. Dahlia’s inner walls spasmed, the sensation like a million tiny massagers wrapped tightly around his dick. Her hips rolled and he sank his fingers into the flesh of her thighs to hold her still less he explode like a twelve year old at his first glimpse of tits. “Yes, so good.” Dahlia palmed her breasts, squeezing, teasing the nipples. “Harder, fuck me harder. I won’t break, Green Eyes.” Her eyes were pools of liquid need, trapping him, drowning him. He bit the inside of his cheek, sweat dripping from his hair into his eyes as he pulled all the way out of her. “No!” Wide gaze promising death, her empty pussy fucked the air. “Cruz!” He grinned. “Don’t wor ry. I’m not done with you yet.” Dipping two fingers into her dripping pussy, he removed them and pushed into her ass, opening, stretching the muscles. Dahlia whimpered. “Burns. So fucking good.” Cruz fucked her, scissoring into her tight channel until her hips sped up then he replaced his fingers with his cock. Under him, Dahlia stiffened. The grip of her heated ass brought his balls up as fire and pain zinged through him. Cruz took a steadying breath. “Love the feel of you, baby. So hot. So tight.” He smoothed a palm over her quivering stomach. “Never felt anything like it.” Her muscles clamped own around him. His cock flexed with the urge to move. He canted his hips forward, heard Dahlia’s sharp intake of breath. Cruz stilled. “Okay?” Her eyes drooped close. She plucked at the sheets as her throat worked. “M’good. Move.” She did a tentative roll of her hips, muscles fluttering.

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“Move.” She groaned. He reared back slowly and slammed in. She cried out. The telltale tingles started at his nape and the base of his spine. “Let me see those fingers work your pussy,” he rasped, pounding into her. She undulated. “Fuck yourself as I fuck you.” She did. Her throaty moans mingled with his animalistic grunts as those three fingers went to work plunging in and out as she rode him. The sight of that brought him to the edge. “Fuck, babe! So sexy like that.” “Cruz, I’m—I’m…” The proof of her impending climax was present in the trembling of her body, the heaving of her chest. The tightening of her inner muscles. “Yes, bathe those fingers in your cream.” His vision dimmed. “Oh, God!” She stiffened, breath raspy as the orgasm overtook her. “Cruz, Cruz!” Her shoulders rose off the bed. “I’m here. Shit!” The contractions in her ass held him captive, powerless, as the orgasm ripped through him. “Ugh, God!” He held her quivering body still, pounding out his release in the condom, resenting the thin barrier. When he could no longer hold himself upright, he collapsed onto her, rolling them. His spent cock slid out of her clenching ass as she lay atop his sweaty chest. Their lips met, teeth clinking, biting, tasting. Tongues twirled around each other, licking, until they came up for air. Dahlia wrapped her arms around him, buried her face in his neck. Her thumping heart vibrated against him. “Hold me. Don’t let go.” Now or ever? **** A hard knock on the cabin door roused Dahlia from a contented sleep. She lifted her head off Cruz’s naked chest as he stretched and called out. “Yes, Sammy?” “We’re minutes away from our destination, sir.” The low voice spoke

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from the other side of the door. Cruz sat up. “Thanks, we’ll be ready.” A moment of silence then muted footsteps moved away from the door. Dahlia watched as Cruz got off the bed, walked to a good-sized closet she hadn’t noticed before, and retrieved a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. “Who was that?” His head shot up, hot gaze sliding over her skin, and she clutched the sheets to her chest. “That’s Sammy.” He pulled on the jeans then grabbed the T-shirt. “He’s the captain…amongst other things.” His lips curved. She rolled her eyes. “You’ve had me brought here against my will. You’re taking me God knows where.” She ticked the list of his wrong doings off on her fingers. “Yet, I know nothing about you except your name—if it’s even your name—and you know everything about me.” “I don’t know everything about you, not yet, but I will.” He winked. “I will.” “You’re deflecting.” She knelt on the mattress, allowing the flimsy sheet to fall from her fingers. His gaze immediately zeroed in on her breasts. Dahlia licked her lips. “Tell me about you.” He met her gaze. “I’m the brother of the woman Austin Harington murdered. I’m the man hired to frame you. A man out for revenge.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “That’s all you need for now.” He pulled the Tshirt over his head. “Like hell.” She hopped off the bed and stood in front of him, nose to…well, chest. “I’m not staying with you in some foreign country when I don’t know who you are, or what you really want from me. Not happening.” She looked around for her clothes. Freaking man had another think coming if he thought he could just snap his fingers and she’d remain at his side obedient and high off his cock. Orgasms kept her malleable for only so fucking long. “We’re in the Caribbean, not a third world country, Dahlia.” He

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crossed his arms and stared her down. “Like I give a flying fuck!” She met his blank stare with all the fury she could muster. “You took me away from my life. I want to know why. It can’t be just to get information on Austin.” She glanced around the suite. “You strike me as a guy with very deep pockets, you didn’t have to fuck me to get the information you needed. Those green eyes darkened. “No, babe.” His husky voice dropped lower. “That was pleasure, strictly pleasure.” She shivered then swore at herself. It shouldn’t be so easy for him to have her wanting to drop to her knees before him. Shit. “Whatever. Just know this, you have one last chance to come clean, tell me what you really want from me. Besides the obvious.” His lips twitched. “I mean it, Cruz.” She picked up her pink sweats off the floor and tugged it on. “I’ve had a man mess up with my life once, it won’t happen again. I can promise you that.” “You worry too much.” He pulled her to him, taking her mouth in a soft kiss. Dahlia kept herself stiff and locked her knees. He lifted his head slowly and stared into her eyes. “I’ll make you a deal: share a meal with me at my hotel and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know…within reason.” She wrinkled her brow and moved away from his touch. “When would we share this meal?” What time was it anyway? He shrugged. “Your choice. It can be once we get to the hotel, or we can wait for breakfast.” The sneak spoke the last part so soft, she had to lean in to catch it. “You think I’ll wait around for breakfast?” “I’m hoping you will.” He cupped her cheek. “I’m wishing you will. I want you to.” The truth of his words stared back at her, written all over his gaze. Dahlia shook her head at herself even as she said, “Get me one of your shirts and I’ll think about it.”

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When the captain of Cruz’s yacht dropped anchor while still miles out at sea, they climbed into a small engine-boat designated to carry them to shore. Dahlia held on to the sides of the vessel with a death grip as they speed to the small strip of land barely visible through a mass of tall trees. It was still dark out, but the moon lit their way over the inky black waters. No one spoke over the loud roar of the engines; not her, Cruz, or the tall stranger who’d appeared as if from the depths of the sea just in time for them to disembark the Deception. He didn’t address them at all, and Dahlia couldn’t unlock her gritted teeth long enough to bitch about it. She held her peace when they came to shore and Cruz helped her out the boat. Her feet sank into the soft, pale sand then he swung her up into his arms. She could’ve fought him on that, but she figured there’d be way more important stuff to lash out at him for. A strange bird-like call split the still air, the low hum of a vehicle’s motor reached her ears, and Cruz walked through a thick curtain of trees with steady strides. A black SUV waited for them, headlights turned off, driver silhouetted by shadows, and once again Dahlia questioned the wisdom of being in the company of a man she didn’t know. Not good at all. She wiggled in Cruz’s arms and he tightened his hold with a low growl. Their escort to the island’s shore opened the SUV door and Cruz plopped her down in the back seat. She scrambled to a seating position, mouth opening to tell him off, but he cut her off with a look. One look, sharp and cold, and she swallowed her words. Maybe her tongue as well. The man transformed into something else before her eyes, and while Dahlia would agree she didn’t know Cruz, she’d gleaned enough to know the person now seated beside her in the vehicle wasn’t the same as the man on the yacht. Or in her bedroom back at home. This was someone different. Colder. Harsher. Ultimately more dangerous.

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She rubbed away the goosebumps forming on her upper arms and shivered. This was a mistake. Being here was a mistake. Throwing her lot in with Cruz against Austin was a huge mistake she’d live to regret. Of that she had no doubt. Their driver pulled off down the barely-there path hidden by overgrown weeds and rocks, the SUV’s headlights spearing the cloying blackness and providing the only light for their journey. The quiet gentleman who’d piloted the boat stayed behind, leaving Dahlia and Cruz in the company of an equally silent, and shadowed, chauffeur. The man smelled faintly of cigarettes and chocolate. Weird combination right there. She sat back with a sigh, lashes drifting closed. Exhaustion washed over her suddenly, and she wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a cool bed. Cruz shouldn’t be in that bed. I need a strategy. A way to get away from here. From him. She’d stay the night at the hotel like he asked, not like she had any other choice, but once refreshed and her mind alert, she’d find a way out. I have to. Rough fingers slid over her upturned palm, twisting around her fingers in a tight grip. Dahlia’s pulse leaped. Had she spoken her thoughts out loud? “Everything ready?” Cruz’s low voice broke the stillness. She opened her eyes in time to catch the slight nod from their mysterious driver. “Right as rain,” the man replied. A thick island accent was clearly evident in his deep voice. “Will it rain?” Cruz kept his voice low, his face forward and blank as his thumb drew circles over her skin. “You never know, my man. You have to be careful with the rain, washes everything away.” What the—?

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Cruz apparently understood whatever the hell the driver meant because he chuckled. “Oh, I’m always careful. Always.” The driver brought the SUV to a stop and Dahlia sat up, eyes straining to catch a glimpse of where they were. She saw nothing, but they had to be in some kind of building. She could’ve sworn they’d entered a tunnel and never exited. The SUV doors opened from the outside. Dahlia tensed. A blond man with an orangey tan smiled at them, exposing blinding white teeth. “Welcome to the Hotel Doriaye. I’m Har—” “Save it, Harold.” Harold gaped and blinked rapidly, that hideous tan getting darker as she could only assume the man flushed. “Oh, ah. Mr. Doriaye, sir. I didn’t see you there. Wel-welcome home.” Well, fuck. She held her tongue until they were in the elevator, a huge glass structure big enough to fit her bathroom. Orange-glow Harold stood off to the corner, hands clasped behind his back, pretending not to stare. “You own this place?” Speaking in a stage whisper, she nudged Cruz with her elbow. “Uh-huh.” He looked down at her with twinkling eyes and she wanted to stomp on his toe. Better yet, knee him in the freaking nuts. That would hurt more. The Doriaye Hotels rivaled the Hilton in popularity and distinction, catering only to the best of the best with money to burn. The name Doriaye was itself synonymous with wealth, power, and prestige. No wonder he hadn’t told her his last name. Cruz Doriaye. Brother of Ciske Doriaye, the woman she’d— Dahlia swallowed around the lump of terror in her throat. “Just how rich are you?” Harold sniffed. Cruz chuckled. “Filthy fucking.”

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God, I’m so dead. The elevator doors opened and they stepped out into a living room, beautifully decorated in gold and purple. The place looked immaculate. “Welcome home again, sir.” Harold held the elevator open with one hand. “Anything I can get you?” Cruz pulled off his leather jacket and dropped it on a chair. He turned to her. “Do you need anything? Food? Drink?” Who could eat at a time like this? She shook her head. “I just want a bath and sleep.” And room to think of an escape from the noose tightening around her neck. “Oh, and clothes.” “You heard the lady, Harold.” Cruz looked her up and down. “Clothes size eight, shoes size seven. And a half?” He raised an eyebrow. Dahlia rolled her eyes. “Yeah.” “Very good, sir.” Harold pressed a button inside the elevator. “I’ll have a new wardrobe sent up once it’s ready, ma’am. Goodnight, er, morning.” The doors closed on his grimace. Dahlia met Cruz’s gaze. They just stared at each other until she cleared her throat and broke eye contact. “Point me to your bathroom, Mr. Doriaye.” She removed the shirt and sweat pants she wore, kicking them off to the side as she stood naked. “Second door on your left.” Those green eyes blazed fire, burning her skin at contact. Steeling herself, she ignored the heated flare in her womb and did an about face. She followed his direction, entering the humungous bathroom outfitted with mirrored tiles, and the same gold and purple color scheme. The shower stood in the middle of the room, no enclosure, just a raised platform with about ten wide, gold shower heads. A gold sunken tub sat at the opposite end of the room, next to the windows overlooking the twinkling dark waters of the beach below. Jeezus H! The view alone had her moaning. Dahlia bit her lip and went about readying her bath. She uncapped the

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bottle of bubble bath next to the tub and inhaled. Milk and honey. She upended the bottle, watching as the bubbles rose in the tub. Once satisfied, she turned off the water and climbed in, sinking into the warm water with a sigh. Tiny buttons at the side of the tub caught her eye and she leaned in closer. Front desk. Kitchen. Intercom. Lights. Music. Hell, yeah. She pushed the button for music and soft jazz filled the room. Dahlia moaned. This was the shit. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes. She’d figure a way out of the mess she was in once her bath was over. Until then, she planned to relax and enjoy.

When next she opened her eyes, Dahlia found herself on a bed, spooning a hard and hot body. She jerked upright, but her left wrist was restricted, handcuffed to the bed. Oh, fuck! Dahlia pulled and pulled. The cold metal bit into her skin, jiggling but refusing to budge. “Son of a…bitch!” She kicked at the naked body next to her. “Wake up, you sneaky fuck,” she screamed. “Wake up!” Cruz stirred, opening sleep-heavy eyes. He looked on as she tugged on her caught wrist, teeth barred. “Why did you do this?” Her voice trembled and Dahlia couldn’t make it stop. “Why?” Panic swirled red-hot in her tummy, sweat itched her hairline. Cruz propped himself up on his elbows. “Calm down.” Stretching out a hand, he covered her suspended wrist with a large, warm palm. “You’ll hurt yourself.” “Forget me. I’ll hurt you, you bastard.” Dahlia swallowed and softened

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her gaze. “Please, let me go. I-I don’t…I can’t...” “You think I didn’t see the look in your eyes?” Cruz raised an eyebrow. “Last night when you found out my name, I saw the panic and your resolve to run.” He cupped her trembling chin with a sigh. “You must understand something, Dahlia. I’m not letting you go. No fucking way.” “But…” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back tears threatening to fall. “But why, what do you want?” “Didn’t we already go over this?” He shifted positions, sitting up with his legs folded under him. “I want Austin and I want you. To get him I have to have you.” She wrinkled her brow. “I don’t get it. Why do you need me?” “You’re my bargaining chip.” He looked her up and down coolly. “And…I suspect there’s more, something more you’re not telling me.” Heart beating out of her chest, she forced herself to hold his gaze when she wanted to turn away and hide. “Suspect all you want.” She lifted her chin in a small act of defiance. “You’ll tell me what I need to know, Dahlia.” Gaze hard and chilling, he said, “That’s a promise I can definitely keep.” The finality of his words weren’t lost on Dahlia. She licked her dry lips. “What do you plan to do?” “Austin will be in the hotel’s casino tonight.” Dahlia forgot to breath. The rush of blood through her veins drowned out Cruz’s words and she watched his mouth move as if from a distance. Austin will be here tonight. Within reach—Cruz’s and hers. If Cruz caught up with Austin he’d know. He’d know the truth about his sister’s death. And he’ll kill me. Fucked. She was fucked, and not in the good, toe-curling kinda way either. “Hey.” Fingers snapped in front of her face. “Are you in there?” She blinked away her fear and nodded. “Yes.” The word sounded rusty

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to her ears. “Good.” He pushed a lock of hair away from her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. “As I was saying, Austin will be downstairs in the casino. I’m sure you’re aware of how much he loves his baccarat.” She did know. At her nod, Cruz continued. “We have a meeting set up in a private room. And he agreed to it only on one condition.” He paused, expression anticipatory. When she just stared, he waved a hand. “Go on. Ask me what his condition was.” Dahlia rolled her eyes heavenward. “What was—?” “You. He wants you there.”

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Chapter Five

She opened her mouth then closed it. Twice. There really was nothing to say, no way to bluff her way out of the situation she’d somehow found herself in. Trapped with Cruz at her side and Austin soon-to-be on the other side of that door, her ass was toast. Dahlia bit the inside of her cheek and stared up at the ceiling. Sprawled out on her back, arm shackled as Cruz stared her down, she felt the walls closing in. Fast. Tight. Sweat slid down her spine, betraying her nerves where no one could see. Fighting the rising nausea, she resolved to make it very hard to either man—Austin or Cruz—to kill her. Fuck if I’m going down without a fight. The shrill sound of Cruz’s phone broke the stillness. Dahlia ignored it, concentrating on the evenness of her breathing and the loud thumping of her heart. She’d continue searching for a way out until they took her life away. Cruz climbed off the bed in all his naked, delicious glory and she kept her gaze on him as he spoke into the phone. Those bulging muscles looked so good on him, his tanned skin glowing under the soft touch of sunlight spilling through the sheer drapes at the windows. He’d fucked her six ways to Sunday, took her in more ways than one, would he find it easy to kill her? To put the gun to her head, between her eyes maybe, and squeeze the trigger? Her chest hurt, constricting at the thought. He’d do it without blinking once he knew. Once he learned of her betrayal of his sister. Hell, she’d do it. Still, was she a fool to wish Cruz cared? To wish this wasn’t all about revenge to him, that somehow in some

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miniscule way she meant more than a convenient fuck and bargaining chip? “Yeah, come on up.” She jerked her chin at his words. What now? Phone to his ear, he grinned. “That’s my business, but you’re free to butt in. I know you will.” He paused then laughed, a genuine belly laugh, pure and unrestricted. Dahlia had no rhyme or reason for the white-hot jealousy streaking through her veins in that moment. She envied the person who made him so at ease, who knew him so well. “All right, see you in a bit.” Cruz ended the call and turned to her. “We’re having company but don’t worry, I won’t let you out of my sight.” He winked and pulled the covers up and over her nakedness. “Can’t I at least get some clothes?” She tugged at her caught wrist. The cuffs rattled. “Nope.” He shook his head. “Not yet, but soon.” Turning away, he stepped into a pair of jeans, pulling the dark denim over his taut ass in slow motion. Shit. “Cruz, please.” Fuck, the bastard had her begging and that didn’t sit right with her. “Be very quiet, Dahlia.” Dragging his fingers through his hair, he sighed and straightened. “I don’t want to gag you but I will.” She gasped. “Just keep your mouth shut and you’ll be fine.” The elevator doors opened with a smooth woosh, cutting off her words and capturing his attention. A woman stepped out clad in a tight black dress stretched over stunning curves and pale skin, and pink stilettos. Bright red hair framed her face and fell to her waist in shiny waves. Unusual blue-green eyes flicked over Dahlia and discarded her presence instantly. The blue-green gaze found Cruz where he stood tugging a black T-shirt

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over his head and widened in pleasure. Perfectly plump lips parted on a smile. “Cruz.” “Damn, Ricki. You look amazing.” Cruz reached the woman’s side with a quick stride and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her way too tight for Dahlia’s peace of mind. Ricki chuckled. “I’ve got me a hot date later.” Cruz pulled away and cupped her cheek before brushing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Poor bastard.” On the bed, Dahlia gritted her teeth at the urge to tell the bitch to get her hands off Dahlia’s man. The familiar way they bantered and touched each other set her teeth on edge. Not fucking cool. As if she heard Dahlia’s thoughts, Ricki lifted her gaze and met Dahlia’s. They stared at each other, Dahlia threatening bodily harm through her glare. Ricki’s mouth lifted at the corners, eyes laughing out right at Dahlia. The woman spoke to Cruz without taking her gaze off Dahlia. “Parece que a mocinha fica com ciúmes de mim.” Dahlia narrowed her eyes at the unfamiliar language as Cruz’s back stiffened and he spoke. “Não vamos lá agora.” The fuck, were they going all secret language on her? **** Cruz kept his back to Dahlia. Ricki stared at him with those damn eyes all deep and shit. She’d launched into Portuguese, telling him his little lady looked jealous. He didn’t want to think about what Dahlia meant to him. If he did, he’d be losing his mind at the thought of allowing the bastard Harrington anywhere near her. The tight coil in his gut didn’t really count as losing his mind. Ricki’s gaze flicked over his shoulder and her lips curved slightly.

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“Qual é o seu plano?” Cruz scoffed. Plan? He had no plan. None. He took Ricki’s hand and led her into the bathroom. She pulled away once they entered, crossing her arms over her chest as he locked the door. “Are you sure about this?” she asked when he faced her. “No, I’m not sure about anything right now.” Shoving stiff fingers through his hair, Cruz heaved a weary sigh. “You’re dangling her under his nose,” Ricki pointed out. “That’s a very dangerous game to play with someone as ruthless as Austin Harrington.” Cruz narrowed his eyes. Was she doubting him? “And what? I’m not as ruthless?” Ricki knew better, she’d been right there with him since the beginning. She held up a hand. “Listen to what I’m saying before you jump the hell down my throat. You can be as bad as him if you have to, yes, but there’s a marked difference between you and Harrington. You have a conscience.” “Fuck that, conscience takes a backseat to revenge tonight.” And every other night as long as Harrington is out there messing with people’s lives. Ricki absorbed his outburst with a raised eyebrow. “Where does the naked woman in your bed come in?” Cruz turned away with a shrug. “Your said it yourself, she’s bait.” Ricki laughed. Cruz wrinkled his brow and met her twinkling gaze. “What’s funny?” “Even you don’t believe that shit you’re spouting. She’s moved way past bait for you, way past a means to an end. You have to decide what matters most: Dahlia with you, or Austin dead.” Cruz leaned against the closed door, ignoring the hollow in his chest. “Why does it have to be an either or? If—and I stress if—I want Dahlia, I can get rid of Harrington and still have her.” Pity flashed in Ricki’s clear gaze for an instant. Cruz frowned. “Come on,” she said softly, “we both know shit doesn’t always go as

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planned. Especially with someone as unpredictable as Harrington. How sure are you that you’re holding all the cards?” Cruz regarded her silently. For all the years they’d been friends and lovers, this was the first time Ricki blatantly questioned his actions on a mission. Sure this one wasn’t sanctioned by the people they usually contracted with, this was personal, but shouldn’t she know him well enough to know he’d never jump into anything without considering all the angles? She rolled her eyes. “I can see what you’re thinking, but come on. It needs to be said and who else but me to do that?” He smiled. Yeah, she was right. Ricki didn’t pull any punches. He moved away from the door and pulled her into a hug. “I love you, Ricki.” She squeezed him tight. Cruz took a breath against her neck, inhaling the familiar expensive perfume Ricki favored, applied subtly of course. Her touch was familiar, body soft but firm. Normally being this close to her would have him hard, but not today. Not since he’d had Dahlia. Ricki pulled away, brushing a kiss on his lips. “I love you, too. And you may not want to hear this, but I’ll say it anyway.” He remained quiet and watchful as she cupped his cheek, eyes somber. “I think you care for that woman out there way more than you’re letting on. You may even be in love with her.” She pressed a finger over his mouth when he parted his lips. “From the death glare she pinned me with earlier, I think she feels the same way.” Cruz’s heart thumped, his pulse sped up. Ricki couldn’t possibly know, but hope filled his body at the thought that Dahlia may care for him. Ricki dropped her hand and moved toward the door. “I hope none of us have reason to regret going up against Austin Harrington.” Cruz walked Ricki out the bathroom, planting a soft kiss on her forehead before she headed off to put stage one of their plan in place.

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Tonight they’d bring down that bastard Har rington, make him pay for Ciske’s death. And once he had revenge for his sister marked off his to-do list, Cruz vowed to spend some time really figuring out where Dahlia fit in his life. She had to fit, he couldn’t see himself waking up the next morning without her in his bed. In his life. He turned away from the closed elevator doors and met the censure in Dahlia’s narrowed eyes. Yep, she was pissed. “You used to fuck her, didn’t you?” The handcuffs clanged as she pulled on it. The covers he’d draped over her naked body shifted when she moved, sliding down the curve of her full breasts. Cruz licked his lips. “Ricki and I are long over.” “Yeah?” Nostrils flaring, Dahlia asked, “What was that sojourn into the bathroom about?” “Business.” Unbuttoning his jeans, Cruz tugged it down and kicked it off. He kept his gaze on Dahlia as she followed his movements. He really liked the way her moist lips parted and she brushed her legs against the mattress. The faraway look in her eyes said her actions barely registered to her. “I don’t like the way you are with her.” Dahlia spoke so softly, Cruz had to go back over the words in his head to be sure he’d heard them right. He knelt at the edge of the bed, his heart pounding in his chest, and circled her left ankle. “How am I with Ricki?” Her throat worked. She broke their gaze, shifting her attention so somewhere over his right shoulder. “Familiar. Carefree. Loose.” Hiding a smile, Cruz lifted her foot and flicked his tongue over her toes painted deep red. She inhaled audibly as her body jerked. He dipped his tongue between her big toe and the next, then spoke.

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“And how does that differ to how I am with you?” He continued his journey, tasting her toes one by one. Dahlia’s breath and the handcuffs holding her vied for the loudest rattle. Her spicy musk wafted to him, teasing his nose and setting his taste buds on a frenzy. “You-you’re tense and secretive with me.” Her eyelids fluttered and her legs widened. Cruz pulled away the covers, flinging them to the floor and exposing her naked body to his hungry gaze. The creamy smooth of her skin deserved a thorough licking and lucky for her—and him—they had ample time to indulge. His cock throbbed at the thought. “I’m just a means to an end for you.” He raised a heavy-lidded gaze to her, but her eyes were closed, face turned away from him. Tightening his hold on her ankle, he slid his free hand down her leg, brushing the satiny skin of her inner thigh before tracing the dark outer lips of her pussy with two fingers. She gasped. “Look at me,” he ordered. She did so slowly, reluctantly. Once their gazes met, Cruz kept his eyes on her as he flattened his tongue down the bottom of her foot and dipped his fingers into her soaked center. “Hmm.” Body arched, head thrown back, Dahlia gripped the sheets. “Fucking look at me!” he snarled. The couple fingers inside her became a threesome and he screwed them into her tight heat in measured strokes. Pre-cum dripped from his hard cock and onto the sheets as he came up on his knees between her legs. She looked down at him, shocked arousal brightening her dark eyes. “You’re more to me than a means to an end.” He fucked her sure and steady, enjoying the wet squeeze as her vaginal walls worked over time to keep him trapped inside. “You’re more than a bargaining chip to use against Harrington.”

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Under her wide eyed, slack-jawed stare, he sucked her toes into his mouth, slurping on them as he pulled his fingers out and rammed them back in. “Argh!” She propped herself up on her elbows, hips lifting to meet his thrusts. Heat blossomed in his groin, swelling his cock even more and making him ache, but he ignored it. He was on a mission to prove something and he wouldn’t stop until he’d done just that. “You’re more than just a tool, Dahlia.” Pressing his thumb on her clit, he felt her pulse beat triple-time. “From the second our eyes met in that bank, you’ve been more than just a job.” Harsh breaths left her body as she rode his fingers, hips snapping, plunging down as he stabbed into her again and again. He dropped her ankle and crawled over her, the need to come drawing his balls up close to his body. He wrapped his hands around his erection and stroked. Movements uncoordinated, he worked them, both their bodies tense and expectant. Dahlia kept her shimmering gaze on him, fingers twisted in the sheets. Cruz straddled her lower body, stroking his cock and curling the fingers inside her. She jerked, walls clamping down around him. He groaned, blood rushing through his ears and mingling with her cries as she came. The sound of her release triggered his and he exploded, tugging roughly on his hard-on as creamy seed poured through his fingers and dripped on her pussy and the inside of her thighs. Cruz rubbed his cum into Dahlia’s skin, hand trembling. Laying prone, legs splayed, she regarded him with wide eyes, pupils dilated. Those eyes were unreadable and he couldn’t look into them anymore so he leaned forward, pressing kisses to her stomach. Tentative fingers shifted through his hair, scraping his scalp. She held him to her, her chest and the fingers in his hair the only part of her body

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moving. He looked up. Her eyes were closed, nostrils wide. “I wish I didn’t care what you think about me,” she whispered. “But I do. I care what you think and how you feel even when I have no right.” Cruz crawled up her body, laying atop her, his semi-hard cock settling nicely between the damp heat of her parted thighs. He slid his hand under her head and lifted her off the pillow before cupping the back of her neck. She opened her eyes then, reaching deep into his soul with the raw emotion swirling behind her dark gaze. “I care about you,” he said thickly. “I care more than I should.” He expected joy from her, not the heavy sigh she expelled. “You shouldn’t, but I’m glad you do.” Cruz narrowed his eyes. “Why shouldn’t I?” Dahlia cupped his cheek with soft hands. “I care for you more than I should, as well. I care.” Her voice wobbled and her eyes shimmered brighter. “But I think we should table that discussion until after we’ve dealt with Austin. You may not feel the same.” What the hell was she talking about? Cruz opened his mouth to voice the question, but she placed a finger over his lips. “Later.” She kissed him, open-mouthed and wet, tongue sliding inside his mouth. He rolled them until she lay on top of him. Never breaking the kiss, he slid his hands down her back, one hand tracing her spine while the other dipped lower, fingers dragging down the cleft of her buttocks. She wiggled on him, nipples pushing into his chest, moaning into the kiss. He pushed a finger into her ass, breaching the tight ring of muscle with help from her slippery juices. He sank all the way inside and she flinched, walls contracting. The heat of her channel scorched his fingers, making his cock throb and leak where it lay trapped between their bodies. Dahlia humped him, drawing her legs higher, knees on either side of his

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body. She dug her fingers into his shoulder, nails biting, stinging. The sharp pain hardened him more. He rolled his hips up into her wet softness. “Umm.” She gentled the kiss, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. He doubled his fingers, scissoring them to stretch her. “Ungg. Yes.” She threw her head back, plunging down on his fingers. The hot tight clasp of her walls made him wince. He grabbed her hair, bunching the thick locks in a fist as he held her steady, fucking her. “Yes, ride my fingers. Love how your hungry ass holds me tight. Fucking hot.” She shivered. Mewls left her throat. “You want more, don’t you?” He leaned forward and slid his tongue down her throat. “You want more than my fingers inside that ass, fucking you hard.” She whimpered. He added another finger, taking his time to work it into her. Her breath hitched, but she took him greedily, body opening wider to accommodate. “Yes, just like that.” His words, meant to encourage, came out as a growl. “Good girl. So tight in here. Go on, take it. Take it.” Dahlia lifted up and off him. Palms flat on his chest, she sank down on his fingers. “Oh, God!” Her cry echoed in the room. “Oh, fuck!” Cruz squeezed his eyes tight. His balls ached and he had to concentrate on taking gulps of air into his burning lungs. Snapping his eyes open, he snarled, “Fuck, get the lube in the drawer.” She leaned over to the night stand, pulling open the drawer and grabbing the tube of slick in there. He watched as she uncapped the bottle and squeezed the stuff into her palm. Reaching behind her, she circled his cock. Cruz groaned, thrusting into her cool, slick palm as she coated him in lube. Shit. He gritted his teeth at the intense need to come.

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She added some lube to her back entrance then positioned him there. Eyes on his, she sank down onto his cock, taking him all the way inside her. A groan tore from her lips, but she didn’t seem to notice. She palmed her breasts, pulling at the nipples as she rode him fast. “Mother of—” Cruz tore at the sheets, hips lifting under Dahlia’s fierce ride. “Yes.” She arched her back, tendons in her neck sticking out. “Fuck me hard.” How was a man supposed to say no to that? He sat upright, hands on her hips, face buried in the moist valley between her breasts, and thrust up. Hard. Her body shook. Breath left his body. He did it again, pounding up into her vibrating ass as she rode him. Moving his hands from her waist, he palmed the smooth globes of that luscious ass, pulling them apart as he fucked her. “Argh! Ah, fuck.” He felt the first of her contractions as they grew tighter and tighter. She clamped down on his cock, yanking the orgasm from him. With a shout he filled her, cum shooting deep inside her channel. Dahlia convulsed, nails cutting into his shoulder as she weathered the storm of her climax. He held her close, taking her mouth, drinking down her cries until they stopped. “Damn,” she murmured against his lips. Cruz chuckled. Tightening his arms around, he spoke. “Let’s deal with Harrington then we can concentrate on us. On our relationship.”

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Chapter Six

Our relationship. Long after they’d shaken off the lethargy of their lovemaking, those two words bounced around in Dahlia’s head. No matter the foolish hope blossoming in her chest, she knew better than to think those words would count after tonight. After Cruz learned the truth of her role in his sister’s death. She’d already resigned herself to the inevitable. If—and that’s a big if—Cruz didn’t kill her on the spot, he’d definitely kick her out of his life. She deserved nothing better after the shit she pulled. God. Dahlia pushed the last pin into her hair and stared at herself in the mirror. They had to be downstairs in an hour. Cruz procured her a dress— if one could call it that. The sheer, coral-colored, backless creation was gorgeous; clinging to her body like it’d been made specifically for her. The halter connected at her nape with a gold clasp, and the plunging neckline exposed the swell of her breasts. Her nipples pebbled with each move she made, or the hint of a breeze from the opened balcony windows. Under the gown, she was naked except for the flesh-colored stilettos. All Cruz’s doing. She allowed herself to be convinced to wear the dress and pile her hair up instead of her usual loose and free look. She allowed it because she wanted to make him happy, wanted to see the special light glow in his eyes when he looked at her. That look told her how he felt, made her feel beautiful and desirable and cherished. A feeling she wanted to keep as long as possible. “Wow.” She spun around, insides melting at the stunned look of heat and approval in Cruz’s eyes. “You like?” “Like? Shit, I want to spread you open and fuck you right there, while

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you wear that.” He reached her side and circled her waist with one hand, the other cupping her ass. Dahlia pushed him away gently. “You don’t look half bad yourself.” He was dressed in a black suit and crisp white shirt unbuttoned at his throat. Simple, yet elegant. Brushed away from his face, his dark hair shone in the low light. She slid a finger along his lapel and leaned forward. Lips grazing his ear, she whispered, “Very hot, Mr. Doriaye.” He turned his head and took her lips, kissing her until she squirmed. She broke the kiss and gazed up at him. “I take it I have Ricki to thank for this ensemble?” She raised an eyebrow and licked her bottom lip. Cruz grunted. “Yeah, I just told her get something hot. She did the rest.” “She knows your tastes.” He shrugged. “I guess she does.” How many women had he instructed Ricki to buy clothes for? The question hovered on the tip of her tongue but she bit it back. Now wasn’t the time and she certainly had no right. “Shall we go?” “Not yet.” He dipped his hand into the front of his pants and brought out a small jewelry box. Her heart skipped a beat. Walking up to her slowly, he spoke. “This is yours, no one else’s. I had Harold bring it up from the jewelry store in the lobby.” She stared at him, he stared back. “I want you to have this even if—” His speech faltered “—even if nothing happens between us.” Too late. Dahlia opened her mouth, then closed it and swallowed. She placed a palm on her stomach and tried steadying her breathing. He opened the box. Diamond studs glinted up at her where they lay nestled in their velvet

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bed. “Dahlia?” She’d never heard the hesitation and insecurity in his voice before. “I— thank you, they’re gorgeous.” She lifted a hand to touch them then dropped it. “Put them on me.” He did so with shaky fingers then stepped away to regard her with a serious gaze. “Fucking breathtaking.” He cupped her cheek. “You’re stunning.” Emotion swamped her, tears clouding her eyes. She closed her eyes briefly, leaning into his touch. “Thank you for this.” Cruz gathered her in his arms, kissing her nose and forehead. “Don’t thank me yet. Wait until all this is over and behind us.” But then that would be too late. She shook her head. “I want you know I don’t regret this. Coming here, being with you. I don’t regret any of it.” He pulled back, gaze searching hers. “You sound like you’re going somewhere. I want you to know, if I have my way you won’t be going anywhere for a long time.” “I want you to have your way.” She flashed a wobbly smile. “Let’s do what we can to make that happen, hmm?” He brushed a thumb over her bottom lip. She nipped at his finger and nodded. He grinned and straightened his tux. “Time to get this show on the road.” Dahlia’s heart plummeted to the red soles of her stilettos as Cruz took her hand, leading her out the bathroom and into the nightmare of her own making. The orange-tinted Harold ushered them into a private room darkened by heavy drapes. A baccarat table sat in the middle. One of the hotel employees stood off to the side, next to a round bar, with his hands behind his back. Breathe. Dahlia repeated the word over and over as fear threatened to

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crush her chest. Cruz pressed a hand to the small of her back, his callused fingers sensual on her exposed skin. What she wouldn’t give to be able to turn and throw herself into his arms, beg for his forgiveness. But it was too late, her time was up and she could only shuffle forward in preparation for the invisible noose settling around her neck. She didn’t see Austin or any of his men but that didn’t mean anything, the hairs standing on end on her arms and nape said he was nearby. “Come.” Cruz guided her to the game table outfitted with two chairs. He took a seat then pulled her onto his lap. Dahlia sank onto him with a stifled sigh. Wrapping his strong arms around her, he pressed a kiss to her head. “Want a drink?” Fuck yes! She nodded demurely. “Gin and tonic.” Cruz waved the waiter over and requested her drink along with a whiskey sour for himself. “Keep them coming,” he ordered. Good man, he’d no doubt sensed her fear and tension. A finger pressed under her chin as Cruz turned her to face him. His serious gaze clung to hers, holding her captive. “He’ll be here any minute.” Her insides froze. Her feelings must have showed on her face because Cruz brushed his lips over hers while he squeezed her. “Don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing your fear,” he murmured. “I’ll be right here, holding you tight.” She shook her head, mouth trembling. Fear was a bitter taste in her mouth, burning her throat. “I don’t think I can do this.” In fact, she knew she couldn’t. “You’ll be fine.” He rubbed her back as he spoke. “Remember our plan and you’ll be fine.” A fucking stupid plan. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but a shadow fell over them and she stiffened. Davidoff’s Cool Water teased her nostrils, not too much, only a hint, but the scent signaled Austin’s arrival. She bit her lip, limbs trembling as she refused to release her hold on

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Cruz. Refused to look up. “Well, Mr—Smith, is it?” Austin sneered the name. “I see you’ve met my wife.” Cruz’s body went taut, but he didn’t speak. The gripping tightness of his hold and the flighty pulse at the base of his neck gave away his surprise and anger. Score one for Austin. One secret down, many more to come. She eased her way out of Cruz’s arms and looked up into Austin’s face. His shaggy blond hair remained the same, curling at his nape. Dark scruffy beard on his strong jaw line made him an unkempt appearance, but he spent well to look at that way. The tailored tux he wore fit him perfectly, hugging his wide shoulders and lean hips. Framed by long dark lashes, his brown eyes, so light they were more golden, flashed fire at her. Heated anger and payback. He was here to make her pay in the worst way. “Hello, Austin.” His lips quirked in a mockery of a smile. “You’ve been a bad girl, Dahlia. Fucking the man I sent to ruin you.” He tssked. She shrugged with faked nonchalance. “I try to never make things easy for you.” “I see that.” Anger flashed in his eyes, bright and hot. “Let’s forego the niceties.” Cruz waved a hand at the table. “Take a seat, Harrington. We have business to discuss.” Austin bowed and sat opposite them. His men weren’t visible, but she had no doubt they were waiting in the wings. He never went anywhere without the two thugs. Dahlia glanced around discreetly. They were probably hiding behind the drapes, waiting to do their master’s biding. “Tell me, Smith.” Austin spoke the name like it tasted foul. “How did you enjoy her? In the sack, I mean.” Dahlia cringed inwardly. Cruz tensed. Austin’s gaze flicked between her and Cruz. “Come now, don’t be shy.”

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Mocking laughter sparkled in his eyes. “We’re all grown men and we’ve both had her.” He leaned over the table, hands clasped. “Tell me, does she lay under you like a cold, dead fish? Or does she put in work?” He lifted an eyebrow and waited. Violence crackled and popped in the air. Dahlia dug trembling fingers into Cruz’s thigh. Austin wanted him riled up and on the defensive. That wouldn’t do. Lifting her chin, she met that cold golden gaze. “You know what I think is hilarious? How men always assume something’s wrong with a woman when the bedroom isn’t hopping. They never think it’s their fault, that they just aren’t hitting it right.” Austin’s face turned bright red. If looks could kill she’d be a smoky pile of ash on the floor. She held his gaze until he broke the contact to speak to Cruz. “What do you want, Smith?” “I have something for you.” Cruz pulled his phone from his jacket and placed it on the table. “There’s a video on here I think you’d like to disappear.” “Don’t know what you mean.” Austin shrugged but Dahlia caught the wariness in his eyes. Cruz pressed a button and the video of Ciske’s death played, the audio loud in the stillness. She didn’t look, choosing to stare off into the distance. Her heartbeat refused to slow down, thumping against her chest as her stomach sank lower and lower. Cold seeped into her skin despite Cruz’s body heat. Austin blanked his features, giving no hint of his thoughts as he stared up at Cruz. “What do you want?” “Revenge.” Surprise painted Austin’s face and he didn’t bother to hide it. “Revenge?” Confusion dripped off the word. “Did you know her name, the woman you killed?” Cruz leaned

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forward. “Her name is-was Ciske Doriaye, my sister.” Austin’s brow furrowed, Dahlia’s breathe froze. Cruz shifted and she saw his hand on his waistband, on the butt of his gun. “You’re a Doriaye? She was your sister?” Austin looked from Dahlia to Cruz and back, understanding and the promise of pain in his gaze. “Yes.” Cruz nodded. Austin laughed. She steeled herself. “Oh, this is too rich.” Tapping a finger to his chin, Austin asked her, “Do you want to tell him or should I?” **** Cruz swallowed the taste of bitter ash in his mouth and glanced from the smug hatred on Austin Harrington’s face, to Dahlia’s deathly pale features. Those two were communicating in a language of eye shifts and blinks. Wife. Dahlia was married to Harrington and from the heavy silence hanging like a dark cloak over them, there were more secrets where that declaration came from. How did they keep their marriage a secret? He curled his hands into fists, vacillating between punching Harrington in the throat and pushing Dahlia away. Instead of acting on the impulse heating his blood, he curled his lip and eyed the man across from him like a bug under his shoe. “You got something you want to say to me?” Shrugging, Harrington clasped his hands together. He affected a thoughtful expression as he watched Dahlia. “I don’t know. Maybe the ole’ ball and chain would like the pleasure of doing that. I mean, it is her story. I just play a bit part.” Cruz felt Dahlia inhale. A feral smile touched her husband’s mouth. “Would you tell him, dear? Please. You’d do the tale better justice, I think.”

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Under the table, Cruz gripped the butt of his gun tighter. Nothing would please him more than putting a couple dozen bullet holes in the lowlife scum, but he had a plan. As much as it pissed him the fuck off, he had to stick to the plan. Others counted on him. He couldn’t look at Dahlia. All the time they’d spent together and not once did she tell him she was married to his enemy. He’d fucked a married woman. His chest tightened. “Let me help you two make up your minds,” he said slowly. “Five seconds to tell me what the fuck else you’re hiding, otherwise bullets will be flying and I won’t be responsible for where they land.” He placed his hand on the table, SIG in tow, nozzle pointed at Harr ington. The man didn’t flinch, only raised an eyebrow at Dahlia. Gritting his teeth, Cruz cocked the gun. “Now!” Dahlia jerked. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The words tumbled from her lips as she settled a death grip on his thigh. “Cruz.” His jaw ticked, but he kept his gaze on Harrington. Even he wanted to, Cruz couldn’t look at her without seeing the lies and secrets. “What my wife is trying desperately to tell you, Cruz, is that she was the one who got your sister…killed.” Cruz managed to not leap from his chair. He ignored the tremors, the icy feeling of betrayal crawling through his veins, and lifted the gun. Aiming the weapon between Harrington’s eyes, dead center, he barked, “Explain.” “Cruz.” The wobbly plea in Dahlia’s voice threatened to unman him, drive him to his knees when he was still seated. Cruz stiffened his spine, squared his shoulders, and dug deep inside himself to find the cold steel as he lashed out. “Shut your fucking mouth. Don’t talk to me unless I tell you.” Perched precariously on his lap, her body shook. He ignored her as he waved the gun at a grinning Austin. “Speak.” “There’s not much to say,” Harrington said. “I gave my wife the task of finding me someone else to fuck since she refused to share my bed. She

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brought me Ciske.” Cruz couldn't speak, but Dahlia didn't seem to have a problem speaking. " I'm sorry." She got off his lap and stood next to his chair, staring down at him. Cruz schooled his features despite the voice shouting at him to lash out at her. At Harrington. The man could be making it all up but Dahlia's expression spoke louder than either of them could. She'd gotten his sister killed. And I slept with her. Cared for her. "C ruz, please. Say something." "No, you say something," he spat. "Explain what your husband meant by you brought him my sister. Ciske didn't like men." Which meant something else entirely. Violence clouded his head and vision. He tightened his finger on the trigger of the gun pointed at Harrington. "Explain why my sister who--who was a lesbian, agreed to even go near Harrington." Keeping his gaze on the man opposite him, he spoke to Dahlia. Harrington smirked and opened his mouth. "Shut up." Cruz kept his voice low. "You speak and I shoot," he told Harrington. "The only person I want to hear right now is Dahlia explaining herself." Harrington made a zipping motion across is mouth. Cruz flicked his gaze over to the digital clock above the bar. He had less than ten minutes before the next phase of his plan was put in motion. Beside him, Dahlia cleared her throat. "Go stand next to your husband." Cruz motioned with his gun. "Any sudden moves and trust me when I tell you my bullet has no preference." She did as instructed, the clacking of her expensive heels the only sound in the dim room. When she came to a stop next to Harrington, Cruz raised an eyebrow, her cue to begin talking. She took the hint. " I woke up one morning after a trip to Las Vegas married to him." She cast a hateful glance at Harrington. "I couldn't prove it but I knew he'd

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slipped something in my drink. When I asked for a divorce he said he'd tell the bank I was stealing from them." Her wide eyes beseeched Cruz. "I hadn't done anything wrong, but it would be the word of Austin Harrington against mine. I couldn't take those odds." She paused. Cruz stayed quiet. If she wanted sympathy she was barking up the wrong tree, he was shit out of any kind of softness or compassion toward her. "He finally agreed to let me go, after using me for a punching bag, if I found someone else to take my place in his bed." Her voice wobbled then. "I saw that as my way out, to get as far away from him as I could and I took it. By then we were back in New York so I went to a club in the city. The plan was to maybe pay someone to go along with it, but the minute I sat down at the bar, Ciske--your sister--came on to me." Cruz swallowed a lump of emotion. When he'd started on his quest for revenge, not once did he consider the possibility of having a wrench this big thrown into the mix. He'd been focused on simply making Harrington pay and never thought other people beyond Harrington and his goons might be involved. Dahlia's participation in his sister's death had him off kilter, to say the least. "She--Ciske made her intentions clear from the start. I wasn't interested but I saw the opportunity to deal with Austin and I took it." "What did you do? " The words rumbled in his throat and she hesitated. "What did you do? " She flinched at his shout. "What the fuck did you do to my sister?" " I tricked her. " A lone tear crawled slowly down her cheek. "I agreed to a date and had her meet me at Austin's place. I told her my husband wanted to see me with another woman." "That wasn't a lie," Austin piped up. "I would've paid good money to see her get eaten out by another woman." "Shut it!" Austin compressed his lips. Dahlia swiped at her eyes. Seeing her in

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obvious pain and anguish tugged at him, pulling at the place inside him that had softened just enough to allow her to matter. But he couldn't dwell on it. Couldn't make himself forget her transgressions against him and Ciske. "She became extremely hurt when I confessed the truth of why she was naked Austin's bed while I got ready to board a plane back to Miami." Cruz made a sound in his throat and her gaze, focused on the table between them, jumped to his face. "You set her up and left her alone with a fucking mad man? " " I-I'm sorry. I just wanted--" "You wanted to save yourself. You wanted to get away from the bastard so you handed over my sister to save your own ass." "Yes." Anger rushed through him, white hot, burning under his skin. His body shook with the force of it. "Why shouldn't I kill you, huh? " He cocked his head to the side, regarding her with all the contempt he could fit into his gaze. "Did you think spreading your legs for me would save you from my wrath? My bullet? " She started shaking her head before he finished speaking. "No. No." She choked out the word. "I wanted you, that was all it was." "You're fucking sick!" He spat the words and she flinched under his verbal assault. "You're a heartless bitch. At least with Harrington what you see is what you get. Slime. You're a different breed, hiding behind your perfect facade." Dahlia whimpered then bit her lip. The tears had stopped and she stood, spine straight, taking his abuse like a trooper. She hadn't crumbled, hadn't let go of her sleek, untouched appearance and he ached to tear it away. Expose her. Gut her the way she'd gutted him. Pushing back his chair, Cruz jumped to his feet. Dahlia shifted back. Harrington held up both hands in surrender, eyes wary. Cruz yanked his

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SIG from the small of his back and pointed it at Dahlia. "You have one minute to tell me the real reason Ciske was killed. One minute before I make you and your husband pay. The two of you deserve each other and I'm here to make sure you go to hell together." Tears rushed down Dahlia’s cheeks faster. Harrington’s eyes darted between Cruz’s gun and his face. “Tell him, you bastard.” Dahlia didn’t look at Harrington, but her words were obviously meant for him. “Tell him what you did or I will. I’m sick off keeping your secrets.” Cruz took note of the instant Harrington accepted his fate. Those eyes of his, once flashing with greed and hate, grew dull. The fight was up. “She overheard me bribing a judge.” Cruz frowned. “What do you mean she overheard you bribing a judge? Don’t you have people who take care of those things for you?” Harrington shrugged. “Some things you have to do yourself. A few of my employees at a factory I own in New Jersey filed a class-action lawsuit.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Something about being paid below minimum wage, discrimination, and overworking. I wanted the shit to go away so I called up the judge and offered him some money.” He held Cruz’s gaze. “Turns out everyone indeed has a price.” “And my sister witnessed this?” “She was quite offended. Like I’d personally harmed her or her family.” Harrington sounded perplexed. “She was all set to go to the cops and the media.” He blinked sharply. “Now I get what she was saying about people listening to her. That they’d take her serious.” Cruz took a breath. His sister‘s caring and kind nature, the one he’d envied so much, had gotten her killed. Not once in his retelling did the bastard Harrington come across as sorry, or contrite. He spoke as if talking about something as mundane as shopping or taking a walk in the park. He had to die. “I couldn’t have her blabbing to anyone who’d listen. Even if at the

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time I thought she was no one important, the hint of impropriety would’ve messed things up for me. I mean, hundreds of millions were on the line.” Cruz walked over to him slowly. “So it was cheaper to kill her than lose a lawsuit, is that it?” Removing the silencer from his jacket pocket, he screwed it on as Harrington watched dispassionately and Dahlia sniffled. “Murder is cheaper?” “You can’t kill me,” Har rington bluffed. “People will question it, they’d miss me.” Cruz smiled, baring his teeth. “No one will be killing you. You’ll do it yourself. I’m thinking you’ll prefer that to the torture I have planned for you.” Cruz repositioned the gun he’d had trained on Dahlia, now pointing it at Harrington. He handed him the weapon with the silencer in place. “Take it.” Harrington stared at the gun, terror evident in his face. “Let me guess. You can dish it out fine, but don’t have the stones to take it.” Cruz smirked. “Just let me know if you want me to do it, I’ll be happy to oblige.” Harrington reached out a trembling hand, grasping the butt of the gun. “You won’t have the help of your thugs. Put it to your temple and squeeze. You should be able to pull off that task yourself.” Cruz tried keeping his face expressionless, but inside he was salivating for blood. The blood of the two people in the room with him. Maybe his actions here tonight would be considered unnecessary to someone on the outside looking in, but to him it was fitting. Justified. Dahlia clasped her hands and brought them to her mouth, stifling her cries as Harrington raised his hand slowly, pressing the muzzle of the gun to his temple. “Oh, God. Please.” Dahlia’s pleading voice trembled. Cruz ignored her, focused on the man seated in front of him. Harrington looked up, opened his mouth, and Cruz cut off whatever he was

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going to say. “Save the last words for your final destination, this isn’t the place or the audience.” Harrington’s lashes fluttered closed. A muted pfft sounded and he jerked, falling sideways. Blood trickled from the single bullet hole at his right temple. A strangled cry broke from Dahlia’s throat and she collapsed, dropping to the floor in a heap. Cruz pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Ricki. When she answered on the first ring, he spoke calmly. “Send in the cleaners.”

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Chapter Seven

Dahlia couldn’t feel her limbs. She sat in the backseat of a vehicle as it moved with no idea how she got there or where she was headed. The instant two men entered the private room after Austin pulled that trigger, Cruz thrust her towards them with muttered instructions to take care of her, and disappeared. She should be glad he hadn’t killed her, right? Except she couldn’t thaw out the film of ice sliding through her veins long enough to really care about that. Austin was dead. By his hand but that was mere semantics. The look in Cruz’s eyes as he eyed both her and Austin. Cold. Dead. He’d wanted blood and as she stood there she just knew without a shadow of a doubt hers would be spilled. Her mistakes and actions took away his sister and she should have confessed but instead she’s taken the coward’s way out. She clenched her stiff fingers in her lap. The deafening silence inside the vehicle hurt her head and her throat felt raw. That’s right, she’d been screaming, screaming as Austin’s body slumped over in that chair, screaming as Cruz turned those dead eyes on her and lifted his gun hand as though to shoot her. She’d screamed and begged, offering the apology so late in coming. Her heart ached. She loved him and he hated her. Not that she blamed him. The vehicle lurched to a stop and she sat up. The man seated next to her hopped out and held the door open. She couldn’t make out anything other than tanned skin under the black cap pulled low, but she absently wondered if he was one of the men who’d stolen her from her bathroom a lifetime ago. “Please come with me, Ms. Pierce.”

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Yep, she recognized his voice now. He was one of her abductors. She sighed and offered her hand to him. He grasped her tightly with a slightly callused palm, helping her out. Her feet hit the ground and she lifted her head. A wide open space, no one about, deserted except for the small plane waiting. Her ride, no doubt. The man spoke. “You’ll be taken back to Miami where a driver will pick you up at the airstrip and take you home.” What? No bullet to the head? No Cruz standing at the ready to tar and feather her, lay into her for all her dark deeds? She frowned. Didn’t he think she’d go to the cops and give him up? But no, she wouldn’t. She was complicit in all the events that happened since Ciske approached her in the bar. “Where’s…” She licked her cracked lips. “Where is he?” She sounded so pathetic, so needy. “Come.” The man grabbed her elbow and led her to the plane, boarding with her. He helped her to a seat at a window, buckling her belt when her trembling fingers made the task impossible. Dahlia stared out the window into the darkness, searching the shadows for a glimpse of a tall body and wide shoulders. “The pilot is ready to take off, Ms. Pierce. Have a safe trip.” She jerked her head up. His eyes were gray, sharp, and full of pity. For her. So he knew of her sins and how close she came to losing her life by the man she loved. She turned away and the man walked off, bending and disappearing. Was she alone on the flight? She looked around. A large unopened duffel bag sat on a seat next to her, a small laptop peeking out from it. Engines whirred, her seat and body vibrating as the plane began moving. A sob caught in her throat as she watched the night pass her by. She was on a way back to a life she no longer wanted, without the man she loved. Her heart remained with Cruz, wherever he was. The pilot finally had them in the air, flying smoothly. She stared down

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as the island drew farther and farther away, hot tears running down her face. Voices jerked her head around, footsteps drew closer and she tensed. His scent hit her first. Her heartbeat tripled. Then he came into view. “Cruz.” Those green eyes flicked over her. Hard. Cold. Dahlia shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “What-what are you doing here?” She grimaced at the heavy tremble in her voice. Had he come back for her? Open disdain brought his dead eyes alive. His lips curled into a smirk. “Surely you didn’t think it would be this easy?” He dropped into the seat opposite her and pulled the duffel bag onto his lap. She ignored the stabbing pain in her chest and bit her bottom lip. “Why are here?” Turning on the laptop, he didn’t bother looking at her. “I’m nowhere done with you, Ms. Pierce.” His fingers flew over the keyboards. ‘Tell me about your mother.” His gaze met hers then, revenge a bright gleam in the green depths. “Is she still a teacher over there in Jacksonville?” Those words. Soft and steady, almost innocent. But she knew him now, knew his tones and that mention of her mother was a threat. A promise to cut her down the way she did him. Destroy her family like she did his. She brought a hand to her throat, barely taking note of the pulse there fluttering a mile a minute. “Yes, my mother is still there. But you already know that.” He grinned, a slow moving of the muscle around his lips that never made it to his eyes. “I know a great many things.” Anger pushed its way through her. “Do what you want with me.” She jumped to her feet, arms spread wide. “You have me here, do what you want, but please.” Her voice wobbled. “Please, my family…they know nothing about this. It’s not fair to bring them in, to make them pay for my

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mistakes.” An eyebrow shot up. “Fair? Really? You had no qualms in making my sister pay for your mistakes.” Those words took the fight out of her. She dropped back into her seat, defeated. He was right, of course. She hadn’t given a thought to anyone but herself. Never once did she consider the repercussions of her actions. “I’m so sorry.” She leaned toward him and choked out the words. “I’m so sorry. I-I deserve whatever you have planned but please…” She laid a trembling hand on his arm. “Don’t hurt my family.” He didn’t say anything, just shifted away from her touch. “Cruz, please. Say you’ll leave my family alone.” Begging was now second nature to her, shame long gone. She’d get on her knees, beg until her throat turned raw if she thought she’d be able to reach past that wall of ice Cruz had erected to keep her out. He finally closed down the laptop and met her gaze. Not really any progress, the hatred and disgust still burned bright. “You know, I have to say I really regret not fucking you over the way Austin hired me to. You’d be in jail right now.” That verbal blow nearly put her under, but she managed to lift her chin and launch her own volley. “Yes, but then you wouldn’t have the satisfaction of watching me suffer up close and personal. That is what you want, isn’t it?” “You know me well.” “I love you.” Oh, God. Horror froze her insides. Had she spoken out loud? Was she so stupid to confess… Cruz’s face shuttered. She felt his retreat even though he remained seated. “Is that so? You love me?” The words left him slowly, carefully, like it pained him. “I-I…” She tried a hasty backtrack, but he pounced upright, grabbing her by the throat. A scream gurgled and died under his hold.

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“You love me, Dahlia?” His eyes burned into hers as he squeezed. “Say it again.” She held her body still, hands limp at her side, but tears ran down her cheeks. “Please,” she whimpered. “Cruz, I love you. Please.” He laughed, the harsh, scary sound grating on her spine. Fear clutched her insides, unlike any she felt up to that point. She snapped her eyes shut, unable to control the trembling of her limbs. “When did you decide you loved me, Dahlia? Before or after you lied to me about my sister’s death or your marriage to Harrington?” She pursed her lips. “Open those fucking eyes and look at me.” He squeezed her harder and she gasped, eyelids flying open. The bloodlust on his face, in his eyes, took her breath away. “You’re a liar, Dahlia. I believe nothing you say. Nothing.” “Please.” She grabbed the arm at her throat. “It’s true. I love you, Cruz.” He had to know how she felt, had to see it in her eyes. Why couldn’t he see it? “Your kind of love I don’t need.” His hot breath, flavored with whiskey, batted at her face and neck. “You spread your legs so easily for me while keeping your secrets. Holding back things you knew I needed to know. Did you think all it would take was a quick slide up inside that tight pussy to make me forgive you?” More tears fell. Is that was she did? Slept with him in hopes he’d come to care and eventually forgive when he learned of her transgressions? She couldn’t have. Dahlia shook her head. “No. I wanted you.” He abruptly dropped his hand and moved back. “Lucky me then.” Rough coughs tore from her throat. Dahlia doubled over, hands wrapped around her middle as tears burned her eyes and clouded her vision. Now she knew for certain he didn’t love her. He didn’t feel the same and he’d make her life miserable. If he didn’t

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just kill her outright. “Tell me.” She shifted her gaze to where he’d sprawled back in his seat, ankles crossed, a finger tapping at his chin as he eyed her. “Did Harrington ever find out you were pregnant with his child?”

Dahlia must’ve blacked out from the shock. Everything around her turned black. It hurt to breathe, to think. She hadn’t thought about that part of her life, her loss, for so long. She’d pushed the entire heart wrenching event way to the back of her mind and slammed the door shut, but the man intent on destroying her had just yanked it open. Sounds echoed in her ears. Whimpers. Raw. Anguished. Hers. “Open your eyes, Dahlia.” His words flowed smooth and deceptively warm. Dahlia squeezed her eyes tighter and covered her mouth with a trembling hand, a futile effort to stifle her wounded cries. “Did you tell Harrington you killed his child? Is that why he hated you so much?” His impatient fingers peeled away the hand she held over her mouth. “Come now, no time for hysterics.” He sounded like he was placating a pouting toddler. “It’s time to step into those big girl panties, Dahlia. Come clean about the child you didn’t want.” She snapped her eyes open. “Motherfucker!” She swung at him, but his razor-sharp reflexes prevented her feeble blows from landing on his face and shoulders. “Don’t fucking tell me what I did and didn’t want,” she screamed. “That was my child. Mine!” “Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow calmly, holding her wrists with one hand as she struggled for breath, her chest heaving. “I don’t see that child around here, so what did you do?” “My child died.” Tears poured and she couldn’t stop them or the words

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from falling. “My child died before he had a chance to live, because the bastard who took advantage of me when I was drunk in Vegas used me as his personal punching bag.” The burning in her chest got bigger and wider, spreading through her body. She’d never taken the time to mourn her child properly. Thinking about what she’d lost, what Austin did to her would’ve sent her over the edge so she’d locked the painful stuff away. “No, he didn’t know I was pregnant.” Cruz released her abruptly. She sat back and stared out the window of the plane. “I doubt he would’ve cared. I never planned on telling him. He wasn’t father material and I don’t even know why I thought he was boyfriend or dating material, but my choices have always been shitty.” She twisted her lips. “I went to ask for a divorce. That night.” She spoke in monotone, memories in her head playing out before her eyes. Trying to keep as detached as possible, she continued, “The plan was to go somewhere far way. Hide out and live with my child, because I was keeping my child.” Her voice broke. “I loved that tiny spark inside me the instant, the second, I realized he was there.” “So what happened?” She shrugged. “I got there as he and his men were dragging your sister to the roof. I followed and taped it with my phone. It was my blackmail, you see. There was no way he could touch me now that I had him on tape committing murder.” She turned slowly, swallowing before she found the courage to look at Cruz where he sat opposite her. To meet his eyes. “My faith was misplaced.” Then and now. “All he did was beat me up and steal the recording.” Reluctant understanding dawned in his eyes. “That’s when you lost the baby.” “I realize you wanted to pin yet another death to my long list of sins, but I’m afraid this time I’ll have to disappoint.”

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He didn’t flinch, not that she expected him to. She had no more expectations, only an aching hollow in her chest. “Why did he then turn around and store the recording in your bank vault?” “You think I know how the bastard’s mind worked?” She flung the words at him. “I don’t know and don’t care to. He’s dead and I’m free of him.” “But I’m here.” His lips curved in a sardonic grin. “You’ll never be free of me.” She sighed, weary down to her bones. “Do your worst, I’m not going to fight or beg or plead any more. I’ve asked for your forgiveness, your understanding, but I see you’re all about the revenge.” Dropping her head on the back of her seat, she tipped her face up. “You want your pound of flesh? Take it.” He made a sound, a snort or a laugh. “I don’t need your permission, but thanks.” Dahlia met his eyes. “We both lost that day, Cruz.” Why couldn’t he see that? “Austin took away your sister and I own my part in that.” His jaw tightened but she ignored it. “But he took away my child too. We both had our hearts ripped out. I want to try to fix it, but you won’t let me.” Disbelief flared in his eyes and darkened his cheeks. “You want me to trust you, is that it?” He leaned forward, face set in harsh lines. “You want me to forget all the lies and your betrayals and trust you?” He didn’t scoff but he may as well have. “No. I don’t want you to forget.” She took a chance, an opening, and cupped his jaw. He tensed but she reveled in the warmth of his skin and the sting of the short hairs on his jaw line. “I want you to give yourself permission to do what you want.” “Which is what?” He tried for aloof but she caught the spark in those deep forest greens. “To love me.”

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**** Cruz didn’t look at Dahlia the rest of their quick flight back to Miami. He kept his head down chatting with Ricki via the laptop, but he couldn’t get Dahlia’s words out of his head. Give myself permission to love her. He scoffed silently as he unbuckled his seatbelt. The wheels of the plane screeched as they taxied down the deserted airstrip partially hidden by tall brush. Loving Dahlia meant heaping another pile of betrayal on top of the many he’d racked up by not being there for Ciske. I won’t do it. And how could he possibly love her? All they’d done was have sex while she walked around with her secrets. I won’t do it. The plane stopped moving and she shot to her feet. She still wore the dress and heels he had Ricki get her, but even with her hair a mess and makeup smudged, she was a beauty. Eyes wide and vulnerable, lips plump and parted. He fisted his hands and stood as well. His memory threatened to take him back to the first time he’d seen that look on her face, in the bank. A lifetime and a half ago. Now as then, she called to him...her body and her eyes, and he wanted like he wanted then too, to touch her. Wipe the pain away. But I won’t. He zipped up his laptop case, stretched and followed Dahlia as she hotfooted it to the exit. Bet she thought he’d leave her alone now. A tight smile curved his mouth. This new plan of his put them in constant contact, stuck to each other like fucking glue, and he shouldn’t be anticipating it the way he did. His mouth shouldn’t be watering, but he looked forward to her anger. She deplaned ahead of him, heels clicking on the ground outside. He ducked his head and followed suit. The sky was still dark, they’d beat the sun’s rising, but the August air was muggy. He knew the instant she saw the

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black SUV waiting, she froze in her tracks with a muted gasp. Coming up behind her, he whispered in her ear. “I told you, you’re not getting rid of me.” A shiver ran from her to him then she swung around to face him. There. The blaze of fire in her eyes. He stifled the smile of satisfaction threatening to curve at the sight. He much preferred the fire and anger to the quiet martyrdom and pained vulnerability she carried around like a cloak. “What the fuck is this?” “What do you think it is?” He winked. “It’s our ride.” “But…” her mouth opened and closed. “Where are you going?” He brushed a thumb over her bottom lip. Her pupils dilated, his cock jerked. “I’m coming home with you, babe. We’ll be living together for the foreseeable future.” She slapped him. Hard. His face stung. “What—what the hell was that for?” He blinked at her stupidly. “You son of a bitch!” Nostrils flared, she snapped her eyes closed as her chest heaved. When she opened them again, hate filled her gaze. “I wish I had a gun, I’d shoot you between your fucking eyes.” He chuckled. “Want me to get you one?” Her eyes narrowed and she stomped away to the SUV. He hurried after her, grasping hold of the front passenger side door and yanking it open. “Hop in,” he instructed. After a moment’s hesitation, she did. The material of her dress slid up her leg, exposing a creamy thigh to his hungry gaze. God. Maybe this close proximity thing wasn’t such a good idea. How was he supposed to keep his hands off her? His head might want to stay away but his body didn’t, even now his cock throbbed and pressed up against his zipper. His heart…he didn’t know what his heart wanted. He slammed Dahlia’s door closed and jogged over to the driver’s side

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of the vehicle. As he slid behind the wheel, Dahlia buckled her seatbelt and turned to him. “What is this? No drivers, no witnesses?” He barked a laugh. “Something like that.” He held her gaze until awareness sizzled between them. Despite it all, he still wanted her. Still needed her. Something told him he always would. Dahlia broke their eye contact, looking away as she gathered the hem of her dress in her fists and dragged it up her legs, finally folding it her lap. He stared at her uncovered legs, remembering. She shifted under his scrutiny and he caught the first whiff of her musk. Ripe and aroused. Shit, he’d forgotten she wore no underwear beneath that fucking dress. His fingers curled into his palm. “Why do you have to stay with me?” Her soft question rang loud in the quiet of the SUV. He looked up, into her eyes. He hadn’t even started the engine but he felt like he was moving, falling. “Because I want to.” He answered her question bluntly. Her lips parted and the pulse at the base of her neck sped up. Her musk grew stronger, deeper, filling the space between them. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, pulling her into his lungs. He imagined just how wet and slippery her pussy would be if he touched her right then, if he slid a finger into her. His body quivered at the thought. “Fuck!” She jumped at his harsh expletive. “Cruz—” “Spread your legs.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed a button under the seat, moving it back. Dahlia gaped at him. “Wha-what?” “You fucking heard me.” He grabbed the material of her dress

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gathered in her lap and pulled, tearing it. She gasped. “Spread those fucking legs, Dahlia.” He needed so badly he couldn’t finesse the demand, didn’t want to. Dahlia licked her lips and obeyed. Her right leg ended up on the dash, the left she positioned on the back of his seat. He tore her dress all the way up to her waist, exposing the pink pussy wet and glistening, outer lips swollen and ready. For him. He grunted and pulled down his zipper, grasping his erection with his left hand. “So fucking pretty.” He traced her outer lips with his free hand and she arched, her whimpers filling the tight space. “You want this, don’t you?” He flicked her clit, swollen and erect, and she cried out. “You need to be touched.” He tugged on his cock, jerking himself off as her legs trembled and her fists clenched. “Yes, please.” Her head thrashed back and forth. “Touch me.” “Yes.” He whispered the word. “Touch.” Leaning over her splayed body, he dropped an openmouthed kiss on her pussy. Her hips lifted and he plunged two fingers inside her tight cunt. She screamed. He hissed. He twisted his wrist, scraped against her walls and her channel clenched around him. Soft and hot and wet. A welcome embrace. As familiar as the salty musk filling his nose. Cruz blinked down at her writhing torso. Her moist, parted lips. The sexiest sight. He pulled his fingers all the way out then slammed three back in. Her body jerked, head banging on the window as her legs trembled. Her pussy gripped his digits. Breathless cries fell from her lips, ringing in his ears. Fuck. He swallowed and fought for control. They were exposed, for shit’s sake. Alone inside a vehicle on an abandoned airstrip, his fingers

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digging her out. Control. He needed some. Dahlia gripped the door handle, lifted her lower half off the seat, and began riding his fingers. Spine tingling contractions vibrated on his fingers, pulling at the last shred of sanity he had left. Cruz groaned and yanked his hand away from her. “No.” Her aroused denial was breathy as she stared at him with heavy eyes. “Cruz.” He breathed through his mouth, gulping in air as he retreated from her physically. Mentally. Tearing his gaze away, he stared down at his fingers glistening with her juices and steeled himself against the urge to ram them in his mouth and suck. Fucking hell. “Cruz, please. Don’t—don’t turn away.” He rolled down his window to buy time, inhaling the humid early morning air. It didn’t cool his body down, but at least it cleared his mind of the fogged lust. Remember who she is. Remember the lies. Remember the plan. He’d use her and discard her, walk away after he got what he came for. Trouble was, he was pretty sure he came for her. To be near her. Everything else was an excuse. Flimsy at best. He wiped his damp fingers on his pant leg and started the SUV. From the corner of his eye he watched as she righted herself, covering the parts of her body he’d exposed as best she could with the remaining tatters of the dress he’d decimated. A silver tear rolled own her cheek. Cruz gritted his teeth, fingers clenching around the steering wheel as he drove off. He ached to reach out and wipe those tears away. To gather her

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in his arms and kiss their problems away, but he couldn’t and he shouldn’t want to. She stared out the window on her side as he drove through the nearempty Miami streets. When he pulled up in front of her house, she spoke. “What do you want?” He smiled. This, he could do. Live up to her worst fears, crush her soul. He could do it, because it was expected. Funny how he got no pleasure in playing monster to the one woman he was hard pressed to resist. “You’re a widow now.” He turned off the vehicle and faced her. “More importantly, you’re Austin Harrington’s widow.” Her brow wrinkled. “This matters why?” “Ahh, Dahlia. It matters because as his wife you now hold fifty-two percent of his assets. You’re majority holder in all his businesses.” Her eyes grew wider with each word he spoke. Understanding dawned with sickening devastation on her face. “You-you want Austin’s businesses?” “Good God, no.” He snorted. “What kind of man do you take me for?” He waved a hand when she opened her mouth. “Rhetorical, babe. No, you’ll assume your place as the new head of Harrington Industries and all its holdings, foreign and domestic.” Tears sparkled and fell like liquid diamonds from her eyes. He hardened his spine and cursed his heart for wanting to apologize even as he said, “You’ll be the face of the company. I’ll be the force behind you.” The hand she’d raised to wipe away the tears fell limp in her lap. “You what?” “I’ll tell you what to do with the company and you’ll do it no questions asked.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “If you don’t, well…” He let her imagine the possibilities. Stark horror colored her face a pretty pink blush. “Blackmail?” Cruz shrugged. “You say potato.”

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Chapter Eight

He helped her out the vehicle and up the stairs into her house despite her colorful protests. She fell silent as they stood in her lit entryway and Cruz glanced at her. His stomach dropped. She was radiant, yes. Her lips red and swollen, her body lithe and tight, but her eyes were despondent. Cold. Dead. She’d given up. He knew it, felt it as if she’d spoken the words out loud. His feet moved toward her before he caught himself and froze. He got what he wanted, so why did he feel like shit? “Come on.” He grasped her elbow, directing her to the bedroom he’d visited once. The place smelled musky, locked up tight for the days she’d been away. In the bedroom he flicked on the light and stood beside her, staring at the unmade bed. What a difference a few days made. The last time he’d been here, he had no idea of the secrets and lies Dahlia Pierce was capable of, no idea the woman he lusted after was involved intimately with his sister’s murder. And now he was intimately involved with her. Dahlia jerked away from his grasp and stalked over to a closet. “What are you doing? You should get some rest.” She flung the closet doors open and dug inside, speaking to him over her shoulder. “I need to change the sheets on my bed.” “Here, let me do it.” He walked up behind her and she shifted away. “I’ll make the bed, you go take a shower. It’ll make you feel better.” The irony of his words weren’t lost on them both and she scoffed before hurrying to the bathroom. Cruz stared after her. Already he regretted his plans, already he wanted to drop to his knees and beg Dahlia’s forgiveness. Already he wished their circumstances were different, that he was different. Shaking his head, he quickly stripped the bed and remade it with a set

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of gray sheets and pillow cases. He also replaced her brown and gold blanket with a red one and folded it neatly at the foot of the bed, the way Ciske had taught him. When he finished he made his way to the kitchen, searching the fridge and cupboards for any food still edible. As he heated up a can of tomato soup and waited for bread to finish toasting, he questioned his motives the way he knew Dahlia would. Direct from settling a virtual noose around her neck he was here, acting like he cared, going out of his way to take care of her. Cruz mentally shrugged. Maybe he just wanted to protect his investment. No one could fault him for that, right? Shit. He ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t believe that and no one else would either. He poured the hot soup into a bowl and fished the toast out of the toaster and onto a plate. Spying a serving tray next to the dish rack, he loaded the dishes on that, along with a glass of orange juice and a spoon then hurried back to the bedroom. Dahlia stood naked in the middle of the room, a towel wrapped around her head, a lost look on her face. She barely noticed his arrival. “Hey, I brought you something to eat.” She blinked at him, owlish and sad. “Fattening up the pig, huh?” He kept his gaze on her face as he placed the tray down on the bed. “Get dressed and eat then you need to rest.” She removed the towel on her head with a heavy sigh, shook her wet hair free, and climbed up on the bed. Cruz rushed to grab the tray of food before they spilled. Once she settled beneath the blankets, he sat beside her and dipped the spoon into the soup. “Open.” She did as told without a word and he fed her until she ate everything. Looking down at her Cruz felt strangely calm and domestic, taking care of her felt good. Right. He gathered the dishes and stood. “Get some rest, Dahlia.”

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She turned away from him, pulling the covers up and over her shoulders. Holding the tray with one hand, Cruz brushed a lock of wet hair away from her cheek. She stiffened. He stared down at her for a minute in absolute silence then exited the room. In the kitchen he deposited the dishes in the sink and pulled out his cell phone. Ricki answered on the first ring. “Thought I’d hear from you sooner.” “I can’t do it.” The words burst from him like air from a balloon. Ricki didn’t speak. “Did you hear me?” He frowned at the phone in his hand. “Ricki?” “I heard you.” “What do you think?” She sighed. “This is all you, Cruz. All of it is your doing and only you have the power to stop it. If you recall I called you a fucking ass when you came up with this damn plan of yours.” He smiled. “You did, yes.” “Because I know you and I knew you’d regret it.” “God, Ricki.” He slumped against the counter. “I feel like I literally kicked her in the gut, so fucking low.” “And if this was any other job it wouldn’t be a problem, would it?” “No.” He shook his head. “Hmm.” He pictured Ricki grinning into the phone. “And why is that? Why is it a problem?” That damn Ricki, cajoling as hell. His grip on the phone tightened. “Because I love her.” “Atta boy,” Ricki cooed in his ear. “Was that so hard?” Cruz snorted. “Like shitting bricks, actually.” “And you get to do it twice, cause unless Miz Pierce is standing next to you, you’ll have to tell her how you feel.” Why in the hell was Ricki so gleeful about this? “Do I have to tell her? I’m much better suited to the role of bastard.”

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Ricki sighed. “What you’re saying is you want to pussy out and not tell her at all.” Now he felt like a bastard. “Damn it, in the grand scheme of things does she really need to know?” What good would that do? She hated him, probably wished his ass dead. Why does she need to know how he felt? “Okay, you are hopeless,” Ricki shouted. “And freaking clueless and I’m very glad I’m not near you else I’d kick you in the ‘nads.” The phone slammed in his ear. Cruz frowned and stared at his phone. How in the hell did Ricki slam a cell phone shut? He shook his head. She might be angry at him but this was his choice, his way, and he was sticking to his decision. Dahlia didn’t need to know how he felt. She already knew all she needed to. No sense in changing things mid-tempo. He ignored the tiny voice yelling Ricki’s parted words in his ear and went back to Dahlia’s bedroom. Her soft snores reached him where he stood in the doorway, staring at her still form in the darkness. He loved Dahlia. As he allowed himself to embrace that fact, he also accepted the realization he’d been in love with her since that day at the bank, when her wounded gaze seared his soul. She hurt him with her secrets and in turn he went for the jugular. He was heartless, treating her like the enemy when she’d been a victim herself. Maybe he thought his feelings would go away. Maybe he wanted to punish them both for what he saw as his betrayal to his sister’s memory. And maybe I’m just a hopeless, clueless fool who needs a swift kick in the stones. Dahlia needed her life back. All the things Austin Harrington took from her, held hostage, she had to get them back and for that to happen Cruz had to let her go. His lungs burned at the thought but this wasn’t about him. Dahlia hated him and she had every right. Mind made up, he shook off the pitying sense of loss and crossed the

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room to the bathroom. In the shower, he took his time washing away the past few hours. The first rays of morning sun streaked the bathroom walls, reminding him of the sleep he never had the night before. Funny. He didn’t feel tired physically, but emotionally he felt raw and drained. Warring emotions. Too many all at once. He needed a job, something out of the country, as far away from Dahlia as possible. The offer to escort a group of businessmen through the Venezuelan jungle sounded good right about now. Dodging bullets from guerrillas and the other elements tend to put things in perspective. Yeah, that’s what he’d do. He turned off the shower, wrapped one of Dahlia’s too-small towels around his hips, and walked into the bedroom. He froze in the middle of the room. Dahlia sat up in the bed, back against the pillows, her naked upper half exposed. Crap! He pivoted. “Cruz.” Damn it, when did her voice get so husky and needy? Cruz squeezed his eyes shut and bit the inside of his cheek. His body didn’t seem to get the ‘walking away’ memo because he was turning back around to face her, greedy cock tenting the towel. “Why-” His voice cracked so he swallowed and tried again. “Why aren’t you asleep?” She rose up on her knees, the sheet around her waist dropping inch by inch, revealing her creamy skin to his gaze. Soon she was all bare, nothing barring her body from his horny gaze and Cruz looked his fill at the flat stomach and neatly trimmed pussy he’d never get to taste again. “I can’t sleep,” she said softly. “I need you to finish what you started at the airstrip.” He began shaking his head before she finished speaking. “No. I can’t.” Was she crazy? He wouldn’t be able to stop himself if he touched her.

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Dahlia moved to the edge of the bed on her knees then got off and walked over to him. “Then let me.” She stood a hair’s breath away, eyes heavy lidded, the scent of her skin and arousal wafting to his nose on a heated cloud. He found himself speechless, unable to deny her anything anymore. Unable to deny his own desire to have the woman before him even for one last time. She trailed a finger down his chest, chasing a bead of water, and he watched her fascination with the movement. He wanted the one last chance at touching her, tasting her skin, but he didn’t know if he could do it then keep his resolve to walk away. Dahlia peeled away the towel, palmed his erection, and he gave up on fighting. On thinking. She dropped to her knees, taking him in her mouth with a hum. Cruz bit down on his knuckles, a futile attempt to stifle his gasps. His limbs grew weaker with every swipe of her tongue over his crown, with every bob of her head and pull of her mouth suctioning him in. Slick sounds blended with the breath whistling from between his teeth. Dahlia cupped his balls, fondling him as she took him deep, to the root. Cruz palmed the back of her head and moved, thrusting gently between those lips sealed tight around his cock. Her teeth grazed his tip. He bucked She did it again. “Shit.” He rose on his toes and canted his hips forward, burying himself as far as he could. Her eyes bulged as they stared up at him, lips stretched to accommodate his width. “Dahlia, babe.” All the emotions he refused to voice tightened his chest, clogged his throat. Her lashed fluttered, his cock glistening as he slid in and out of her sweet mouth. She released him and buried her face lower, nuzzling his balls, fingers

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sinking into his ass cheeks. Cruz rocked back on his heels, in danger of losing his balance. He slid his fingers through her hair, petting her gently. “Dahlia.” One of her hands left his ass and circled his erection, stroking, pulling. Her pinkie traced his pee hole then dipped inside, pushing, opening him up. “Ugh, God.” He pulled her hair, jerked her head back. “On the bed, get on the fucking bed.” She released the testicle in her mouth and backed away. When the back of her legs bumped into the bed she crawled atop it backwards, legs spread wide, giving him a complete view of her pussy lips, swollen. Glistening. He took a step toward her and another before kneeling and grabbing her legs, pulling her to the edge of the bed. Her feminine musk, ripe and sweet, hit his nose as she sat on his face. Cruz spread her softness, pulling apart her outer lips to plunge inside her. Tart and salt melted on his tongue. He swallowed and groaned. Soft cries fell from Dahlia, bouncing off the walls as she writhed on his face, painting him with all that sticky juices. He slurped her, flicking his tongue up and over her clit, catching the hard bud between his teeth before releasing it and returning to the tongue-fucking. No one spoke. The only sounds were his sloppy feasting on Dahlia’s cunt and her mewls above his head. He pushed her legs apart, positioned his mouth directly over her contracting pink hole, and sucked. She cried out, body arching, thighs trembling. Her nails clawed his shoulders and he shuddered and groaned. His balls hurt, his cock wept. He flattened his tongue, dragging it from her clit to her ass before he lifted his head and leapt astride her. “Spread ‘em,” he growled. Her eyes widened and he didn’t wait. Grabbing her legs, he propped them onto his shoulder and plunged into her. “Aaahh!” She convulsed.

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“Fuck.” He gritted his teeth, fighting the orgasm churning at the base of his spine. Dahlia’s pussy contracted around him, feeling extra wet, extra tight. Scorching hot. He looked down at their bodies joined, at his cock pistoning out of her, slick, soaked with her juices. No condom. He threw his head back, moaning as she rolled her hips. The corkscrew effect pulled a hoarse curse from him. He savored the burn as her muscles squeezed him, massaged him. “No barriers,” he gasped. “I’m fucking you raw.” She fisted the sheets, widened her legs and thrust onto him. He stared into her wild eyes, sweat matting her hair and shining on her skin. Fucking gorgeous, this woman he loved. This woman he had to let go. He lowered himself on his elbows, chest to chest with Dahlia, her diamond-hard nipples grazing him. She circled his neck, pulled him down and kissed him, open mouthed. Hungry. He returned her kisses, slowing up his tempo as she worked herself on him. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “So wet and tight for me.” Cupping his ass cheeks, she lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, trapping him inside her. “Always for you.” She nipped his neck. “I’m yours. I love you.” She tightened her muscles around him then released. The orgasm reared up. “Damn.” He pounded into her, grunting as she lifted her hips to meet every stroke. “Come inside me. Come inside me.” She arched under him, pussy contracting with her release. Her orgasm triggered his, the roaring in his ears drowning out her hoarse chants. He

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threw his head back and slammed in, emptying himself against her womb. Marking her for all time. **** Dahlia came awake on a groan, legs scissoring as she stretched. She flung her arms out to touch Cruz and came up empty. Cracking an eye open, she turned toward the pillow next to her. No outlines of a body remained on the cold sheets. The spot next to her was rumpled, but that could’ve been from her. He fucked her and didn’t bother sleeping next to her. Typical Cruz. Anger bloomed in her chest. After last night he couldn’t say he didn’t want her. He can’t say he doesn’t love me. Time for him to come clean and she’d make him. She sat up, threw off the covers, and swung her foot over the side of the bed. Paper crunched under her feet. Bending over, she picked it up with a raised eyebrow. Dahlia, It had to be this way. You need your life back and I’m giving it to you. I’m sorry for the pain we caused each other. Sorry for this, too, but it couldn’t be helped. You won’t see me again. Take care of yourself, C

She did her best not to count the days, the hours, since Cruz disappeared, leaving a Dear Jane letter behind. Dealing with Austin’s businesses took enough of her energy. Proving she was indeed his widow, proving she had no ulterior motive. Lawyers consulted and judges ruled ultimately, granting her the lion’s share of all of

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Austin’s dealings. In the span of three weeks she had more money and responsibility than she knew what to do with and as she sobbed on the floor of her bathroom, she knew she’d give it all away in a heartbeat if Cruz walked back through her door. But he didn’t and she carried on, fielding the obligatory scrutiny that came from being associated with Austin Harrington. While she inherited Austin’s money she also inherited his debts, and she inked a deal, settling with all complainants who’d filed any suits against Austin and his companies. Whatever those people wanted, she gave, because she’d learned firsthand how cruel that man had been. And as she went about her life, there was the constant feeling of being watched. Of curious eyes staring as she went to the grocery store or visited with her family. She couldn’t escape the sensation. All types of conspiracies ran around in her head. Finally she sold all her shares in Harrington Industries and walked away from the responsibilities she didn’t need or want. At night she’d lay awake in her wide, empty bed and stare out the window at the stars, wondering where Cruz was. Had he moved on? Was he safe? She always went back to the beginning of them, in the bank and when he followed her home. That time stood out more than the rest because for her, it was the most honest, the realest time they’d spent together. She’d known he was a bank robber and he knew she’d been hurt and needed comfort. Neither planned on it being a repeat performance therefore all the emotion and intensity of that first night was all real as it could get. Too bad it didn’t last. Hand in hand with the reminiscing were the tears, flowing silent at first then louder and she’d bawl her eyes out, sob until she made herself sick. Until she got sick to her stomach and her head spun.

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After a week of throwing up, of lethargy and dizziness, she made her way to a doctor whose name she picked out of the phone book. Now she sat in the sterile waiting room, pretending to read a threemonth-old magazine while she waited for the results of what she already knew. There was a sad irony happening here and if she could bring herself to snap out of the oddest dream she’d somehow found herself in, she’d laugh. As it was she’d barely made it out of bed this morning. Too scared to have her gut feeling confirmed, she’d stalled as long as she could, finally arriving at the doctor’s thirty minutes later than her appointed time. She couldn’t eat, and nothing she forced herself to swallow stayed down. That did wonders for her dress size though her collar bones and cheekbones stood out whenever she passed a mir ror or reflective surface. With no substantial food intake to speak of, she got tired and winded quickly, sleeping nearly all her days away. And with all that and the pop-up dizziness, she swore she was losing her mind, because the instant she stepped out her door, she felt those piercing eyes on her. Cataloguing her every move. And yet, whenever she chanced a glance, looked over her shoulder, there’d be nobody there. I’m going insane. There went the annoying sing-song voice in her head. “Ms. Pierce?” She jerked her head up from her magazine, gaze shooting to the nurse standing in the doorway to the doctor’s office, clipboard in hand. “Yes?” She got up, wiping sweaty palms on her jean-clad thighs. “This way, ma’am.” The nurse gestured over her shoulder. “The doctor is ready for you.” Dahlia followed on wobbly knees, biting the inside of her cheek. Taking a seat at the other side of the doctor’s wide desk, she clasped her hands in her lap and hunched forward. Waiting.

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Though not for long. “Ms. Pierce, lovely to see you again.” Doctor Izarry entered the office, a folder in hand, and sat down. His face was inscrutable as he opened the folder, glancing at it before he looked up at her. “Ms. Pierce, are you okay? Do you need some water?” She waved away his concern with a trembling hand. “I’m fine. Please read the results.” Head down, gaze on her knees, she prepared for the blow. “It is as we both suspected. You’re just over eight weeks pregnant.” And the tears flowed, quiet sobs shaking her shoulders. Another shot, another chance at what she’d lost. An opportunity to start fresh. Given to her by the man who hated her, the man she loved. The man she betrayed. To lose and gain in the same breath. He’d never know how happy he made her with this gift. And how profoundly sad. **** Cruz barely survived the jungles of Venezuela, returning to the States with a couple bullet holes and a cut across his back from a wayward machete. His body hurt like hell, and he slept for twenty hours straight before jumping on a plane and flying from New York to Chicago. He kept himself busy with work and anything else, refusing to be dragged down memory lane. He’d never find his way back if he did. He kept eyes on Dahlia, yes. He’d put some of his best men on duty, looking out for her, and their orders were explicit, keep her safe and stay out of her way. Cruz didn’t need to know anything else beyond her safety. After spending another three weeks in Chicago, casing and finally breaking into a jewelry store for one of his largest jobs ever, he treated Ricki and himself to an impromptu vacation in Mexico. His friend kept frowning at him and he kept pretending not to notice. Every time Ricki brought up Dahlia, Cruz changed the subject. He

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didn’t want to think about what he’d lost, what he’d walked away from. The ache in his chest had him downing shots one after the other, anything to fill that void. Anything to ease the pain. Not that it worked. Ricki gave him that pitying look as she left him sitting at the pool, taking off with a married couple. In a lucid moment, Cruz pitied that couple. Ricki was in her element in bed, a tiger between the sheets. He’d worn many scars after a fuck session with Ricki, but since Dahlia came into his life, Ricki hadn’t factored in. Maybe he should change that. Maybe a dose of Ricki and the pain she so effortlessly doled out would help erase Dahlia from his heart once and for all. His body immediately rejected that idea. Dahlia or bust. All or nothing. At night as he lay awake in his bungalow, listening to waves lash up on the shore, he cursed himself for leaving Dahlia, for walking away. For not giving her those words. He’d long forgiven her transgressions, as he knew she forgave him his. That wasn’t what held him back anymore. The truth was he didn’t look forward to a rejection from her. Funny how he could dole it out but couldn’t stomach it. He didn’t want to show up at her door to find someone else had taken his place in her bed. In her heart. Did he have a chance with her anymore? That question echoed in his head for a week before he threw back the covers one night. Fuck it, I have to find out. No sense in wondering. He had to know and he was going to. He hurriedly shoved clothes in a duffel bag, pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater and ran over to Ricki’s bungalow. She opened before he knocked, arms crossed over her naked breasts. Over her shoulder, Cruz eyed the smooth, naked ass of a golden-skinned

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woman splayed on the bed, and grinned. “Nice.” Ricki rolled her eyes. “Are you going to her, or what?” He nodded. “I am.” “About fucking time.” Ricki stepped back, closing the door in his face. “Let me know how it goes,” she yelled through the door. Cruz smirked, dialing his pilot as he walked away. He loved Ricki, as a friend, he realized. He was in love with Dahlia and he wanted to be with her. If she even wants me anymore. Time to find out.

He landed in Miami later that evening. A car service picked him up from the airport and he sat in the back of the vehicle staring up at her house, fidgeting, gut churning. Those emotions: fear and anticipation, all the what-ifs, they locked his limbs and iced his skin. Maybe he should have the driver wait, just in case. It shouldn’t take long for her to see his face and call the cops on his ass. Damn. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “You okay back there, buddy?” The driver eyed him warily in the rearview. “Uh, yeah.” He handed the driver his money. “Keep the change.” Cruz hopped out the vehicle, slamming the door with his gaze still fixed to Dahlia’s house. More specifically, her bedroom window. The driver sped off, screeching tires wrenching him from his trance. He walked up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and at the top he pressed the doorbell with numb fingers. Footsteps echoed within, drawing closer, ratcheting up his heartbeat. Fuck, he felt like such a kid in that moment.

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The door opened a crack. “Who is it?” That voice, so tentative, squeezed his heart. “Dahlia.” He heard her swift inhale, saw the shock in her eyes when she widened the door. Clad in sweats and a loose t-shirt, hair wild around her head, she looked gorgeous. Her skin glowed, those pink lips plump and pouty, her eyes bright and watchful. “Cruz.” His name shook. Cruz granted her a crooked smile. “Are you going to let me in?” Her brow wrinkled. “Why?” “Because I love you, Dahlia. Please, let me in.” He couldn’t read the look in her eyes, she’d shut her emotions down, locked them off from him. They stared at each other in terse silence, her hand on the doorknob, and Cruz chanting please, please over and over in his head. Dahlia broke their eye contact, gaze seizing him up, lips curling like she found him lacking. Boy, talk about pressure. Somehow all the shit he’d dealt with in his notso-savory line of work didn’t compare. He quelled the itch to shift his weight from foot to foot and simply raised an eyebrow. “I have more to say. Should I do it right here? Cause it’s all good with me.” She narrowed her eyes and stepped back, granting him silent entry. Thank God. Cruz stepped inside the entryway and waited for her to close the door and walk into the house before following. She sat down on the couch, pulling the hem of her t-shirt over her knees as she looked at him expectantly. He dropped to his knees before her, because this was an all-in situation. He was hurtling feet-first into unknown territory. “I love you.” He covered her clasped hands. “I fell in love with you in that bank. I admired your strength and your backbone then.”

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She looked away from him, but he didn’t miss the miniscule quiver in her chin. “I didn’t plan on that,” he confessed. “I was doing a job, set on my plan of revenge. You turned all that upside down.” Dahlia turned back to him, lips parted to speak and he pressed a finger to her mouth. “I wasn’t prepared for your secrets, for your part in my sister’s death and I felt like I’d pissed on her memory by loving you.” He swallowed. “By needing you even after I knew the complete story.” “So you ran,” she said against his finger. The accusation rang clear in her words and flashed bright in her eyes. He nodded. “That was part of it, but I also wanted to give you your life back. You’d been through enough, you didn’t need me around reminding you of your mistakes.” “I guess I should thank you for that?” She shifted away from his touch, but he held firm. “What brings you back to my neck of the woods, Cruz? Come to inflict more pain before you slink away in the middle of the night, again?” Low blow. He felt its impact in his chest, but he breathed through the pain. “I deserve that.” He forced a smile. “And you deserve more than what I’ve given you so far. I want to change that. I want to give you what you need.” She laughed. Laughed. “What do you think I need?” Cruz shrugged. “That’s why I’m here, to find out what that is and give it to you.” She raised her knees and pushed against his shoulders with the flat of her feet. Cruz toppled over and she jumped up from the couch. He righted himself as she spun around, fury imprinted on her face. “You snuck out of my bed in the middle of the fucking night. You put me through hell, made me feel like shit and you think you can just waltz back in here and I’ll welcome you with open freaking arms?”

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He blinked. “I“No!” she lashed out. Cruz reared back. “You talked, now it’s my turn. You bum rushed your way into my life. Mine.” She poked her chest. “I didn’t invite you in and then you do what the hell you did and made me care. By the time I figured out who you were and what you were after it was too late.” “Dahlia, it’s okay.” He held out a hand to her, but she ignored him. “When was the right time to tell you about Austin and my role in your sister’s death? I only knew you’d kill me and that I loved you. You put me through hell and then you disappear just like that.” “I had to give you your life back.” Cruz got to his feet and faced her. “I had my men keep an eye on you, just in case.” “You are my goddamn life!” She shouted then stopped, eyes widening. “Wait, what? You had men watching me?” Her voice grew softer. “All the time?” “Yeah, only to make sure you were okay.” He frowned when she paled. “What is it?” He stepped forward and she backed up. “Is that why you’re here?” She held out a hand to stop his approach. “They told you?” What the hell is she talking about? “Told me what?” “Of course, why else would you be here?” She snorted a laugh as she shoved fingers through her hair. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m a fucking idiot.” “Damn it, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Yes, I had my men watching you. No, I wasn’t told anything. I gave specific orders for them to contact me only if you’re in danger. I was in Mexico and I haven’t heard from them since I gave the initial order.” Her opened mouth closed with a pop. The wildness in her eyes tapered out slowly. “Really?” She swallowed. “You don’t know?”

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“Know what?” He tightened his hold on her. “What don’t I know?” She bit her bottom lip. “Here.” Removing his hand from her shoulder she brought it to her stomach and held it there. “You and I, we made a baby.”

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Chapter Nine

Dahlia watched Cruz blink in confusion, lashes moving in slow motion, a frown wrinkling his brow. Her news hadn’t registered yet, so she waited, the heat of his open palm seeping through her clothes and warming her stomach. He didn’t know. Hadn’t known and he’d come back to declare his love without any duress. “I-we...” He shook his head, those green eyes clearing as understanding dawned. His hand curved over her belly. His gaze flicked over her face. “Really? You’re pregnant?” His shaky voice was a thread of sound. “Yes.” She held him to her, shifting closer. “The night you left. Our baby is your parting gift.” His eyes widened. “I’m so sorry.” Her heart stopped. “So-sorry for what?” Sorry for getting her pregnant? Didn’t he want their baby? He must’ve read the expression on her face because he cupped her cheek. “I’m sorry for leaving, for making you deal with this all on your own.” Dahlia took in a breath as her heart jumpstarted. “I’m not sorry about our baby.” He spoke tentatively, as if gauging her reaction. She granted him a watery grin. “That’s good. I’m not either.” He smiled, his eyes glowing from within. “Come.” He guided her back to the couch where he sat and pulled her onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. Cruz was back and she knew in her gut, they were going to be fine. He loved her and they were having a baby. “How far along are you?” He touched her stomach, rubbing gently through her t-shirt. ‘When did you find out? Who’s your doctor?”

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She giggled at the rapidly fired questions then gave him all the information she had. He listened attentively as she talked about morning sickness and sore breasts and all her body aches. When she finished speaking he hugged her to him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help, but I’m here now and I’m not leaving.” “How’s that going to work with what you do for a living?” She lifted an eyebrow. “You’re not exactly the nine-to-five kind of guy.” To put that shit mildly. He shrugged easily. “I do what I do because I like it, not because I have to. I can stop and I will. I want to be a hands-on dad and partner.” She laughed. “Is that we are? Partners?” “We can be whoever and whatever you decide.” He brushed his lips over hers. “I just want us to be us, together.” She nodded solemnly. “We can do that.” One step at a time. “Good.” He squeezed her. “So how do you feel now? You hungry, want me to make you something to eat or drink or—” “Yes, actually.” She slid off him and sat on the couch. “I was about to make me a sandwich.” She waved a hand in the direction of the kitchen. “There’s ham, bananas, and pickles in the fridge. The peanut butter is on the counter. Have at it.” His eyes widened with each ingredient she named. “That’s—wow.” “Yeah.” She chuckled. Her cravings were weird. “Do we know the sex yet?” Cruz got to his feet and went to the kitchen, raising his voice so she could hear him where she reclined on the couch. “My next appointment is in two weeks,” she said. “We find out then.” “We need a house and toys and clothes and—” “Slow down there, driver.” She shook her head. “What’s wrong with my house?” “Are you kidding? It’s not big enough for a growing family like ours.” She resented his tone, but she really liked that he referred to them as a

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family. That they were. A family. He came in minutes later with her sandwich and a glass of the ginger ale she kept all over the place now. She gobbled down the food while Cruz massaged her feet. I can get used to shit like this. “Do we agree we need a new house?” She licked her lips and placed her empty plate on the floor. “Fine.” He grinned and leaned forward, kissing her softly, his curved lips clinging to her. “Thank you for giving me a chance. For our baby, and for loving me.” He met her gaze. “I love you and I’ll spend my life showing you just how much.” “I love you, too and I’ll hold you to that promise.” She yawned against his mouth. “Now take your baby mama to bed, I’m tired as hell.” He scooped her up in his arms with a chuckle. “I’m ever at your service, ma’am.” As she drifted off to sleep she heard him whisper, “So where do you want to live? I was thinking the Bahamas.” Dahlia smiled.

END

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About Avril

l always wanted to have a sexy bio, one to reflect who I am, but after drawing a blank, l could only come up with: I eat cake and I read books…ooh, and I write ‘em too. No one liked it and after massive peer-pressure and pouting, I managed something much…suitable? A Caribbean transplant, Avril now lives in Brooklyn, N.Y with a tolerant Spousal Equivalent. Together they raise a daughter who loves reading and school (not so much school anymore). Avril’s earliest memories of reading revolve around discussing plot points of The Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys with an equally book-minded mother Always in love with the written word, Avril finally decided to do the writing in August of ’09 and never looked back. Spicy love scenes, delicious heroes, and wicked women burn up the pages of Avril’s stories, but there’ll always be a happy ending; Av remains a believer of love in all its forms. Visit: http://www.avrilashton.webs.com http://www.avril-ashton.blogspot.com Friend Avril on: http://www.facebook.com/writeravrilashton http://www.twitter.com/#!/AvrilAsh

Av’s Books

The Wicked series w/eXtasy Books A Wicked Ride, bk#1 One Wicked Night, bk#2 In Wicked Chains, bk#3

Paranormal Security Council series w/Total E Bound Till Abandon, bk#1 Till Surrender, bk#2 *Coming May, 2012

w/Secret Cravings Publishing Blindfold Me

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w/Evernight Publishing Make Me Sweat Dulce: Midnight Seduction: Man Love Edition Anthology Far From the Usual *Coming April, 2012 Make Me Burn *Coming April, 2012

w/Ellora’s Cave Love The Sinner *Coming Soon

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