“Yeah. Only we knew him as the Siberian. I was the photographer. Reed was the rifle. One of us gave away our position. The Siberian shot Reed, then sent the army after us. I survived. Reed didn’t.”
He sipped the drink again and was surprised to find it half gone. Slow down, fool. He set the drink on a small glass end table and shifted his shoulders. At least the knots were looser. A little.
“That’s how St. Kilda got to you,” Kayla said. “They dangled a chance to get Bertone.”
“Pretty much.”
“So St. Kilda hires assassins?”
“No. They want Bertone alive. Dead broke, but not dead.”
“What about you?”
“Dead. Period.”
Royal Palms
Sunday
Kayla drew a deep breath, then let it out slowly, telling herself that Rand didn’t really mean his words literally.
Knowing that he did.
“When I was in college, my parents died in a small-plane crash in the interior of Alaska,” she said finally.
Rand nodded.
“You knew that already,” she said. “It was in that damned file.”
He nodded again and said, “Just like I know that kind of loss rips out a chunk of your soul that’s never replaced.”
“You get used to it. The pain.” She grimaced and set aside her drink. “That sounded way too close to another pity party. What I meant is that you get past it, you get used to the new reality, and you get on with your life. But then, you already know that.”
Not really. I’m still learning.
Then Rand realized that he’d spoken the words aloud. He twirled his glass on the side table set between the two chairs. The faint sound, glass on glass, was impatient. After Bertone is dead, I’ll…
Yeah, fool. What then? Will you finally get your act together? Or will you still feel like you’re on the outside of life, looking in?
Half dead and the other half lonely as death.
Kayla’s silence finally registered. When he looked at her, he could see unshed tears magnifying her eyes.
“Don’t,” he said roughly. “It was five years ago.”
“Not to you. To you it’s here and now and as new as your next heartbeat.”
“My problem, not yours.”
“Yesterday you’d have been right.”
Something in her voice caught him. “And today?” he asked.
“Today I know that I could die between one heartbeat and the next. I know it. I don’t want to die regretting any more than I have to.”
He waited, telling himself that she wasn’t saying what he hoped she was.
She put her glass next to his, stood, and held out her hand. “I want you. I believe you want me.”
He came to his feet like a hunting cat. “You know I do.”
She smiled. “I know you make me feel…glittery, hot, different than I’ve ever felt with a man.”
“It’s called adrenaline.”
“It’s called lust. I’ve never felt it before.” She smiled. “I like it.”
He pulled her close, licked her lips, tasted tears and liqueur. “So do I.” Then, reluctantly, he straightened. “Are you sure?”
One of her hands lifted from his shoulder, smoothed down his chest, and slid over the front of his jeans. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure. And you’re interested.”
His breath stopped as she stroked him through the denim. The humming sound of pleasure she made as she measured him just about brought him to his knees.
“What do you have on underneath that robe?” he asked roughly.
“Me.”
His breath hissed out. “Bedroom. Now.”
She looked over at the lounge waiting against the side of the patio.
“No,” he said. “Too many guards. The fountains can’t drown out the kind of sex I want with you.”
“I forgot where I was.” She made a ragged sound. “Sorry.”
He felt the heat climbing her cheeks and wanted to howl. “So am I. So I’ll take a rain check on sex beneath the stars.”
Before Kayla could decide on an answer, a sweep of Rand’s arms yanked the patio drapes closed.
A night-light glowed like a candle on the bar.
“I’ll try to make it good for you,” he said against her neck, “but it’s been way too long for me.”
“For a guy, two hours ago is too long.”
He gave a crack of laughter and pulled her closer, tugged at her lapel, and finally had a chance to taste the maddening tattoo that had been playing peek-a-boo with her robe.
“This has been driving me crazy,” he said against her skin.
She shivered. “The tattoo?”
“Yeah. I wanted to lick it the first time I saw it.”
“Then I’m glad I have two more.”
“Where?”
“One follows me everywhere.”
“Show me.”
Kayla pointed to her left hip.
He licked his lips. “Show me.”
“You mean…” Her hands went to the bow she’d tied in the robe’s sash.
“Yeah. Strip.”
“You first.”
He toed out of his shoes while his fingers yanked at shirt buttons. It was way too hot in here for clothes anyway.
“Jeans,” he said huskily. “I’ve got something in my pocket.”
She rolled her eyes. “I haven’t fallen for that one since I was in second grade.”
Rand laughed despite the need hammering in his veins. He wanted to think it was because it had been too long since he’d buried himself in a woman, but he didn’t believe it. Something about Kayla just flat turned him on.
“Unless you want to go commando,” he said, shrugging out of his shirt, “you’d better get in my pocket.”
“Commando?”
“Bare.” His hands were on his fly. “As in no condom.”
Her hands dove into the hip pockets of his jeans. She searched, squeezed. Nothing but hard man muscle.
“You’re killing me,” he said, watching her smile.
She moved to his front pockets. Searched, squeezed. More hard man muscle. Very hard.
He groaned. “You’re a tease. Do it again.”
Finally she pulled her hands out of his pockets. Foil packets gleamed. In one impatient motion he pulled off his jeans and underwear and reached for her.
Condoms scattered from her fingers as he stripped her robe off, turned her around, and fastened his mouth on her second tattoo. He bit gently, then not quite gently, felt her shiver.
“I never knew I had a thing for tattoos,” he said, “until I saw yours.”
“You’ll love my third one,” she said, her voice husky.
“Where is it?”
She turned, showed him.
He whispered something, bent his head, and licked. Sucked. Nibbled. Sucked harder.
She tried to breathe, but there wasn’t enough air in the room. The tension that had been drawing her tight, achingly tight, tighter-suddenly snapped, sent her spinning, crying, heat exploding.
Rand felt her release, tasted it, and shuddered. He barely remembered to sheathe himself in the condom before he sheathed himself in her.
She was everything he’d been afraid she would be.
Perfect.
Tight.
Hot.
For the first time since his twin’s death, he let go of hate and allowed himself to live.