Primal: London Mob Book Two (7 page)

J
enna watched
from the big living room window as the woman left. The big man walked behind her. She couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but she knew from the way his head swiveled from side to side that his gaze was watchful. She recognized his posture — body coiled, ready to strike, prepared to defend.

It was the same posture Farrell assumed when he was with her.

The man opened the door to a sleek, black car, and the woman slid into the passenger seat, flashing a long, lean thigh under stockings and a garter belt. She was gorgeous. Beyond gorgeous. She was elegant and chic, confident and untouchable. Jenna felt a surge of jealousy move through her. Had Farrell been seeing this woman while they’d been apart?

Then again, was it any of Jenna’s business?

That was an easy one; the answer was no. Yet she couldn’t stop the swell of possessiveness that clutched at her chest. Farrell still belonged to her.

Didn’t he?

She shook her head, turning away from the window. She was being foolish. She’d chosen to leave Farrell in Cornwall. He was a free agent, and so was she, although she knew instinctively Farrell wouldn’t see it that way if she started seeing someone else.

The idea was repugnant. She couldn’t imagine another man’s hands on her. Couldn’t imagine another man’s body moving inside hers. She had been branded by Farrell to her core. Moving on wasn’t as simple as finding another man.

She pushed the thoughts from her mind. Her relationship with Farrell was complicated in the truest sense of the word. She couldn’t begin to unravel the details of it right now. She turned away from the window and headed for the back of the house. Lily had been gone almost two hours, and she was hoping to get a glimpse of her daughter from the terrace off the kitchen.

She stepped outside, letting the warmth from the stone sink into the bottoms of her bare feet. The goats were still roaming outside the building behind the villa, but there was no sign of Lily. She forced herself not to give in to alarm. It was a natural response after what had happened in Cornwall, but the odds of that kind of scene repeating so soon were slim. She knew it was true, but letting go of her fear wasn’t as easy as it sounded. It took effort not to hover over Lily now. Not to try and shield her from every worry and fear, every fall and scrape.

She sat in one of the lounge chairs, forcing herself to breathe. Lily was no doubt with Ernesto and his son, playing in the orchard or running through the grape vines Mrs. Pendleton said grew behind the estate. Had the compound been breached, Farrell’s guards would have sounded the alarm, the house would be on lock down, and she and Lily would undoubtedly be crouching in one of the panic rooms with a gun-wielding bodyguard.

She closed her eyes against the sun, letting it warm her face as she turned her thoughts to her father. He’d been heavy on her mind since the incident in the alley. He’d been a simple man, but he’d loved his wife and daughters. He must have known the research papers would put them in danger. Must have known they would be especially dangerous to Jenna given that he’d made her the sole signatory on the safe deposit box in Madrid.

She tried to imagine him making the decision to hide the papers, to lead her to them. He hadn’t listed Kate as a signatory. He’d listed Jenna, even knowing she had Lily to think about. He’d trusted her. But for the last three months she’d done nothing but hide. She’d gone about her business as if her father hadn’t given his life to ensure the papers would reach her hands.

Shame heated her face. He’d thought she was brave. It was something he always said to her when she was little, when she’d had to wrestle her mother into bed and soothe Kate.

There’s my beautiful, brave girl…

But she wasn’t brave. She was a coward. She’d run at the first sign of danger with no thought to the sacrifice he’d made to get the research papers out of the Institute. To hide them in a place where only Jenna would find them.

She didn’t know what the research meant. She and Farrell had only managed to deduce that someone was trying to weaponize the Marburg virus. They hadn’t gotten as far as who was behind it — or what they wanted to do with it — before the invasion at Cornwall.

She opened her eyes, suddenly realizing that she wanted to know. Her father had died to pass along the information. Had been willing to forfeit his safe, predictable life. Had even been willing to risk hers. She’d largely lost touch with her family when she’d moved to New York, their contact relegated to occasional phone calls and visits from Kate on her way to a beach vacation with friends. But her father had loved her. He wouldn’t have risked her life — and certainly not Lily’s — unless whatever he had discovered was important.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Farrell’s voice startled her, and she sat up, shielding her eyes against the sun before settling back into the lounge chair.

“It is.” She returned her gaze to the golden fields surrounding the villa. It was a far safer view than the vision of Farrell, standing over her like a god.

He took the chair next to her, stretched his long legs out in front of him. She had to resist the urge to reach over, run her hand along his powerful thigh, slip it between his legs.

“Lily still at the barn with Ernesto?” he asked.

“I think so,” she said. “I haven’t seen her since she left.”

“Don’t worry. She’s safe here, I promise,” Farrell said.

She looked over at him. “How do you know I’m worried?” A knowing smile touched his lips, and she reached out, swatted his leg. “Quite the know-it-all, aren’t you?”

“You’re her mother,” he said. “I expect you worry about her quite a lot.”

She turned to face him. “Do you? Worry about Lily, I mean.”

“No,” he said. “Worry is a waste of time. I spend mine making provisions for her safety — and yours. Making sure I have no cause to worry.”

The possessiveness in his tone made her cheeks flush, and she turned back to the fields, not wanting to stare too long into his eyes.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said. “I thought you should know.”

She sat up, turned to face him. “Leaving? Where?”

“I’m going to try and track down the daughter of Erik Karlsen,” he said. “I need to figure out who’s behind all of this, and he’s the only lead I have.”

“What about Lily and me?” she asked.

“You’ll stay here.”

He said it like it had been decided. Like it wasn’t up for discussion. She always forgot that about Farrell. The way he took control of everything without so much as a please or thank you. How he made decisions for her and expected her to blindly follow his orders. Her skin prickled with annoyance.

“I want to come with you.” The words were out before she had time to consider them. She hadn’t even realized it was true until she said it.

“No.”

He stood, and she rose to her feet. “You don’t get to make that decision for me.”

“Do I have to remind you what happened in Madrid?” he asked.

“I remember it well, thank you,” she fired back. “But I’ve been in hiding for three months now, cowering in that little flat with Lily, afraid of every noise, every bump in the night. And just when I convinced myself I was being paranoid, we were almost killed in that alley. So I’m not going to apologize for wanting to put an end to this once and for all.”

“That’s why I’m going — to put an end to it. Alone. There’s no need for you to be there.”

“I have a need,” she said. “My father entrusted those papers to me. Not Kate. Not my mother, and not you, Farrell. He trusted me, and I let him down.”

His expression softened. “You didn’t let him down.”

“I did. I got scared and I went into hiding.”

“To protect Lily.”

“Yes, and because I was scared,” she said. “I’m still scared. But if what you say is true and Lily really is safe here, I want to go with you anyway. I want to see it through for him.”

“Wouldn’t you feel better staying here with her?” She wondered if it was her imagination that his resolve seemed to waver. “Seeing that she’s safe with your own two eyes?”

It was a low blow — using Lily’s safety to make her second guess her desire to go with him. She folded her arms across her chest. “Isn’t she?”

He sighed. “Of course, she is.”

“Good,” Jenna said. “I’ll have Kate come to keep an eye on her, too.”

“That’s not really the point,” he said. “You’ll both be safer here, and it will be easier for me to focus on hunting these people down if I don’t have to worry about you.”

“You don’t,” she said.

“Easier said than done,” he muttered, turning away from her. Lily and Anthony had emerged from barn. They chased the goats, Lily squealing while Anthony said something in Italian and Ernesto’s laughter drifted across the field.

She looked at Farrell’s broad back, at the shoulders that seemed strong enough to carry the weight of the world. It took every ounce of self control not to go to him, run her hands along his big arms, lean her face against his back. She didn’t want to make things harder for him. She’d done enough of that. But she owed her father this.

“I’m not trying to be difficult,” she said. “And I promise to stay out of the way. But how dangerous can it be to meet with a scientist? If he’s really in hiding, he must be as afraid of the people behind the research as I am.”

“We have no idea where it will lead,” Farrell said. “We went to Madrid to look inside a safe deposit box and we ended up dodging bullets.”

“If things take a turn for the worse, I’ll come back,” she said stubbornly. She drew in a deep breath, trying to find the words to make an argument that would stick. She wasn’t crazy about leaving Lily, but this was something she had to do. If she didn’t, she’d always wonder if she had truly honored her father’s wishes, and that was a question she didn’t want to live with. “Please, Farrell. I need to do this.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, and she knew she’d won. It was a sign of defeat, one of the few tells that emerged when Farrell let down his guard. Which wasn’t often.

“Call Kate,” he said. “I can have the plane at Heathrow tomorrow morning.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

He met her eyes, and she almost flinched from the ice in his gaze. “I’m allowing this for now, Jenna, but you will come back here if I think it’s too dangerous. Understood?”

She swallowed hard. “Understood.”

“Good.” He turned to go, then looked back. “Dinner at eight on the terrace.”

“Just me?” she asked.

He looked confused before shaking his head. “It’s a family dinner. Everyone will be there. Bring Lily.” He tipped his head. “And yourself, of course.”

“Farrell?” She stopped him as he stepped into the house.

He looked back. “Yes?”

“Who was that woman? The one who was here a while ago?”

He hesitated. “Another layer of protection for you and Lily.”

And then he was gone, leaving her to ponder how the beautiful woman could possibly protect her and Lily.

“
W
hy am
I putting on a new dress, Mummy?”

Jenna slipped the dress over Lily’s head. She’d found it in the bureau in Lily’s bedroom and had decided it was nice enough for the mysterious family dinner Farrell had planned.

“Because your other dress smells like chickens and goats,” Jenna said, tweaking Lily’s nose.

Lily giggled. “Goats don’t smell bad!”

“Says you!” Jenna laughed. “Shall we braid your hair? It’s still wet from your bath.”

“I don’t want to,” Lily said, sitting at the little table and pulling out a sheet of paper. “I’m going to draw a picture for Mrs. Pendleton.”

Jenna stood, bending to drop a kiss on Lily’s head. “Sounds lovely. Can you do that while Mummy takes a bath?”

Lily nodded, already humming and in her own world. Jenna smiled as she went to the bathroom and started the tub, then stripped off her clothes. In spite of everything, Lily seemed happy and well adjusted. If she suffered any lasting trauma from the events at Cornwall, they were invisible so far. She wondered if she should look into therapy when they got back to London, then decided to shelve the possibility for later consideration. They weren’t in London. They were in this lovely villa in Tuscany, as secure as anyone in the world, close to Farrell and a host of wonderful people. She would enjoy this last night with her daughter before Kate arrived tomorrow morning.

She found some bath oil on the side of the tub, opened the cap, and gave a sniff.

Lavender. Heavenly.

She poured some into the tub and twisted her hair on top of her head, securing it with a couple of pins before sinking into the hot water, thinking about her conversation with Kate earlier that afternoon. Her sister hadn’t seemed surprised by the request that she come to Italy. Then again, for Kate everything was a lark. This would be just another adventure to add to a very long list. A luxury vacation on Farrell Black. She’d lay on the terrace, let her skin brown like toast in the sun, swim with Lily in the pool Jenna had discovered when she’d explored the property. The reason for her visit, the fact that the estate was surrounded by armed guards, that Jenna might very well be in danger, would be on the periphery of Kate’s consciousness, if there at all.

She envied her sister. How lovely it must be to be so focused on one’s own happiness. She would have to try to learn from Kate when this was all over. Worrying didn’t seem to do any good anyway.

She soaked in the bath, letting her mind drift until the water cooled. Then she lathered her body with a bar of rough-hewn soap that smelled vaguely of olive oil and oranges and stepped from the tub. The bathroom was swirling with steam as she grabbed a thick towel and wrapped it around her body. She used one hand to wipe the fog from the mirror and studied her face, thinking about the fact that she’d actually fought for the right to leave the country alone with Farrell.

Again.

“What are you doing?” she whispered to her reflection.

Her image had no answer, and she finally turned away, returning to her bedroom on bare feet. She found a pair of ivory satin panties and matching bra in the top drawer of the bureau and slipped them on. A quick look through the wardrobe netted drawstring capris in cool cotton and a silk violet tank. She put both on, combed out her hair, and smoothed moisturizer over her face, already a little brown from the warm Tuscan sun, before touching her lips with sheer gloss. She looked at herself in the mirror, noting the shine in her eyes that seemed to be a hallmark of Farrell’s nearness. She never looked — or felt — as alive as she did when she was with him. Her body was primed, blood pumping swiftly through her veins, breath moving deeply in and out of her lungs, all of it prepping her for the moment when they would come together and everything else would fall away. Then there would only be their bodies moving as one, their souls complete at last. It was the only time she felt truly comfortable in her own skin. A dangerous kind of euphoria as addicting as any drug.

She shook her head and hurried to get Lily from the bedroom. Fantasizing about Farrell was a pastime she couldn’t afford.

They headed out of the room, down the winding halls toward the sound of music on the first floor. But not just music: conversation and laughter, the clink of silver on porcelain, the popping of a cork. When they turned into the kitchen, Jenna’s eyes were drawn to the terrace, nearly overflowing with people. Ernesto and Anthony were there, along with a doe-eyed girl a little older than Lily. Carmen, the woman who had been talking to Mrs. Pendleton that morning, was there as well. Four men in casual clothes stood at the edge of the terrace with beers in their hands, eyes watchful as they quietly conversed. Jenna immediately pegged them as off-duty guards from their massive size and the readiness in their stances. One of them was casting longing glances at a beautiful young woman with long, dark hair who was setting a rough hewn table with plates and silver. Leo was there, too. And of course, Farrell.

She watched him from the door, taking in the tailored fit of his shirt, cut close enough to hint at the massive biceps that lurked under the fabric. His trousers did nothing to hide the big thighs, the ass that she knew from experience was rock hard, the bulge between his legs that was big enough to stretch her to the limit. The thought of that — of him between her legs, sinking into her, dragging out, looking into her eyes while he took her closer to the peak of their own mountain — sent a pool of wetness between her legs.

But it wasn’t just his body that moved her. It was the warmth in his eyes when he touched the little girl’s head, the smile that lit up the room just before his deep laughter filled the room in response to something one of the men said, the easy grace of his body as he lifted the girl into the air like she weighed no more than a feather.

He set her down, and his gaze caught and held Jenna’s. Everyone else seemed to fade into the background, blurry and distant as he came into sharper focus. Then he was coming toward them, the smile on his face private, meant just for her and Lily.

“There you are,” he said, bending to kiss her cheek.

She caught his scent and knew then and there that she would end up in his bed later that night. Her body’s reaction to him was raw and elemental.

Animal.

Primal.

Unstoppable.

She smiled. “Here we are.”

He held her gaze. “I’m glad.” He turned his focus on Lily. “I heard someone gave the goats a run for their money today.”

“Goats don’t have money, Daddy!”

His smile reached all the way to his eyes. “You’re right. Probably because you took it from them when you chased them all over the fields.”

“Daddy!”

Jenna couldn't help but laugh. Their rapport was so easy. It was obvious that Lily would someday give Farrell a run for his money — and her, too — in the wit department.

“Let’s go meet everyone.” He lifted Lily into his arms and reached for Jenna’s hand.

The next three hours passed in a happy blur of wine, food, laughter, and more wine. Jenna met the four guards and Lucia, the young woman who helped Carmen keep house and cook. After several courses — most of them created from ingredients grown in or around the villa — Mrs. Pendleton took a sleepy Lily to bed while Carmen took Anthony and Lessa, his little sister, to their cottage on the grounds. The room grew quiet as they settled in for coffee, Ernesto softly strumming his guitar through a series of Italian ballads and folk songs. Farrell met her eyes, and her breath caught in her throat at the look of naked desire in his eyes. When he reached for her hand under the table and squeezed, she felt it all the way to her core. Felt her body clench in response.

The candles were burning low on the table, their soft light casting shadows on the old plaster walls when the last note echoed through the room. They sat in silence for a couple minutes, drinking in the afterglow of the shared evening. Jenna could almost believe they were all alone in the world, thousands of miles from anyone who might do them harm.

Finally, Ernesto stood, bowing. “Thank you for a wonderful dinner, Mr. Black.”

“No thanks necessary,” Farrell said. “This is your home. It wouldn’t be what it is without you.”

Ernesto ducked his head, clearly both embarrassed and pleased by the compliment. Everyone else rose, talking and laughing as they pushed in their chairs and exited the room. Then she and Farrell were alone. The one thing she feared and desired more than anything else.

He looked over at her, his face somehow more menacing — and more sensual — in the candlelight. She held her breath as he reached out, captured her hand in his, lifted it to his mouth. He opened her fingers, revealing her palm, and kissed the center, his lips searing her skin.

She closed her eyes. Not to try and fight it. There was no fighting. This she already knew. No, she closed her eyes and let herself fall instead.

He stood, dropping her hand. “Come.”

He was already to the hall when she rose from her chair. She followed him up the stairs, down the first floor hall. He didn’t turn, didn’t wait for her to catch up. This was Farrell’s game, and they played by his rules.

A primitive drumbeat had started at the center of her body, radiating outward until it was a pulse between her legs. She was already wet. Already ready. She didn’t know exactly what was to come — she never did with Farrell — but she knew he would own her, and she knew she would welcome his owning.

They passed Lily’s room, then her own, and came to stop at the very end of the hall. She followed him into a bedroom, and he reached around her, the brush of his arm delivering a shock to her system as he shut the door.

She waited as he turned away, walked farther into the room. He opened the doors to the terrace wider, and a breeze, fragrant with the fields and the residual heat from the summer day touched her bare arms with gentle fingers. She watched as he pulled a book of matches from the nightstand — Farrell always kept matches in his nightstand — and proceeded to light the candles scattered around the room. She focused on the furnishings as everything was slowly illuminated — the enormous bed carved from a rough wood, the black satin sheets, the heavy, dark furniture, as substantial and strong as Farrell himself. It was a simple room considering the rest of the estate, and yet she had no doubt that everything had been carefully chosen, and none of it was cheap.

Finally he stopped moving, turned to look at her. There was no doubt in her mind now. No fear of the future or indecision about what was best. Because it didn’t matter what the future held. It didn’t matter what was best. It only mattered that she belonged to him. That she always had and always would, just like he’d said in Cornwall. Allowing him to possess her body was an inevitability.

She walked toward him, stopping when she was a few inches away. She didn’t touch him at first, just searched his eyes for answers she knew she wouldn’t find, for reassurances he wouldn’t offer. When she finally lay a hand against his chest, allowing the steady rhythm of his heartbeat to pulse against her hand, he closed his eyes.

Like it was painful. Nearly unbearable.

Maybe it was.

She lifted her other hand, began undoing the buttons at the front of his shirt. He opened his eyes, looked deeply into hers as she slowly revealed his magnificent chest. When she was done, she slid her hands up his pecs to his shoulders and pushed the fabric off his body.

He growled, sweeping her into his arms in one easy motion. Playtime was over. Now he would work her his way.

Leave no part of her body unexplored.

Leave no part of her soul untouched.

He set her next to the bed and reached down, pulling off her tank top. Then he knelt in front of her, untied the drawstring on her pants, slid them off her hips. He lifted each of her feet, gently removing the fabric and tossing it aside. He rocked back on his heels, gazing up at her with the kind of adoration usually reserved for worship.

She didn’t move. He wanted to look, and he would not be rushed.

This she also knew.

Finally he stood, lowering his head to her neck, breathing in the scent of her. He was close, so close, but careful not to touch her, not to let so much as an inch of his skin touch hers. This was the discipline in letting Farrell take over her body. The price she paid for the pleasure he would give her later. She pressed her thighs together to kill the heat burning there. It only made things worse, and she tried to force her breathing even as he lifted his hands, unfastened the front clasp of the bra. He pushed it off her shoulders, and she closed her eyes as his gaze swept her body. She was on fire, dying for his touch. She suppressed a whimper, not ready to give him the satisfaction when it would soon become apparent how totally she was at his mercy.

He stepped back, slipped his hands into the ivory panties and slid them off her body. His face was inches from her pussy. She could almost feel his mouth on her, feel his tongue working her clit. She drew in a breath, trying not to think about it.

When she was naked, he stood, stepped back, paced in front of her like he wasn’t sure what to do next. She felt exposed in the best and worst of ways. She wasn’t embarrassed; he knew her body better than she did. He would see the taut nipples, the flush on her chest, maybe even the moisture clinging to the smooth lips of her pussy. He knew she wanted him, and the bulge in his pants left no doubt that the feeling was mutual.

It was always hard to be still when she was naked under his searching gaze, but she did it anyway. This was part of the game. She had made him wait for her. Had made him go without her for three long months. Now she was the one who would wait.

“What do you want?” he finally said, his voice gruff as he looked at her.

She swallowed. “You. I want you, Farrell.”

“You want my cock.” There was a bite to his words, and she knew he was still hurting from her abandonment.

She met his eyes. “No, I want
you.
All of you.”

“For how long?” he asked. “How long this time before you leave me again?”