The Salvation of Vengeance (Wanted Men #2) (23 page)

Despite his thoughts, he sank more of his weight onto her, pressing her into the leather of the sofa, marveling that the soft globe fit his palm as if God had created and formed her just for him. Finding her puckered nipple, he rolled the little berry between his fingers, his every nerve sparking and shorting out when she gasped and mewled and arched against him. He moved across to give her other neglected breast the same treatment.

Releasing her mouth, Vincente nipped a wet trail across her cheek and over her jaw so he could get to the soft skin of her neck, but he could barely concentrate on what he was doing because she kept grinding her hips up, rubbing his cock, hitting him in a place that was going to end things before they even got started.

Finally, his mouth made it to that tender, fleshy muscle where her shoulder met her neck, and he clamped his teeth on it. Pleasure shot down his spine at the wild cry that filled his ears, the sensation arrowing around his hips to tighten his balls when Nika dug her nails into his back. He thrust into her again, taking over her frantic movements, shortening the stroke, making it faster and sharper than she had.

Holy fuck, he had to end this.

Yes, finish
, Fan Boy cried.

No! That’s not what I meant!

Ripping himself from his internal argument, he just about blew apart when he felt Nika’s beautiful, responsive body stiffen against him. Letting go of her breast, he eased his hand between their sealed hips—absolutely forcing himself not to tunnel into her jeans—and applied a firm, darting touch to her sex through the denim.

That’s it, babe. Give this to me. Let me give it to you. Just this, and then I’ll leave you alone forever.

CHAPTER 14

The sudden orgasm blew through Nika with shocking force. She cried out, stiffening and then writhing under Vincente’s hand, his heavy weight pinning her to the sofa as she moaned through the electric sensations, her inner muscles tightening and releasing over and over.

If she hadn’t been dying from pleasure, from finally experiencing this man’s touch, she would have wanted to crawl into a hole because she was coming from some heavy petting and a single kiss. But she was coming! Responding like this to a man’s touch!

This
man’s touch.

And, holy freaking crap, he was amazing. No wonder her body did what it did when he was near. It must have instinctually known he’d be this good. And to now have the freedom to—Wait, he wasn’t allowing her to touch him, was he?

She moaned, distracted. The whole of her right side was nothing but a mass of gooseflesh and weak limbs from where he held her.

So incredible, her Vincente.

My Vincente?

When she could see and hear again, Nika pulled at her arms. “Let go,” she breathed. She wanted to touch him. Needed to feel him. So she could return the pleasure he’d just given her.

He freed her trapped wrists and lifted his head so he could look down at her.

Not noticing that he’d suddenly gone still, she fisted a handful of his hair and pulled him back to her, opening her mouth so she could kiss him with everything she had. She now knew his goatee tickled more than it scratched, in the best way possible. She moved her other hand swiftly down his back and over his rock-hard ass to come around between them, but the minute she ran her fingers over the magnificent erection behind that denim barrier, he tore his mouth from hers and drew back again.

“No, no, no. Vincente, please, don’t. Don’t stop.”

Her words came out pleading. Humiliating. But, dammit, why was he stopping? She wanted more. Was amazed and grateful that she wanted more with him. That her experience with Kevin hadn’t ruined her for this.

She cautiously—almost afraid of what she might see—met his hooded gaze, and her afterglow died. Instantly.

She’d been right to hesitate. Shouldn’t have looked. The dark brown of his eyes was nearly invisible; his pupils had expanded so much. His breathing was ragged, his lips red and wet, his skin flushed. Totally aroused. He wanted her.

But.

He was looking down at her, torn.

Maybe he didn’t want her.

“Vincente? Please, let me take care of you,” she whispered, stroking him hesitantly through his jeans. If all he would let her do was pleasure him the way he’d just pleasured her, she’d take it.

Was she really lowering herself to accept whatever crumbs he was willing to throw her?

She frowned. No. That wasn’t who she was. Wasn’t who she wanted to be anyway.

“Fuck, Nika,” he breathed, squeezing his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he was distanced. “I can’t.”

Ice chips joined the flow of hot blood rushing through her veins, cooling her completely, but when he pushed himself off and collapsed in the corner of the sofa, Nika still felt the loss of him as if someone had severed one of her limbs.

Feeling a thousand years old, she pushed herself into a sit, wincing as the material of her shirt rubbed across her sensitive nipples. She lifted her head as she straightened her clothes and looked at him, sitting there leaning his elbows on his knees, hair falling forward to hide a portion of his face, looking like a fucking poster boy for Orgasms-R-Us.

Anger at his rejection, and for her weakness when it came to him, rose up and trampled over everything in its path. “Do you get off doing this to me?”

His head turned toward her, all that so-soft hair sliding off his shoulders. Had she not been so upset, the brittle look in his dark gaze would have spooked the shit out of her. Gone was the passionate man who, minutes ago, had given her one of the most intense orgasms of her life—the only one she’d ever not given herself. In his place was her stoic protector. Nothing more.

“From what I recall,” he said silkily, “you’re the one who got off.”

She gasped, her eyes flaring wide at the blunt reminder. “And you didn’t. Is that a problem of yours? Or is it just me who doesn’t do it for you?”

“I usually do just fine.” The crooked smile he gave her didn’t reach his eyes.

Humiliation flowed like lava over her, burning, battering, shrinking her until she felt as if she were two inches tall. This again? What was it about her that made men want to hurt her? Why did they feel the need to belittle her, make her feel not good enough? Never good enough. She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat and jumped to her feet. She practically ran to the bedroom, slamming herself in before dashing over to the dresser. Gasping for air, she scrambled in the drawer and almost ripped her shirt as she struggled to throw a bra on, ashamed and embarrassed by how tender her breasts still felt. She strapped on the sandals that she’d left next to the bed yesterday.

Panicked thoughts tumbled around her head, the loudest telling her to get the hell out of there. Away from the bastard she’d just offered herself to.

Oh, why did I do that? I knew better!

She’d known he was unpredictable where she was concerned. Inconsistent.

Why had he kissed her, touched her, if he didn’t want her? Why hadn’t he just left her alone?

But nooo. He’d gone and supplied more fuel for her ridiculous fantasies. And if she believed what he’d said, which she
so
did, the problem wasn’t him. It was her.

I am so fucking stupid!

Tears filled her eyes, and her throat ached as if she’d just been choked. Oh, sure, he’d been aroused, but a man could get hard by a stiff breeze, couldn’t he? For all she knew, he’d been thinking about someone else—could’ve been imagining some petite blonde instead of the Amazon redheaded freak that she was. The woman who’d been nothing but some man’s whipping girl for the past year, who’d been the target of every one of Kevin’s nasty, denigrating comments.

Had Kevin been right about her? About no one else wanting her once he was done with her?

She hadn’t believed it, but now . . .

Nika grabbed her purse off the nightstand where Vincente must have put it last night when he’d brought her home—

Yeah, screw that.
This wasn’t home. It was just another version of hell.

After going to the bedroom door, she paused with her hand on the knob and took a deep breath to settle herself. And then another when that one didn’t work. As if it was even possible to calm down right now. Shaking, she turned the handle and walked out, down the hall, digging her key out as she went.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Her head shot up, and she dropped her purse. Vincente stood in front of the door, blocking her only exit. Trapping her. Physically barring her from freedom.

Barely able to breathe around the panic his stance incited, Nika bent to pick up her things, throwing her lipstick and wallet back into the soft black leather. She grabbed her hand sanitizer and put it back into its pocket, along with a cocktail napkin she must have picked up at the club last night because it was stamped with the words
Club Pant
. She was about to stuff it into her purse when she saw writing on the back of it. Palming it at the same time she slipped her purse strap over her head, she straightened and forced her chin up. Vincente had to let her by.

“I’m leaving. Please get out of my way.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I’m not letting you out of here when you’re upset. Who knows what you might inadvertently get yourself into? What’s that?” He nodded at the napkin.

Realization crashed over her. Her wants and needs meant nothing. Her freedom of choice didn’t exist. She was insignificant. They all thought she wasn’t even able to care for herself. To know right from wrong, danger from safety. She was still imprisoned. But in chains her brother and Vincente chose to call “protection.”

Something inside Nika broke apart, splintering with a shattering impact, littering her insides with jagged, spiky shards.

She suddenly felt so small she had to wonder if she still existed.

The painful sensations were fleeting, though, gone almost as soon as they were felt, and then . . . nothing. A blessed nothing. Absolute numbness. Her madly beating heart slowed. Her lungs lost that suffocating tightness. The tension fled from her muscles.

And she was free. On the inside, at least.

Not one emotion came forward to pummel her like she would have expected as she clarified that for herself. Just that nothing. That peaceful detachment, something that would have come in handy had she been able to adopt it when Kevin had beaten her.

But no. This she’d never experienced before, and it took her another dense few seconds to realize what it was.

You’ve given up
, a voice in the back of her mind whispered sadly.

And she had. Given up. Given in. She was never going to convince them that she was strong and capable, was she? She’d fought for so long—one night in particular, near the beginning, for her very life when Kevin hadn’t known when to stop whaling on her. That had been horrible, waking up in that hospital, her wrist in a cast, a nurse hovering worriedly, a doctor looking at her with professional concern, and a shrink—as if she hadn’t been aware her marriage was a violent one and she’d needed a stranger to tell her she had to get out before she wasn’t lucky enough to wake up the next morning.

Yeah, because waking up for another round was such luck for the abused person.

Nika blinked as something solidified in her chest. After having struggled, barely making it through this past year, it was almost a relief to feel like this. Or specifically, not to feel. Finally, some help to deal. And if that help came in the form of her not having to kill herself by caring anymore, about other people’s opinions, about her poor brother and his unnecessary guilt, about the man in front of her, about herself, she’d take it.

She raised her head and looked at Vincente Romani with eyes that felt as vacant as an unplugged TV screen. “It’s mine,” she said flatly, holding up the crumpled napkin. The guys who’d bought her a drink last night had probably left her their number. Nervy of them, but who cared?

Vincente ran an agitated hand across the back of his neck. “What is it?” he repeated.

Bringing it up, not really caring—though, there might be a spark of satisfaction to be had waving another man’s phone number under Mr. Arrogant’s nose—she scanned what was on the napkin. Everything around her faded and all she saw were scratchily written letters, and still she felt nothing but mildly inconvenienced that she wasn’t through with this yet.

Didn’t I tell you that you’d never get away from me?

I found you. I’ll always find you. I’m going to make you pay for leaving me.

I’m going to slice your throat and dance in your blood, Niki.

Be ready for me.

The edges of Nika’s vision quivered slightly as little white dots exploded in her periphery.

Funny, she felt kind of shocked but not afraid. Why was that? Kevin had found her. Why wasn’t she afraid?

Maybe she actually welcomed death. It would be better than this waking nightmare she was in.

Kevin had been close enough to slip this letter into her purse last night. Or had gotten someone else to do it for him.

She wasn’t ever going to be free of him, was she?

“Red!”

She glanced up and blinked a few times at Vincente. “What?”

“What the hell is it?”

“Nothing,” she said, her throat feeling dry and swollen. Stuffing the napkin into her bag, she went for the door. That massive body didn’t move an inch. “I’m fine to leave. Excuse me.”

“Show me what was written on that napkin.”

“It doesn’t concern you. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . . ?”

“Show. Me,” he growled, obviously not listening to her.

Her head tilted up, eyes narrowed. “It’s none of your business, Vincente. I can’t be more clear than that. Now get out of my way.”

His gaze shifted from her face to her bag. Reading his intent, she went to step back, but his arm shot out. She ducked to dodge his grasp, bringing the bag and its contents down with her, and tried to force her way past him. She made it and reached for the door, thinking if she got it open, she could most likely outrun him. But that option was stolen from her, too, when she was spun with a surprisingly gentle, but firm, grip on her arm. She gasped when her back came up against the door. Vincente held her there by pressing his whole upper body into hers.

“Get off!” she spat, finally feeling something: outrage.

She pushed at him. Or tried to.
Shit.
She would have had better luck trying to move the door behind her.

“Give me that napkin.”

His deep voice rumbled into her chest where they were pressed together, but Nika felt nothing but the vibration. “No. It has nothing to do with you. Now get off me so I can go. I’d have stayed in Seattle with Kevin if I wanted to play this game.”

He sucked in a shocked breath and immediately stepped back, but not before snatching her bag so quickly that she didn’t stand a chance. He yanked it over her head despite the death grip she’d had on it and held it out of her reach as he dug in and came out with the crumpled napkin.

“That’s mine!”

He ignored her as he tossed her bag back at her before stepping away to read what was written on the napkin.