A Righteous Kill (27 page)

Strong fingers wrapped around her arms and gently but firmly set her away from him. “You’re
damn
right, he won’t,” Luca said darkly. “Because from now on, I’m going to be on your ass like a fat kid on cake, got it?”

Hero smiled provocatively. “Promise?”

“Don’t start,” he warned, his hands tightening on her shoulders.

“Hey, who kissed whom? I’m getting some conflicting messages here,” she teased.

His eyes snagged on her mouth again, and her chin lifted in invitation. But instead of taking her up on it, he released her and paced a few lengths away, one hand on his hip and the other running through his close-cropped hair. Once he’d reached what he deemed was a safe distance, he turned back to her. “You know that wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—
God
, Hero, you put me in an impossible position.”

“Again, I apologize.” She threw as much suggestive heat into the look she gave him. “Tell you what, anytime you want, you can return the favor, though I’ve never met a position I couldn’t handle.”

His eyes raked her body with a look so hot it should have set her boots on fire. Turning away again, he glared toward the cathedral and started passionately gesturing at the building as though it had done him an injustice. “
Dios, no me lo puedo merecer esta mierda
…”

That’s it
, Hero decided as she watched him curse in his rapid, guttural native language; she was going to learn Spanish as soon as possible.

“Let’s go to dinner. I’m starving.” Turning, she strolled past him on her way to the car, clenching her fists at her sides to keep from reaching for him.

He stopped his rant and glared at her as she moved, waiting until she passed him to follow. Hero could feel the burn of his eyes though her dress. Her legs were still a bit wobbly, blood still singing at a low hum of consistent sexual awareness. She’d thought she was in control here. That she was breaking him down until he gave her what she wanted. What they both wanted. But as she slid into the passenger seat of his car, a slight anxiety began to unfurl against the empty ache in her loins. With every other relationship—scratch that—with every other man she’d taken to her bed,
she’d
been the one in the driver’s seat. She’d always decided where, when, how, and how long. Even with Alec, she’d never exactly expected or demanded fidelity and had easily moved on after his deception was discovered. The professor was the first, the only, man she’d really even allowed herself to imagine a future with. Once he’d proven himself untrustworthy, she’d been hurt, but couldn’t remember shedding too many tears over it.

This
thing
, this pretention with Luca. It was different. It was in danger of becoming more real than anything else in her life had ever been.

Hero looked over at him as he maneuvered the car out of the lot, his foot a little too heavy on the gas. Men always drove too fast when they were horny. She liked him like this, on the edge of his control. It made her feel powerful and pursued all at once. The feminine thrill of being hunted like this would make their sex indescribable. She just knew it. But his kiss had done something to her. The way he’d dominated her had peeled back a thick layer of control and exposed something she didn’t like to admit existed. Weakness. Submission, maybe? The danger was that for the first time in her life, she couldn’t predict how this would end between them. After he was done making good on his promise to fuck her sideways, would he put on his suit coat and leave? What if it surpassed this carnal, primal chemistry between them and entered the realm of the relationship?

Her heart began to pound in her ribcage as she realized that she might not be okay with losing him. The thought of life without him seemed empty. Frightening. Luca wasn’t the kind of guy that settled down. He was like her. Free. Single. Independent. She’d always been that way, but something was beginning to shift. What if this whole awful experience had changed her? What if she didn’t just want him, but began
needing
him? What if he didn’t need her back?

Chapter Eighteen

“It is as sure as you are Roderigo…

But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve

For daws to peck at. I am not what I am.”

~William Shakespeare, Othello

Portland’s posh and vintage neighborhood of Laurelhurst was known for its narrow streets and large gardens. Eoghan and Izolda Katrova-Connor’s home was no exception. As homage to their city, a well-kept thicket of roses lined both sides of their walk. In the December chill, they were severely pruned into neat hedges. The Victorian-era home looked much smaller from the outside than it was on the inside. It stretched deep, rather than wide, and boasted five bedrooms, a parlor, entertainment room, gigantic kitchen, and a dining room that could comfortably seat fifteen adults. Apparently, Izolda was an optimist.

Luca remembered his first visit to the home. It’d been like he’d stepped into a catalog peddling domestic bliss. Mrs. Katrova-Connor, the strikingly beautiful, golden-aged matron, had greeted him with an apron tied over a waist too small to have contained her six dynamic children. He’d stepped from a large covered porch that smelled like the heather and fuchsias spilling out of the window boxes, into a home that smelled like baked goods and happiness.

That day in October, he’d sat on their comfortable leather couch and proceeded to explain to them that their youngest child had, indeed, become the latest victim of a serial killer. Hero had still been recovering from surgery in the hospital at that point. They’d taken it like people used to such tragedy. Instead of falling to pieces, casting blame, or making accusations, they’d asked pertinent, solution-based questions. Tears had run down Eoghan’s leathery cheeks, but his voice had been strong and his fury well-contained.

Luca liked and respected them instantly. And later, the genial curiosity with which Hero’s father and mother accepted the idea of their relationship made this whole deception a lot easier. Though, he still had to fight a bad case of very real nerves at actually spending an evening with his pretend girlfriend’s family.

Taking Vince’s advice, he pasted on his best I’m-not-sleeping-with-your-daughter smile and trailed after Hero to the door. Serial killers, drug lords, and terrorists he could handle. Parents? That scared the bejezus right out of him. Maybe it was because he’d kissed her again. Goddammit. Couldn’t fathers smell that kind of thing? On top of that, he’d promised to—well it was better he not think about that just now.

One. Two. Three. Four…

The heavy arched door wrenched open, but the Katrova-Connor wearing the frilly apron was the last one he’d expected.

Hero’s compact body was enveloped by six foot two, two hundred five pounds of laughing Light-heavyweight. “You guys made it!”

“Knox, you remember Luca, my boyfriend.” Hero gestured in Luca’s direction.

He gave his only little sister a sloppy kiss on the forehead before reaching over her to offer his fist to Luca. “Of course.” Knox’s smile widened. “It’s good to see you man, under much better circumstances.”

“Likewise.” Luca reached out and fist-bumped what had to be the most valuable knuckles in the country. Instead of TapOut gloves, they were encased in oven mitts decorated with grapes and wine bottles and lined with lace. They matched the apron stretched to the limit of its capabilities over the professional fighter’s torso.

Lennox Goodfellow Katrova-Connor wore grey slacks and a burgundy shirt unbuttoned at the collar and rolled up past the elbows. He would have looked almost respectable if not for the alternative black tips on his copper faux hawk and the countless Celtic tattoos peeking below his shirtsleeves and above the neckline. Who could pull off neck tattoos? Cage fighters, biker gangs, and tattoo artists. That was a pretty short list.

If Luca took a picture of him in the apron get-up and the wide cheeser, he could have sold it to the paparazzi for millions. Trying not to be a bit star-struck at eating with the man whose career he’d followed for the past five years, Luca decided not to mention that he was a huge fan.

“You have to come into the kitchen, Hero,” Knox insisted. “I have a surprise for you.” He stepped aside and swept his mitts to usher them into the house, searching behind them for more people. “Where’s Rown and Demetri?”

“They stayed behind to talk to Father Michael. They’ll be a few minutes,” Hero evaded.

“Sweet.” He shut the door behind them, and smells both mouth-watering and savory assaulted Luca’s salivary glands. The rug-lined wood floors creaked beneath their boots as they made their way past the parlor on the right. The dining room was to the left across the entry hall and attached to an enormous remodeled kitchen that could have been in a French country decorating magazine.

“I finally talked Mom into the two ovens so one of them can be convection,” Knox said conspiratorially over his shoulder before they reached the kitchen door. “Tell her you like them.”

“I heard that, Lennox.” The sultry Russian accent was punctuated with the sharp taps of a very large knife against a cutting board.

“Really Ma?” Knox volleyed back. “Didja hear me say not to help with dinner? Because I’m pretty sure I said
that
loud enough.”

Luca entered the kitchen behind Knox and Hero just in time to see Izolda slap her son’s hand as he reached for the knife. “I am a dangerous woman with a blade, son,” she brandished the weapon at him with a challenging smile. “Try to tell me not to cook in my own kitchen again, I dare you.”

She sounded like an old-school bond villain but looked like an old-school bond girl. Her black hair, threaded with silver, was tucked into a chic, messy braid that fell down to the back of her pearl silk blouse. She’d kicked off her pumps, but still wore her pencil skirt and hose that Luca had seen at church. The woman was tall, maybe close to six feet, and towered over her husband in those shoes. Though, Eoghan hadn’t seemed to notice, let alone mind.

“Agent Ramirez!” Cat-like brown eyes lit with warmth and pleasure as she noticed his presence. Still clutching the knife, she went to him and gripped his shoulders, pulling him down for two solid kisses, one on each cheek. “I call you Luca now, as you are Hero’s
krasavchik
. And you call me Izolda until you are comfortable calling me Mama.”

Krasavchik?
Luca gulped.
Mama?
“Great. Mrs—Er—Izolda. Thanks for having me to dinner.” Was he still supposed to shake hands after she’d kissed him? What was the official protocol? No one had ever seemed so glad to see him before. Like. Ever. He hadn’t been kissed by anyone over fifty in as long as he could remember. God, it was suddenly way too hot in the kitchen.

“Of course, of
course
you come to dinner. Hero never brings a man home for me to feed. Is about time, this is what I think.”

“What’s this about a surprise for me?” Hero cut in with a little too much eagerness.

Knox hurried around the wide island in the middle of the kitchen. He pulled up to the top oven and opened it, giving it a moment for the initial wave of heat to dissipate. Reaching in, he produced a covered roasting pan and set it out on a cork trivet.

He put his mitt on the lid of the roasting pan and paused for dramatic effect, his impish brown eyes sparkling at his sister. “
Et voila.
” A puff of steam escaped the unveiling of a round, unidentifiable meat that actually smelled incredible.

“What is it?” Luca couldn’t stop himself from asking, peering into the roasting pan.

“Tofurkey made from
scratch
,” Knox beamed proudly. “With a sage, mushroom, wild rice pilaf and smoked bacon stuffing.”

“Awww!” Hero squealed. “Knox! I love it!”

Knox gave an exaggerated cocky nod and tapped at his cheek. Hero kissed it and then bent to stick her nose over the pot.

Luca wrinkled his brow in confusion. “I thought you were a vegetarian.”

“I am.” Hero closed her eyes to savor the smell. “Thus the Tofurkey.”

“But there’s bacon in it.”

She shrugged. “Well yeah, but it’s bacon.”

Knox nodded his agreement.

“Bacon is meat. It comes from a pig.” Luca said.

“It doesn’t
count
as meat because it’s bacon.” She was looking at him as though
he
was the one who’d lost his mind.

“That makes no sense.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense, bro,” Knox said sagely. “It’s bacon.”

Luca couldn’t really disagree on any particular point, so he just nodded like he accepted infallible logic. At least breakfast between him and Hero might have a chance.

Hero’s sister entered the kitchen from the hall with a cell phone tucked to her ear. “I told you the deposition was going to be on Tuesday. So you need to get that affidavit signed
tomorrow
or we’re screwed.” With thick-rimmed glasses and dark auburn hair held in a messy bun with a number two pencil, she looked more like a librarian than a high-powered ADA.

“Timandra, we’re about to have dinner. No working! Is Sunday.” Izolda scolded.

Andra ignored her mother, padded to the fridge, took two bottled beers and opened them by slamming her hand on the tops against the counter like a champ.

Luca blinked. Color him impressed.

“I thought you government employees got the weekends
off
,” Knox added. “Like my man, Luca, here.”

Luca was saved from having to cover his guilty look by Andra’s universal ‘shut up, I’m on the phone’ wave. She grabbed both bottles in one hand and magically used one of the same fingers to cover her free ear. “What? What are you talking about the formatting was wrong? I swear to God, I’m going to strangle that new paralegal with her own telephone cord. If her brain was even half as big as her tits, we’d be in business.” The rest of her conversation was lost as she ducked past Luca with a mouthed ‘hello’ before disappearing out the opposite door of the one she’d entered. Luca assumed it led to the dining room.