Beauty and the Barracuda (2 page)

The quiet, matter-of-fact tone was all she needed to hear to know that she’d done some intense shit last night. Wincing, Nyssa cast a glance over one bare shoulder and found the reason why she’d drowned herself in every alcoholic beverage that she could just hours ago standing a few feet behind her.

“Someone’s doing the walk of shame early,” Sansone teased, coming down the stairs barefoot, plaid pajama bottoms hanging loosely on his lean hips, his shirtless state revealing an expanse of smooth, olive-toned skin that stretched over delineated muscles and was inked from his collarbone all the way down his right side in a black and white combination of artwork. “Too late, sweetness. You shook your tits in my face
and
I officially know what you look like in a G-string.”

She might as well just roll herself the rest of the way down.

Sansone got closer and leaned over her cleavage, leering before he sang, “I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts…”

Nyssa turned, fully intending to flee before she got the urge to claw his face, but strong hands caught her about the waist and lifted her. “Oh, no, Madam Melons, you and I are going to have breakfast together and talk about all your dirty,
dirty
ways.”

“Put. Me. Down.”

He hooked her legs over his forearm and casually strolled the rest of the way down the stairs and toward the kitchen. “I would love to, Nyssa, but if you leave, how can I mock you?”

She dug her nails into his shoulder and gave a sharp smile when he grimaced. “Sunny, I’m going to hurt you.”

“Put the shoes on first, sweetness,” he retorted, pushing through the swinging doors of the kitchen. “I’m into that.”

Sansone deposited her on a bar stool at the island and waved a finger under her nose. “No moving.”

“If you force feed me, I
will
redecorate in here.”

He carelessly shrugged and swung open the double doors to his fridge. “Do what you like. Just know that it leaves you vulnerable because I’ll clean you up before I give a single fuck about what’s sprayed across my floor.”

She bit the inside of her cheek and sat back, determined not to give into the urge to fight. Instead, Nyssa entertained herself with watching him move effortlessly around the space before he popped the proper balance of fruits and veggies into a blender and spun it while humming. It was the humming that bothered her more than anything. If Sansone had a horrible voice she could tell him to clam it, but his brutal Philly accent managed to reform into something disturbingly off-putting each time a note left his mouth.
Unassuming bastard.

“Sooo…” he drawled, setting a glass full of his completed concoction down in front of her and leaning across the counter. “Remember anything interesting about last night?”

She gripped the glass and took a swallow, ignoring the way he had one distinct Clark Kent curl falling across his brow. “Nope.”

“You
sure
you don’t remember anything?”

Another swallow. “Nope.”

“
Nothing
?”

One more. “
Nope
.”

“Heh.”

Nyssa looked up just to find his gaze bearing down on her with enough force to make her feel naked. Her stare went from his thick brows, past his roman nose and toward his mouth—which was kicked up on one side in clear amusement. How many times had she sat in meetings and simply watched that mouth move? How many times had that same mouth brushed over her forehead, nose, or lips in a quick passing that inspired far more than it should have?

“Nyssa?”

“Hmm?” God, Sansone’s face was the perfect balance of masculine beauty. His jaw was hard, his cheekbones sharp and his lips… Why did her eyes keep straying there? Why did she suddenly feel as though she could taste…? Nyssa’s thoughts trailed off as one in particular shoved them to the side.
I want to kiss
you.

Holy. Fuck.

Nyssa jerked back so hard that Sansone had to catch her hands to keep her from falling. He came around the counter and pulled her to standing. “You remember
now
?”

She couldn’t breathe.

“Nyssa, you kissed me.” One hand left her wrist and framed the side of her face, his thumb brushing her bottom lip. “And I spent the majority of my night trying to figure out why we hadn’t done it a thousand times before.”

No, no, no,
no!
She gulped in a lungful of air and shook her head. “No.”

Sansone nodded. “Yes.”

“Sunny—”

“Do you have any idea how hard it was to lock you away from me last night when all I wanted to do was curl around you?”

This wasn’t happening. He was fucking with her, right? Eight years...eight
long
years of balling up every feeling she had and shoving it as far down as it could possibly go and here he was dredging them up. Why?

He placed his lips to her ear. “
Cara,
you can’t possibly think you’re the only one who wanted that.”

Panic! She was in a full-on panic! So what seemed to be the most sensible solution? Er...hooking her thumbs into Sansone’s waistband and jerking his pajama pants down until they were at his ankles.

His head snapped up in surprise, and she took full advantage of his moment of vulnerability to push him backwards and run. She snatched a set of keys off his hook in the foyer before she was out the door and down his porch, listening to him scramble to catch up. He hit the front step and she was already screeching down the street in his Audi, trying to figure out how she’d get him to not only forget about that kiss, but the fact that she’d stolen one of his cars in an escape.

Nyssa had pantsed him. She’d
pantsed
him
and
stolen one of his cars. Not superstitious by nature, Sansone had never believed in bad omens. At least not until this morning when he found himself staring down at his pajamas around his ankles. He’d had many an interesting moment with Nyssa but this one, quite possibly, overshadowed
all
of those. He couldn’t blame her for exposing his slightly pale ass to the early morning air, could he? Sansone had pushed and Nyssa pushed right back...before she ran.

He’d had no intentions of mentioning that kiss. His plans had been simple—get up, get coffee, pat her on her head and send her on her way. That was it. But then he’d caught her creeping out of his home as if she were escaping a nest of unholy immorality, and he couldn’t help his need to make her stay just a bit longer. The way her dress rumpled around the compact, luscious curves of her form and how her hair had been every which way but the right one made Sansone do what he always did when he felt as though she were trying to wiggle away from him—he cornered her.

It was the scent of
his
sheets and
his
soap that had clung to her exquisite skin. Her gaze had still ben hazy as if she were in a partial trance, and the slightly bruised, swollen look of her mouth gave him vision after vision of her nervously chewing her lips the way she always did when she was over-contemplating something. The feel of her brushing up against him when he’d picked her up had made Sansone grit his back teeth. Touching Nyssa was quite like touching silk; she was perpetually soft and sinfully smooth.

Even after making her that smoothie, he was going to leave her be, get ready to go into the office, attempt to take his mind off her, and then she’d looked at him in
that
way. A stare so compelling that he’d gravitated toward her without a second thought. And when her wide eyes had landed on his mouth, he felt a tug in his lower abdomen. All he could think about was her small hands fisting his hair as she coaxed his tongue into participating in a wicked dance that left his cock hard and needy for the rest of the night. It didn’t matter how many times he’d made himself come, Sansone would only find true satisfaction when he was buried balls-deep inside Nyssa, pounding away, making her call out to God until heaven came crashing through the ceiling of his bedroom.

He had to be a masochist, because nothing hurt worse than wanting something that was clearly unattainable. Nyssa was that something—so close and yet so very far away. How many men would’ve given up by now, found another bedmate to sooth their fragile egos? How many men would’ve been able to forget the thickness of her lashes and the impish light in her eyes? How many men would he have to watch admire what was rightfully his without the ability to voice his claim?

“How many times am I going to have to adjust my dick today while thinking about her?” Sansone murmured to himself as he slid effortlessly out of the driver’s side of his Tundra and started through the parking garage toward Sultana & Blackwell. With the festivities of last night, he knew there’d be very little activity happening within these four walls and he was okay with that. He could’ve gone after Nyssa, being that he had tracking on his Audi, but that would be just inviting trouble rather than rational conversation.

When he’d found her on the side of the road eight years ago, attempting to power out of a flood with no more than a hybrid and a prayer after unintentionally stealing her job, Sansone had never thought they’d make it here. The day he’d met her was the day he’d joined the sports management firm she’d been actively hustling for. Unbeknownst to him, his new position at Beyond the Goal Lines was where
Nyssa
belonged. She’d been up for promotion, and a superior that she’d been privately involved with
had outsourced and found Sansone, hiring him and effectively belittling all her hard work. She’d been cold to the touch when they’d shaken hands, her rage reflecting clearly in her eyes. He’d had no idea it wouldn’t be their last interaction.

Days later, he was in for a hell of a surprise while on his way home to hunker down and wade out the storm they’d been warned about several times over that week. Sansone had finished some rushed shopping in a small market and was planning to get his backup generator running while swallowing down a beer or two and some chili. That’s when he’d spotted her just a few blocks from his apartment and recognized her immediately. He’d pulled over and jumped out of his truck, fully intending to lend her a hand.

At the time he couldn’t get over the fact that this ballsy little beauty with a mouth like one of his hard-core Italian uncles was just about being drowned by the backlash of a hurricane and still had the audacity to sweetly tell him to “Fuck right the fuck off, mothefucker”
before he could even open his mouth and offer to help her.

“You’re soaked and—”

“It’s not
your
problem so I don’t exactly understand why we’re still having this conversation.” Dark, perfectly arched brows rose and fell as the woman before Sansone lifted a finger and spun it. “One-eight,y my friend, and walk away.”

He was going to pull his fucking hair out. “I can’t just
leave
you here. Any idea how bad this neighborhood gets after dark, hurricane or no?”

She snorted. “I grew up down the block, three houses to your left, and live up the block, four houses to you right. I know
exactly
where I am, pretty boy. Climb back into your Tonka toy and pretend like you never saw me.”

The rough, grating downtown accent caused heat to stir in his lower belly despite the fact he wanted to shake her until she saw some sense. “My mother didn’t raise me that way.”

“And mine didn’t raise me to climb into cars with strangers because they had candy and a nice smile.” Her eyes narrowed on him, the streetlight casting a slight glow over her burnished face. “You wanna do a good deed? I saw a Doberman shivering about ten minutes away.”

He gritted his teeth, biting back the urge to say, “Why get a Doberman when I have a difficult bitch right here?” and instead retorted with, “I can at least get you home.”

“And you can also open your mouth and suck down
all
of my di—”

“Hey!” he shouted over pounding drops of rain. “You gotta a problem? Fucking fine! But don’t lay that shit on me, all right? I’m trying to be nice, here.”

“Why?” She threw up her hands. “Why are you trying to be nice?”

“Because I feel guilty!” Sansone’s admission quieted her and he found himself saying, “I feel pretty goddamn guilty.” He was now aware of what that fucker Woodard—one of the partners—had done to her. Office gossip traveled quickly, and it seemed that the only reason Sansone had been chosen was because his new boss wanted to put Nyssa in what he perceived to be her place. He didn’t know exactly how deep their relationship had run, but he knew it had to have been intense. Fury like hers didn’t manifest itself without a cause.

Sansone had almost found himself breaking the son of a bitch’s neck when he’d found out.
He didn’t know what force beyond him had kept him from committing murder, but once he’d calmed down he had other plans. Big ones. Woodard would learn that sometimes the king fell when he ran out of pawns.

Her jaw clenched, and the water dripping from the bridge of her nose suddenly didn’t look like rain.

“Look,” he said softly. “We both know if you had someone to call, you’d have done it by now, and there’s no way you’re going to get a towing company out in this. My truck is
right there,
and I am more than willing to take you wherever you need to go, just please...stop fighting me on it.”

She swallowed and stared past him for a brief second before silently nodding.

He watched her collect a bag and her keys from the inside of her car. Then she slammed the driver’s side door and kicked it. “Piece of shit!”

“Save the rage, Lilliputian, and c’mon.” Sansone took her arm and pulled her along before swinging her up into his arms as he sloshed through a particularly deep part of the flooding and placed her safely in the cab of his truck. She didn’t say a word of protest, just sat there, mutely staring ahead.

He climbed in and blasted the heat. “Where’re we going?”

“Broad Street.”

Revving the engine, Sansone navigated the streets until she told him to stop. Pulling in behind the stream of cars taking up the block, he went to climb out when a small hand on his wrist stopped him. He looked over to find one of the most persuasive sets of eyes he’d ever seen focused solely on him.

“I’m sorry.” She shut her stare off and he got the feeling she was trying to compose herself. “This week has been incredibly shitty and when you pulled up…” Her voice trailed off then firmed as she reopened her lids. “You didn’t deserve that. Thank you for doing this. Thank you for stopping.”

Fuck. She was tearing up.
Say something, Sunny! Say something
now!

“You can’t possibly think I did this for free.” Her look of surprise made his lips twitch. “I’ve been eyeing your shoe collection around the office, sweetness. The Dolce pumps with the T-strap would do
wonders
for my calves.” Leaning forward, he batted his lashes until her mouth quirked into a semblance of a smile. “I’d also love to know where you get your manicures done. The last place I went fucked my cuticles and now I have a little thing called mechanic hands.”

Her laughter was music to his ears and a salve to his soul. “I climbed in the car with a crazy man, didn’t I?”

Sansone shrugged. “Depends on whether or not you plan on giving up the shoes.”

Nyssa shook her head slightly, sending the wet waves of her hair sliding about. “I should hate you.”

“And yet the fact that I’ve perfected the trout pout completely eclipses that. It’s okay to be frightened of that slightly aroused feeling you have at the moment; not knowing whether or not you truly
want
to see me strut around in your stilettos.”

“Get out of the car, man.”

Grinning, he went to do just that but pulled up short when she took his keys out of his ignition. Sansone cast her a questioning glance and she sighed, saying, “I could send you back out into this or I could let you stay and entertain me. I’m choosing the latter because the thought of sitting regally by while using you for my own amusement excites me.”

He waggled his brows. “Sexually?”

“Don’t be weird. Give it a month or two into this disturbing friendship...
then
be weird.”

Chuckling at her logic, he finally made his way out of the cab and gave her a lift once he reached her side. As they made their way into her apartment, Sansone couldn’t help but wonder if Woodard’s game had dropped something phenomenal into his lap…

Sansone had found himself thoroughly caught in the web that was Nyssa. She was, in a word, incredible.
The woman had one of the most open, honest, giving, loving hearts he’d ever witnessed. Their career wasn’t just a career to her, it was her
life.
It was awe inspiring to watch her in action. She put her clients before herself, she put her family before herself and no matter what issues she was suffering internally she always found time to soothe the hurt of others. Her humor was dry and sarcastic and her blind faith in him gave Sansone more confidence than he’d ever had. Working for Beyond the Goal Lines,
they’d both sat back and watched as the other got passed over in their firm consistently; one because of her standards, the other because of his unwillingness to sell clients a lie.

She’d eventually told him
exactly
how deep her relationship with Woodard had gone. Knowing she’d belonged to someone else, that she’d been planning a life with him and he’d pissed all over it because he couldn’t handle the fact she was growing, getting more clients, left Sansone enraged. He’d done all he could to make Woodard’s life miserable but it was never enough.
Needless to say, it was time to leave. When Nyssa had volunteered the idea of starting their own agency it had been as a joke, but as time moved on, Sansone had seen the advantages of her suggestion. No matter how terrifying the notion appeared, inevitably he thought it to be the best thing she could’ve ever proposed.