In For the Kill (29 page)

Hazlett's carefully shaped brows furrowed. “Did I startle you?”

“Oh, no. Just lost in my thoughts.” She tried to shimmy her foot back into her sandal. The last thing she wanted was to fuss with her shoe and pull his gaze down, drawing his attention to that loose tile.

But why the secrecy? Why was her heart pounding? Hazlett wouldn't care if she found something connected to her mother. Renato would be over the moon with delight. She could just bend down right now and satisfy her curiosity. Why the hell not?

She just couldn't. Her muscles had frozen, and her vocal apparatus, too. There might be nothing hidden under that tile. The place was hundreds of years old, after all. Probably half the tiles were loose.

But Mama had written her a cryptic letter about it. Things she had not confided to Renato. She might have nibbled pastries with him, and shared her body with him—but she had not shared this.

Sveti edged away from the tile without looking down, and took the glass. The sling-back strap was still trapped under her heel.

“Try some Prosecco,” Hazlett urged. “Are you feeling all right?”

She gulped the fizzy wine. “Sad,” she offered. “I'll always regret not saying good-bye to her. It just doesn't get any easier with time.”

Hazlett's eyes went soft. He seized her hand. Fingers closed tight. His grip was forceful. Not more so than Sam's, but it was an entirely different sensation, to have this man seek to impose his will on her physically. A man she did not know, or trust. She disliked it.

But her presence of mind was trashed from finding the tile. She took another swallow of Prosecco, for lack of anything intelligent to say.

Hazlett tucked her arm into the crook of his elbow. “Walk with me,” he urged. “I want to show you the chapel. There are frescoes some say were painted by Giotto himself.”

“I . . . I'd love to see them.” Her loose sandal flapped loudly against the tiles. She contracted her toes to keep it pressed to her heel. Her stomach was roiling. “One moment. Let me just fix my shoe.”

She bent down, glad for the opportunity to pull free of his arm.

She rose up and . . . oh, wow. Head rush. A wave of cold, dark. Sweeping upward, washing over her head. She stumbled. Oh, no.
No.

 

Hurt.
It burned, a fire on the side of her head. The light blinded her when she tried to open her eyes, so she kept them shut as she struggled to figure out what the hell was going on, listening to the voices swirling in and out of focus. Italian. She couldn't catch a word.

She fought to orient herself. “Where am I?” she croaked.

“With us, at the Villa Rosalba. You're perfectly safe, and you're going to be fine. Don't be alarmed,” a male voice responded.

It all clicked into place moments after. That was Hazlett—but she had asked her question in Ukrainian. She forced her eyes open. They watered copiously. “You speak Ukrainian?” she asked in English.

He patted her hand. “One doesn't conduct international business deals for decades without picking up a few things.”

She tried to sit up and fell back, wincing. “What happened?”

“You fainted.” Renato's voice. “I'm not surprised. It was an intense morning for you, emotionally.”

That observation bugged her, obscurely. Her intense emotions were not on display for his entertainment.

The loose tile, the tree of life, The Sword of Cain all crashed back into her mind. She still had not the slightest desire to say anything to either of these two men about it, but she was bursting to tell Sam.

She missed him so badly. She put her hand to her head and found a gauze bandage around her forehead. “What's this?”

“You hit your head on the bench when you fell,” Renato explained. “Dr. Argillo examined you and bandaged you up. It's a small wound. Just a little blood to wash out of your hair.”

A short, middle-aged woman in a white coat leaned over Sveti, peering into her eyes. She shone a bright penlight into both of Sveti's eyes and spoke in rapid, staccato Italian.

“She says you don't have a concussion, but that you should be carefully observed for a while,” Hazlett translated. “Of course, we would be happy to observe you. What could be more pleasurable.”

Like hell. She wanted Sam. She wanted to soothe his ruffled feathers, tell him what she had seen. She struggled up into a sitting position. The doctor scolded, but she ignored it. A woman hurried in and spoke to Renato. Renato held up his hand for her to wait.

“It appears your fearsome protector has arrived,” he said. “From what Agata says, he seems very agitated. I'm not surprised.”

“So you did slip away.” Hazlett chuckled, smugly. “You sly minx.”

Thank God. Her rush of relief was so intense, tears filled her eyes.

Hazlett's gaze narrowed. “I have to ask. Do you want us to let him in? Has he become problematic? We could distance you from him, if you want us to. Now would be the perfect opportunity. Just say the word.”

She almost laughed. Problematic, hah. He might be a problem, but he was, by God, her problem. “You have the wrong idea,” she said. “Please, let him in. I want to see him.”

“If you wish.” Renato looked disappointed. He spoke to the girl called Agata. She scurried off to do his bidding.

“Just remember,” Hazlett said, “if you change your mind, tell me.”

“I appreciate the thought, but I'm fine. Really.”

The door burst open and Sam strode through, a terrified-looking Agata hurrying in behind him, babbling shrilly in Italian.

“Sveti?” He looked at her, horrified. “What the
fuck?
”

“It's not as bad as it seems,” she assured him. “Don't freak.”

“What happened?” He rounded on Hazlett, his gaze accusing.

“She fainted,” Renato said. “She hit her head.”

“She'll be fine,” Hazlett added soothingly.

“Says who?” Sam spun around. “Has she been seen by a doctor?”

“Yes, I have, and you can speak to me, not over my head,” she said. “This lady is a doctor. She has examined me. Calm down.”

Sam started firing questions at the doctor in rapid Italian. Sveti was too exhausted to try to follow their conversation.

Sam turned to her after a moment. “You ready to go?”

“No,” Hazlett said. “She needs to stay under observation.”

“You are welcome to stay with her, if you must,” Renato said, with ill grace. “Please, do stay for lunch.”

“Thanks, but no.” He looked at Sveti. “Let's get out of here. I'll observe you like you've never been observed before. Can you walk?”

God, she hated to leave without looking under that tile, but no way would she get another moment alone. And she still didn't want to share her discovery. “I'm fine,” she murmured. “We can go whenever.”

She got to her feet, tottering. Sam scooped her into his arms.

Hazlett grunted, his narrowed eyes sliding over Sam. “Remember what I said, Svetlana,” he said. “Anytime. Just call.”

She looked up at Sam, who was glaring at Hazlett. “Would you stop being ridiculous, Sam? You're embarrassing me. Put me down.”

“No,” he said flatly.

The doctor trotted behind Sam, rapping out instructions. He helped her into the car. She waved at Renato and Hazlett, and dug in her purse for her sunglasses. The blazing sunlight hurt her eyes.

And Sam's deafening silence hurt her ears.

C
HAPTER
20

S
am focused his attention on the hairpin turns on the coastal highway. The slightest provocation and he'd be breaking things.

After about twenty minutes, she gave it a try. “Sam, I'm sorry if—”

“Don't.” The word slammed like a karate chop on whatever she meant to say. “You have a head injury. Don't start. We'll both regret it.”

She subsided, intimidated. He focused on the road. He was ashamed of himself. Had been since the door to the bedroom had closed behind him. Throwing his weight around, using his strength against her. Sex, as a weapon? Those were toxic gray areas, slippery slopes, guilt trips, power trips. Deal breakers. If he were her, he'd tell him to fuck off and die. If his sister told him a guy had treated her the way he'd treated Sveti, he'd beat the shit out of that Neanderthal fuckhead and feel justified doing so. He might have already killed whatever they had.

That scared him out of his wits.

“Sam?” she tried again. “I wasn't in any danger—”

“I found you with your head bandaged!” He pulled out her note and tossed it onto her lap. “You scared the living shit out of me, Sveti!”

She looked down at the crumpled note, smoothing it. “You did the same thing to me this morning.”

He gulped over the rock in his throat. “I know,” he said. “I know.”

A couple minutes of fires-of-hell writhing followed, until Sveti broke the silence again. “Did you get anything from Simone?”

“Yeah, I got myself another Glock 19, and a .357 Taurus snubbie for backup. And a Micro-Glock for you. Spare magazines. Ammo.”

“You got a gun for me?” She sounded startled.

“Of course I did,” he said. “You said you can handle one, right?”

“Ah, yes,” she said.

“I got a waist holster for you, too,” he said. “Smallest size they make. And a thigh strap.” He glanced down at the exposed length of her shapely thigh. “For when you wear the girly stuff.” He glanced at her face. “You thought I was going to treat you like a helpless fawn, right? Blinking big, innocent eyes like Bambi? I know how tough you are, Sveti. I want you armed and dangerous. It makes me feel safer.”

He was heartened by the smile that flashed over her face.

“He had a good selection,” Sam said. “I wanted to get everything he brought. I was in the mood to blow shit up.”

She shot him a wary glance. “Sam,” she said. “About that.”

“Don't,” he warned.

“We have to talk about it sometime!”

“I'm hanging on by my teeth, Sveti. I don't want to push you farther away from me. If you give a shit about me, if you care about whatever we have together, then please, help me do that.”

She gave him the big-eyed look. “Okay. But for the record?”

He braced himself. “What?”

“I really do give a shit,” she said.

That opened up a little space in his chest. Enough to actually breathe. After a few minutes, he was the one to break the silence.

“Learn anything about your mom?” he asked.

“Yes, in fact,” she said. “Renato showed me her tomb.”

“Any astonishing revelations?”

“Don't be sarcastic. And yes, in fact. There were.”

He waited, intrigued. “So? Spill it. What?”

“Well, the maze was a dead end. I followed the directions and slammed nose-first into a hedge. But I found the tree of life.”

“No shit,” he said. “Found it how?”

“It was on the tiles, in the atrium. The tree, with images of the Genesis creation story. And there was a tile with a depiction of Cain murdering Abel. He's holding a bloody sword.”

“The Sword of Cain,” he said quietly. “Son of a bitch.”

“Exactly,” she said. “That tile's loose in the floor, with a cavity beneath, but Hazlett barged in as I was about to peek inside.”

“And you didn't want to tell Renato?”

“I was too flustered to think clearly,” she admitted. “Hazlett interrupted me as I was lifting the tile. I panicked, and shortly after, I passed out. So embarrassing. I'm not the fainting type. I need to figure out how to get back in there. I have to look under that tile.”

“You're kidding, right? By stealth? Without telling Renato?”

“I'll get myself another invitation,” Sveti said. “Preferably overnight. I'll look while everyone's asleep. That's the simplest plan.”

“That's just fucking brilliant, sweetheart.” Sam's jaw tightened. “You love to put me to the test, don't you?”

“This isn't about you, Sam.” She sounded exhausted. “And it's not about Hazlett, either. He didn't come on to me at all, by the way.”

“How about what he said at the end?” he demanded. “Anytime you're ready to trade up and unload the ball-and-chain boyfriend, he'll sweep you away into bliss and perfection. Wasn't that the subtext?”

She shook her head. “Sam,” she said gently. “We're degenerating.”

He bit the rest back and parked. Sveti looked at the turn-of-the-century hotel, perched on a cliff over the sea, as so many buildings around here were. “Where are we?”

“At our new hotel, in a new town,” Sam said. “I don't like having your admirers at the Villa Rosalba knowing where you are. Or having a driver turn up to carry you away when I'm not looking. Makes me wonder what the fuck I'm doing here at all.”

She got out as he heaved the suitcases out of the trunk, and he glanced at her with a frown. “Sit back down,” he said sharply. “I'll ask someone else to get the bags, and I'll carry you up to the room.”

“No, I can walk,” she assured him. “Really. I'm back to normal.”

He gave her his most baleful look. She gazed limpidly back.

Now was no time for a fresh power struggle. He left the bags where they were and offered her his arm. “Compromise?”

She rolled her eyes and took his arm. “Okay.”

This hotel was smaller than San Aurelio, but just as beautiful, and check-in was swift. He hustled her up into the room. Once inside, he pushed until she sat down on the bed. They stared at each other, for an excruciating interval. He took a deep breath and went for it.

“Okay, here goes,” he said. “I was a controlling dickhead this morning. In bed and out. I apologize. I will never do that to you again.”

She blinked up at him. “Ah . . . thanks.”

“Don't thank me yet. I'm not through,” he said.

“Well, then. Finish, by all means.”

“I accept that I behaved badly,” he said. “But I have to be able to trust you. We've got to work as a team. You can't run out on me. It was stupid and lazy not to face me down. Not to be straight with me.”

“I wasn't in any danger, Sam,” she said.

He held up a warning hand and shook his head.

Sveti sighed and went to the mirror that hung on the wall. She started undoing the gauze bandage wrapped around her head.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

“Getting rid of it. It's not necessary. It makes me look like I'm at death's door, and I just bumped my head a little. It's stopped bleeding.”

“How does it feel?”

“A little tender, but the headache's gone,” she said. “I don't need it, Sam. And it makes you act weird with me. All careful and nervous.”

He harrumphed. “Maybe you should put it back on. Maybe that's a better vibe for us right now. Safer.”

Her chin went up. Her glance was like a honed blade. “Safer, my ass,” she said. “I'm not afraid of you, Sam Petrie. Not one little bit. So don't be afraid of yourself. It's silly.”

The look in her eyes made his body start to hum and rev. His heart jolted and started to pound. Oh, Jesus, this was a bad idea. This went beyond slippery slopes. This was a sheer cliff.

“I'm sorry for going off alone,” she said. “You drove me to it, but it made me miserable. I was relieved when you showed up. Even as furious as you were.”

“Are,” he said. “Present tense. I'm still furious.”

“Ah. I seem to bring that out in you,” she murmured.

“We need a reboot,” he said.

“I'm all for it,” she replied.

“Any brilliant ideas on how we might accomplish that?”

She hesitated. “I have one idea,” she said. “It's not too original, and I don't know how brilliant it is, but it seems to work every time.”

His heart kicked up to a mad gallop as the heat in the room went up. “Sveti,” he said carefully. “You have a head injury.”

“I told you, I feel fine.” She swept up her hair with both arms. “It was a very strange morning. Very intense. I need to feel close to you.”

“Yeah?” he said stupidly. “How close?”

She kicked off her sandals and slid both her hands under her crisp, flirty little skirt, pulling off the wispy scrap of white stretch lace panties. She tossed them aside and approached him, sliding her hands over his shirt. Fingering his buttons. She smelled so good. He wasn't going to be able to say no. He wasn't going to be able to control the sex, either.

So what else was new. He was almost starting to get used to that.

She opened his shirt, brushing her fingertips over the pattern of his chest hair, the jagged scars. She leaned forward, and her little hot pink tongue flicked out to swirl around his nipple. She pressed her hand to his solar plexus, feeling the frantic thud of his heart. She jerked his belt loose and wrenched open the buttons of his jeans.

He seized her wrists as she pulled his cock out. “Oh, my God.”

She sank down to her knees and took him in her mouth.

He sucked in a sharp, rasping breath and flung his head back. This was going to kill him. So raw, so good. Pure electricity. Too much, that hot, suckling vortex, the tender, luscious swirl of her tongue around his aching cockhead. The long, wet pull . . . oh, God.

He opened his eyes and caught sight of them both reflected in the mirror across the room. Himself, chest bared, face contorted in a primal grimace. Sveti on her knees in front of him, hair loose. Still in her virginal, girlish white dress. Like some kinky schoolgirl sex fantasy.

He cradled her head gently, careful not to touch the hurt part. “Stop,” he said, but it was a shaking, pleading tone. No authority.

Sveti looked up, squeezing his stiff rod. “Don't you like it?”

“I love it. But we can't. Not after this morning. It's too weird.”

“So let me fix it.” She lashed him voluptuously with her tongue.

He keened with agonized pleasure. “Wait.” His brain was too fried by sex hormones to get the thought out in one piece. “I don't want to be managed and soothed. I don't want you to fix us with sex. I don't want to be trained with it like a circus animal. I don't want that dynamic.” He grabbed her under her arms and tugged until she stood up.

Sveti sighed. “Sam. Relax. You're overthinking this.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes,” she said. “Sometimes a blow job is just a blow job.”

“This isn't just a strategy to blow me into a sweeter mood?”

She smiled. “My strategy is to blow you into a screaming orgasm.”

His laughter made his chest shake, as if he were sobbing. “You just love throwing my words back in my face, don't you?”

“When the words are perfect for the occasion, yes. Do you feel that I'm manipulating you right now, Sam?”

He held up his thumb and forefinger, touching. “Little bit.”

“I'm not.” She rucked the skirt of her dress up above her hips. He could see the puff of her pubic hair. She lifted up one foot and perched it on the bed. “Feel me. You told me yourself. My body can't lie.”

He just stared at her, breathing hard. His ears roared.

She seized his hand and guided it between her legs. “Feel me. When I come all over you, then tell me how manipulated you feel.”

His fingers fluttered across the damp seam of her pussy. He slid them between her folds, finding her hot, slick. Exquisitely yielding.

He yanked her into his arms and kissed her, fingers delving more boldly, thumb circling her clit. The kiss grew ravenous, furious.

“You melt me,” she gasped against his mouth. “I want that, Sam.”

“You got it,” he said breathlessly. “Wait, just a second.”

He clawed the coverlet down, leaving just the altar of naked white linen like untouched snow. He shoved his jeans off.

Sveti twisted, straining for her zipper. “Shall I take off the dress?”

“I can't wait,” he said roughly, shoving her skirt up. He pushed her thighs apart and stared at her beautiful pale thighs, the nest of dark, damp curls. That gleaming, perfect pink pussy. All his.

She pulled him to herself. “I need you inside me.”

He kissed her again. “It's going to be intense, once we get going, the way I am today,” he said. “You need to be sopping wet.”

“I am wet. You felt me.” She sounded anxious. He could feel in her clutching, trembling fingers how she needed to grasp something, affirm it before it could slip away from her.

“Not yet.” His voice was savage. “I will decide when you're ready. You are going to relax, and trust me to take care of you. Have you got that straight? Because I will just repeat myself until you do!”

She jerked in a sobbing breath, clutching his shoulders. Her fingers dug into the cotton fabric, trying to trap him there.

He slid his fingers into her hair, avoiding the sore spot. Protecting it. “You with me?” he asked. “Are we good? Do you trust me?”