All the Way (18 page)

His mouth moved lower, tasting the crease at the top of her thigh. By infinitesimal measures his tongue came closer, closer . . . Her body moistened, heating in anticipation. She speared her fingers through his hair. Her Indian warrior, determined to possess her body.

His massive hand wrapped around her knee, bending it upward. His fingers tickled down her calf, grasping her foot and placing it on his shoulder. He liked this position, with her open and helpless against whatever fabulously orgasmic things he planned to do.

He spread her wide, his hair obstructing her view as he dipped and drank from her. His tongue connected with the knot of nerves there, and he moaned, shooting bolts of electricity through her. Her back arched off the mattress, her legs flailing wildly. She lost all control when he did this. He knew it, and he liked it. He pushed her, riding her hard until her body convulsed.

Pleased with her response, but not satisfied, he covered her quickly, bracing his weight on the palms of his hands.

“Me,” she panted. “On top.”

“I'm the operator of this wild ride,” he told her, slipping into her wetness easily. He pressed forward, filling her in one stroke.

He tossed his hair back over his shoulder, giving her an unobstructed view of the planes of his face. He looked down at her, connecting with her as he found his rhythm. His eyes danced with serious attraction. The mole above his left brow winked, teasing her to touch it. She lifted her hand, but Adriano caught her wrist, pinning her to the bed.

She wished there were mirrors on the ceiling. She wanted to see his hard haunches flex as he moved in and out of her. She bent her knee, running the sole of her foot down his taut thigh. Gorgeous face, tight body, masterful skills in bed—Adriano was a sex fantasy come true.

It didn't hurt that he'd developed the ability to talk to her with his eyes. He conveyed every emotion he was too macho to speak in the way he watched her. He soaked up her pleasure when she responded to his body.

He was as bad at hiding his sexual anguish as he was good at silently speaking his emotions. He hungered for her, but he was disciplined, fighting the need to take what he needed without regard for what he was obligated to give. One word—one well-placed caress—and Adriano's mind would explode. It was why he never let her be on top. He needed to exercise this control. Not over her, but over himself.

“Come,” she whispered to him, and immediately his body shook.

He grunted at the effort to hold on, losing the battle with one word from her. Every climactic wave was punctuated by a thrust of his hips. He cursed himself for coming so soon. He cursed her for making him.

He balanced himself on his knees above her, fighting to catch his breath and regain his senses. She ran her fingertips down the ripples of his abdomen.

“Don't touch me,” he said too harshly.

She ignored him, pushing him past his boundaries, making him surrender. She moved down his body, fighting to reach him when he twisted away. She molded her body to his, stroking his thighs, moving in.

“Don't touch me.” He shivered. “Too sensitive.”

She ignored him still. Her hand slipped between his thighs, finding his package wet and soft but still throbbing. She held him gently, kissing his shoulder before she said, “Good night, Adriano.”

 

 

Payton rested her head on Adriano's chest in the pitch-black darkness of the motel room. Her arm draped his waist. Exhaustion had claimed him soon after they'd climbed into bed. He hadn't stirred since.

She could hear the occasional car move down the street. She watched the door diligently, praying Sherman's men hadn't followed them to the small town. She wished she could forget where they were. She tried to pretend they were in Hawaii or on a cruise ship enjoying a vacation together, although everything in Adriano's bad-boy body said he wouldn't be so clichéd with his woman. Little things meant more with him, and she was learning she'd had it all wrong when she thought celebrity and a big salary were what she needed to be happy.

She wondered where Sherman was at this very moment. As his house began to crumble, he would become more desperate.

Adriano shifted in his sleep. Joy electrified Payton's heart. How lucky had she been to find him? He stepped out of his life, putting his safety on the line to help her. From the beginning, he assumed the role of her protector and never passed the gauntlet.

I'll have a second chance,
Payton told herself. But second—or third—chances wouldn't be as meaningful without Adriano beside her.

She explored his body. The terrain was smooth, the bulge between the mountain of his thighs rocky. She raked her fingertips over the length of his shaft. She stroked him lightly, marveling at his unconscious reaction to her touch. His penis widened and stretched, expanding to its full size. She measured the dimension of him by making a circle with her fingers.

His arm came around her shoulders. “Are you still awake?” he asked sleepily.

She answered by placing a kiss in the middle of his chest.

“Didn't I do my job well enough?”

One by one her fingers wrapped around his manhood. She moved slowly from base to tip and back again.

He moaned.

Her tongue left a wet trail from his chest to his navel while her fingers moved measure by measure from base to tip.

He flipped over on top of her. “Do you think you could wake me up like this every night?”

Before she could answer, his lips were applying a painfully sweet suction to her neck. He kissed her, leaving her body tingling. Without hesitation, one hand went to her breast, his lips to the other.

She stroked his face, dragging the bandana from his hair. The long tendrils covered his face. Her fingers glided through the softness.

His tongue lapped at her nipple. The sensations passing through her body made her writhe and groan. He devoted his time to pampering her breasts. Expertly, he teased and licked. Masterfully, he caressed and applied sensual pain to her nipples. His frequent fondling triggered the engorgement of her breast, and her body was conditioned to drip whenever he entered the same room. She closed her eyes and let her mind swirl around his touches.

“Shh,” he warned with a kiss to her lips. “The people next door will hear you. These walls are like paper.” His scandalous laughter told her he didn't care if they did.

The instrument Payton had stroked to life pushed between her thighs, demanding entrance. She was lost in his salacious sounds when he penetrated her. He eased inside her ravenous opening as if it were second nature. The sequence he used—rocking, penetration, slowly in, tortuously slow pulling out—made her explode within minutes. Not allowing her to relax, he increased the intensity of his momentum. He claimed ownership of her body, working it at his command until he lost himself in her.

“This feels different tonight,” she said.

“Special.” Adriano rested his head on her belly.

She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him to her until their noses touched. “It's not too late to change our minds.”

His lashes batted wildly, trying to process her meaning.

“I don't want to leave you, Adriano. Am I being selfish?”

“Yes.” He kissed her lips. “Thank you.” His hand ran up and down her leg, his long arms easily reaching as far as the bottom of her foot. “I don't want you to go, but you have to.”

“It's the right thing to do.”

“I'll take care of you tonight. Tonight, it's okay to be selfish.”

Silence engulfed the darkened room. She couldn't feel any worse. She couldn't feel any better. One moment she needed to possess him. The next she admonished herself for even considering backing out now. This was bigger than her desire for Adriano. Sherman was a killer, and she was the only one who could stop him.

“Payton?”

“Yes?”

“I'm glad you carjacked me. I'd rather be here with you in this cheap motel than anywhere else.”

“We say good-bye tonight,” she told him. She wouldn't be able to look him in his dancing eyes tomorrow and walk away, knowing she'd never see him again. She was likely to turn into a blubbering idiot.

He kissed the cavern of her navel. “We'll say good-bye when we have to. Not a second earlier.” He massaged the crease at her hipbone. “I like my life with you in it too much to think about good-byes right now.”

Chapter 20

Cecily intended to stick close to home until she understood what Sherman was hiding from her. Her best source of information was her latest bed partner, Hiram. The man was addlebrained, but very—very—well hung and knew exactly how to use his equipment. She enjoyed dominating the big man in bed, dishing out her own special humiliation. Watching him squirm and fearing her more than her husband was the ultimate turn-on.

She climbed into bed naked in yet another cheap, out-of-the-way hotel. She would show her husband that small bit of respect by not traveling in the exclusive circles where she might run into one of their friends, flaunting her affairs. Sherman had not questioned her sleeping with Hiram. He knew better—he understood what side his bread was buttered on.

Marrying Sherman had been the lesser of two evils. Her father insisted she get married, or he would cut her off. And whatever Franco Cimino wanted, he got. He was from good old Sicilian stock. Her gallivanting across the globe had garnered the attention of the wrong people, and he'd made the ultimatum. She wasn't a fool. She knew of Sherman's reputation of hooking up with wealthy widows and naïve heiresses, spending their money until some family member or other threatened to cut off the water. She knew about his prison time too. She married Sherman at a huge wedding, vowing to stick with him for life, and she meant it. He was the perfect husband—terrified of upsetting her, clearly knowing who was in charge. She must admit, over the years she'd grown to love Sherman and his doting ways, but she was her father's child and love could only take him so far.

She struck a match, lighting her cigarette on a long inhalation. She missed her father mercilessly. She would have liked to get his advice about this Payton Vaughn situation, but he was still overseas conducting business. She'd grown accustomed to her father's “business” trips. He'd started taking them shortly after he killed her mother, leaving her behind with the nanny. She always missed him, giving the staff hell while counting every minute until he walked through the door with a package just for her. When she was young, the gifts were always stuffed animals. Now they were jewels.

The best thing about her father was the way he loved her. She'd wandered into the bedroom the night he bashed her mother to death. He stood over the limp, lifeless, bloody body, his breath coming in short bursts. When she whimpered, he rushed to her, becoming the doting father she'd always known. He carried her back to bed that night, sat on the edge of her bed, and they had their first “grown up” talk.

Her daddy told her all about his business, promising to groom her to take over when he was too old to manage it. He explained how her mother didn't love them enough—she'd let another man take her loving—and why he'd had to kill her. Because anyone who didn't love her 100 percent wasn't worthy of breathing. They'd made a pact that evening. No matter what, they'd look out for each other.

If there was a chance he wasn't already, her father became the center of her world. She lived to please him. Spent every moment adoring him. Understood him like no one else did. Their bond was unbreakable.

Cecily took another long drag on the cigarette. Missing her father made her want Hiram more. When they were together, her dominating their scene, she forgot all her troubles. Her cell rang on cue. She checked the number, suppressed her anxiousness, and answered.

“Where are you? I'm waiting.”

He cleared his throat. “The reporter gave Payton up. I'm on the way to a tobacco plantation in South Carolina.”

“Have you spoken to my husband?”

“Not yet.”

“Don't. I didn't like you reporting to Sherman before me when you found the reporter. I'll decide how much Sherman should know.”

 

 

Jake tried to sound cheerful when he talked to his wife. She wanted him home, and he wanted to be there. When the pain of his bruised ribs became too much to bear, he ended the call. Hobbling to the bathroom of his suite, he swallowed two pain pills and settled on the sofa in front of the computer. With many protests, Mr. Conners agreed to Jake staying in Charlotte to navigate Adriano and Payton's deliverance to safety. He'd moved to an Uptown hotel and brought enough equipment in to set up a headquarters dedicated to bringing Grazicky down and Adriano back to Chicago.

A million times a day Jake toyed with the idea of calling the satellite phone. He didn't know if Adriano would discard it once he found the disposable cell, but it was their only link. Adriano would activate a contingency plan once he felt it was safe to make contact. He knew how to take care of himself, Jake reminded himself. It still didn't keep him from worrying. For now he had to sit tight and wait for the action to play out, doing his part to put Grazicky away. The best way to keep them all safe and end this adventure as quickly as possible was to get the crook behind bars. He knew one thing for sure: when this whole mess ended, he was taking a very long vacation.

Grazicky's men were out there, watching. After what had happened at the Adam's Mark, the private security team in the adjoining room didn't guarantee Jake's safety. The only reason Grazicky wouldn't come after Jake again was if he believed he'd beaten everything useful out of him. Adriano was his friend and his colleague, and Jake respected his opinion. He hoped Adriano would forgive him for revealing his hiding place. The guilt pushed him to work day and night, breaking only for meals and to rest his eyes when the computer screen began to blur. Mr. Conners had shipped him all the files they'd composed on Grazicky, and he spent hours going over them, reconstructing their story from the beginning.

Jake had nodded off at the computer when a knocking at the door disturbed him. He shut down the computer screen and covered the contents of his files. Very gingerly, he shuffled to the door and gazed through the peephole. A uniformed police officer held his badge up.

The officer took a step back when he opened the door, and a short, stout black woman addressed him. “Jake Richards?”

“Can I help you?”

“I'm the new prosecutor assigned to the Grazicky case.” She extended her hand. “Lisa Hail. Can I come in?”

Jake accepted her hand and stepped aside. The police officer remained posted outside the door. “What happened to the other prosecutor?”

“Someone scared him off. Threatened his family. Found his kid at a park and put a real scare in her.”

“Grazicky.”

“Can't prove it.”

“So you're taking over.”

“I don't scare easy. New York born and bred.”

Jake followed her into the living-room area of the suite.

“Mr. Richards, your employer, Mr. Conners, walked into my office today with a fascinating tale. He claims you're responsible for hiding my star witness. Being the hard-ass I am, I immediately threatened to have him arrested for obstructing justice.” She plopped down on the sofa, and the cushions wheezed beneath her weight. “But then Mr. Conners reminded me he holds all the cards.”

Jake sat across from her, stalling for time to contemplate what Mr. Conners had done. He had to believe if Conners had gone to see Lisa Hail, there was a very good reason for it. “Mr. Conners came to you?” he questioned.

“Actually, I had him detained at the airport all night until he gave up what he knew.” She smiled humorously, checking her watch. “I imagine you'll be getting a call from him within the hour. As soon as my people release him.”

Lisa Hail played dirty.

So could he. “You can't afford to extend this investigation any longer. Without Payton Vaughn, and a body, your murder case is circumstantial at best.”

“Do you mind if I pour myself a drink of water?” She left her seat before he could answer. “I don't want to aggravate your arm.” She stepped into the kitchenette and helped herself to a glass of water.

“How did you get those injuries anyway?” she asked, rejoining him on the sofa.

“Muggers.”

“In our fair city of Charlotte?
My
city? No, I don't believe it. Are you trying to insult me? The next thing you'll be telling me is the Mexicans did it. You know everybody blames the Mexicans.”

She laughed at a private joke she couldn't wait to share with him. “Or maybe you'll say a woman did it? A woman with superstrength forced you back to your hotel room and attacked a big, strapping guy like yourself, beating the stew out of you.” She jabbed her puffy fist into the air. “Tell me everything you know, or I'm going to beat you with a wet noodle.” She doubled over in laughter.

Obviously, Mr. Conners had told her too much. He waited for Lisa Hail to get to the point. Already he didn't like her. Her brash mannerisms were enough to render his pain medicine useless.

Lisa stopped laughing so abruptly Jake thought she might be choking on her water. Her face contorted into a snarl. “Let's cut the games, Mr. Richards. Tell me where my star witness is.”

“I'm sure Mr. Conners told you I don't know.”

“Right before I threatened to lock him up for obstruction of justice and hindering a criminal investigation.”

“If I knew where they were, I wouldn't tell you. Your people almost got Payton killed.”

“Now, listen—”

“What I will give you is a lead.”

Lisa sank into the sofa; the cushions wheezed. “Don't play with me.”

Jake moved to his work area and searched through his papers until he found the document he was looking for. “Adriano and I have been investigating Grazicky for a long time. He's tied to the drug trade big-time.” He handed her the piece of paper. “Get your forensic accountants to make the connection.”

“I don't take orders from you,” she huffed, examining the paper. “I know how reporters like you work. You don't make a move without layers upon layers of escape doors. You may not know where your partner is hiding my witness right this second, but you know how to get in touch with him.”

“I've given you all the information I'm willing to give right now.” He needed to hold back some, because dealing with a person like Hail demanded an insurance policy. He'd given her enough to get started. He and Adriano had used means the police might categorize as illegal to obtain information the authorities wouldn't have access to. If she used it correctly, it would aid in building her case.

“And if I arrest you right now? I did bring an officer with me, you know.”

“If you arrest me, I don't tell you anything. I'm a reporter. You can't violate my rights. Even to make your case.”

“I'd think you'd want to put Sherman Grazicky away.”

“I'm doing everything in my power to make it happen. Now, if you want to combine our efforts, working together—”

“Forget it, Richards. You won't blackmail me.”

“Then we'll have to continue working separately. If I find something you can use, I'll get it to you right away.”

“I want regular progress reports,” Lisa demanded, her cool exterior becoming ruffled.

“Not going to happen.”

She took a long drink of water. “The judge could compel you to give up the information.”

It became Jake's turn to laugh. “Again, I'm a reporter. I've spent more time in jail than in bed with my wife. When I know Mr. Conners has been released, we can discuss my terms again.”

She mumbled something about hating the press.