“We aren’t enemies.”
She smiled, giving him a glimpse past the tough exterior to a gentle, sweet softness that made his chest ache with longing.
“Graze tante.” Her Italian was soft, smooth, and utterly sensual, conjuring up visions of hot sweaty, summer nights, naked bodies tangled in sheets, and erotic moans of pleasure.
“Prego.” Pride suffused his veins, followed by an almost primitive satisfaction that he had pleased her. And although she didn’t know it, he had protected her. She would be safe now in her vintage vehicle. “How was the class?”
“Good.” She held up a small disc that resembled a circuit board. “They made me a present.”
Nico didn’t know what the hell it was, but it made her happy so he smiled. “Very nice.”
It was a banal conversation. Normal. And yet they were not normal people living in a normal world. Even as they talked, he was watching for danger—suspicious cars, men loitering on the street, undercover agents, snipers on the roof, wiseguys out for a stroll …
She tucked the present away in her purse, fidgeted with the zipper. “I guess I’d better get going. It’s my day off and I have stuff to do.”
He didn’t want her to leave, but he couldn’t think of a reason to ask her to stay, and he didn’t want to endanger her any further.
She unlocked her car, hesitated. “How did you start it without a key?”
He put his hand in his pocket, fingered the spare key the mechanic had made for him. “I have a lot of friends. They have many skills and owe me many favors.”
“I guess I owe you one now.”
His blood heated, rushed to his groin, her soft, sensual tone as potent as if she had grasped his cock. When she closed the distance between them, it was all he could do to keep his hands by his sides. He hadn’t arranged for her car to be fixed so she would owe him, but if she wanted to repay the debt, he wasn’t going to complain.
“How’s this?” She placed her hands on his chest, leaned up, and kissed his cheek.
His self-control shattered.
Her kiss was so utterly unexpected, so breathtakingly sweet; his body reacted before his mind could process the danger. In a moment of madness where he gave in to the wildness he kept so closely in check, he yanked her against him and crushed his mouth against hers in a kiss as fierce as the desire coursing through his veins.
“Oh God.” She moaned, wrapped her arms around his neck.
Nico pressed her soft body against him and pushed his tongue between her lips, sweeping her mouth with ravenous intent as he drank of her sweetness like a man dying of thirst. He had never felt so alive. So utterly consumed by desire he would risk everything for a kiss.
Their tongues danced together; their hearts pounded in unison. He twisted his hand in her hair and trailed kisses down the graceful column of her neck. He was a physical man, experiencing life through his body more than his mind, and right now he was overwhelmed with the need to bite her, taste her, breathe in her scent, see and touch every inch of her beautiful body, mark her, and stake his claim.
“Boss.”
Frankie’s voice pulled him out of his lust-fueled haze, and he growled his displeasure, pulled Mia against him, driven by a primitive desire to protect the woman in his arms. Mine.
“You’re exposed. We’re in Cordano territory. You wanna take it inside?”
Mia shuddered in his arms. “I’d better go.”
Before he could protest, she pulled away, leaving him standing on the sidewalk, so fucking hard he ached. She slid into her vehicle and closed the door. The roar of her engine shattered the silence on the street.
“Mia.”
She lowered the window and blew him a kiss.
“Thanks for the ride.”
EIGHT
“You gotta get me out, Jack.”
Ben looked around the twenty-four-hour diner, but at 2 A.M. in a roadside diner outside Mesquite, an hour away from Las Vegas, they were very much alone. The waitress had just refilled their coffee cups and was now chatting with the cook by the kitchen door.
He’d been meeting with his handler at the same diner every Sunday night for the last three years, drinking the same coffee poured by the same waitress and leaving the same tip. But tonight was supposed to be different. Tonight was supposed to be his last night. He’d called Jack during the week to let him know he was done.
“We’re begging you.” Jack made a show of wringing his hands. Although he wore a ball cap to cover his bald head, and a leather jacket over a polo shirt, he looked like a cop. Ben didn’t know if it was the thick neck, the big shoulders, or just the set of his jaw, but something about Jack screamed law enforcement, which was why they had to take their meetings out of town.