Enemy Mine (19 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

S
elena and Nikko had fallen into an exhausted sleep on opposite sides of the narrow bed. Somehow, sometime in the night, they met in the middle. His arms had wrapped around her. Her head had tucked under his chin. He hadn’t consciously woken until her body began to twitch and tremble restlessly in his arms.

He knew so little about her, how she’d lived the past eight years, yet he knew so much, too.

How she’d made a safe life for Marisol. And the emotional toll it had taken on her. Her tireless efforts to hunt down and kill Hellkeepers so that she could destroy the thing that threatened their daughter’s life. How she’d lived with the lie she’d created, and the guilt she must bear because of it. Never knowing if her child really was safe, but having no choice but to make it all work.

And now she was reliving the nightmare that had become her life.

Maybe his life, too?

Selena’s trembling body quieted in his arms. He sat back against the wall, bringing her with him, and wondered where it would end.

He’d missed eight years of his daughter’s life. His lifestyle was not conducive to any type of family life. No L.O.S.T. operative had a family. Cassidy was the only one in a relationship. It was allowed only because Cross knew so much and was an asset. How was Nikko supposed to juggle his work and his daughter? Whom could he trust other than Selena to care for Marisol when he could not? He’d be damned if he’d be one of those absentee fathers; Nikko would be a part of his daughter’s life. He’d give anything to get the last eight years back. But they were gone. So was any chance of normalcy.

And what about Selena?

He didn’t want to feel anything for her, not even the hatred that had consumed him for so long. He accepted why she’d done what she had done, but he did not, could not, forgive her for the pain he had endured. Not only the tragedy of losing a child, but also the self-loathing and self-hatred that came from thinking he had actually killed the woman he loved in a fit of anger. It had molded him into the hard-as-nails, cold-as-ice L.O.S.T. operative Nikko Cruz. There was no going back.

It was who he was now. Who he would always be. Johnny Cicone had died the day he thought he killed Selena Guerrero.

Selena cried out again. “Hurry, Johnny!”

That she said his name snapped something inside him, and everything he’d just been thinking about Selena suddenly didn’t matter. His daughter was alive! Her mother was alive! He was alive. It was enough. For now.

“It’s just a dream, Lena. You’re safe,” he shushed, smoothing the damp hair from her cheek. Like those of a fearful child, her fingers dug into his skin, holding on for dear life. Nikko drew in a shaky breath. More of his hardened heart crumbled when her eyes blinked open, the haze of sleep giving way to a horrified awareness.

“He got her, Johnny, he got Marisol,” she sobbed. “I couldn’t save her.” Her heartbreaking sobs tore at him.

No wonder she’d been so agitated. Whatever he could fault her for, her love for their daughter was indisputable. “Marisol is asleep in the next room with Sister Agnes. She’s safe.”

The body in his arms stilled. Long moments passed.

Then …

He felt a slight tremor. It was followed by a much stronger one. Then the body in his arms was wracked with crying. Selena’s hands fisted his shirt as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her warm tears soaked his chest, her body pressed tightly against his. He felt each of her sobs as if they were his own. And in so many ways they were. He had suffered eight years ago what she suffered now.

He’d had no one to console him, to tell him he would be okay, that it was all a terrible nightmare. His life had fallen apart that day. He had not wanted to go on. Had it not been for Godfather’s extracting him before he reached the prison and forcing him back into reality, he would have been another prison death statistic.

He’d cursed God for the second chance.

Nikko tightened his arms around Selena, drawing her closer to him. He didn’t know what to say, how to ease her heartache. How could he, when he was as damaged? He did what he would do if it were Marisol coming to him with a broken heart. He held her, comforted her, and told her it would be okay.

He kissed the top of her head as he gently rocked her, soothing her with words that soothed himself.

“Johnny,” she hoarsely said, pulling away just enough to look up at him. He steeled himself. The torment in her dark eyes was almost more than he could bear. “I’m so sorry.” She pressed her lips to the base of his throat, the contact eliciting a much different but just as profound response from him. She kissed him again. “So sorry.” When she looked up at him again, her swollen eyes widened.

He could imagine what he looked like. The man in him had responded, but so had the vampire. His blood coursed hotly through him. His arms tightened around her, his legs tensed beneath her bottom. Her proximity was making his head spin.

He lowered his lips to hers, brushing against the soft skin. The taste of her salty tears moved him in a most unexpected way. Admiration for her strength, courage, and determination to protect their child as well as him under the most terrifying of circumstances suddenly struck him. She was a fighter, a mama bear protecting her young and her mate, sacrificing her happiness to preserve their lives. All of the pieces fell neatly into place, then. Life’s tragedies happened for a reason. Sometimes the reasons were not clear until the painful wounds were nothing but scars. Reminders but no longer painful.

Digging his fingers into her hair, he cupped her head in his palms and brought her lips to his. “Lena, don’t cry for me.”

“I can’t help it. I would do anything to take back the pain and suffering I’ve caused you.”

“If you did that, then we wouldn’t be here.” He kissed her. A long, slow, soulful kiss. He savored it. He savored the softness of her lips. The way her tongue swirled languorously around his. Her scent, her touch, her tears, and her surrender. He savored it the way a condemned man savored his last meal.

Her fists loosened as the tension in her body lessened. Nikko squeezed his eyes shut as an intense wave of passion swept through him. God help him, but he still wanted her. Had never stopped wanting her. Despite all the pain, that had never changed.

And if he took her, what about after? They were two different people now, their only commonality their daughter. Loosening his hold, Nikko tore his lips from hers.

What had happened at the club had been an act of revenge. Her seduction of him on her yacht had been a dream. He gently pushed her away and sat up on the edge of the bed.

“Johnny,” she breathed. “Don’t.”

Raking his fingers through his hair, he looked at her. What he saw tore him up. She was as ravaged as he. “Selena, nothing is the same. Johnny is dead. I’m Nikko Cruz now.” He inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled. “There is no room in my life for you.”

Her body flinched as if he had gut-punched her. Her eyes glittered with fresh tears. She nodded, and the action sent them rushing in a steady stream down her cheeks. He reached out a fingertip to catch one. It pooled warm and wet on his skin.

“What about Marisol?” she asked.

“When this is all over, I’ll find a way to make it work.” She captured his hand and pressed it to her cheek. “We
are
different people today, Nikko, but we’re also the same.” She kissed his damp fingertips. “I’ve been to Hell and back for you. I’ll do it again if I have to, but I’m not going to let you walk out on me.”

He stared at her.

“Give me, give
us
, a second chance.” She sat up on her knees and cupped his face in her hands. “After everything we have been through, we owe it to ourselves and to our daughter to try.”

He continued to stare at her. He wanted her body with a vengeance, but her heart terrified him. She would never settle for just a piece of him; she would want it all. He could not give her all. Even if he could find a way to trust her again, he was a L.O.S.T. operative. He could not walk away from who he was, what he did. Not even—for her.

“I can’t.”

She rose up and pressed her lips to his. Her arms slipped around his neck, her breasts pressing intimately against his chest. “Can’t or won’t?” She opened her lips against his, and her tongue slipped along his bottom lip, then swirled upward and around his fangs.

“Both,” he roughly said.

She smiled sadly and nodded. Her arms tightened around his neck. She kissed him. “Then make love to me one last time.”

His body tightened. His fingers itched to touch her. Her lips trailed from his mouth to his chin, then to his throat. When she dragged her teeth along his jugular, he hissed. Her hands slid down his shoulders to his biceps, then to his rigid forearms. She wrapped his arms around her waist. She surged against him, digging her fingers into his hair and her teeth into his flesh.

Nikko snapped. The need for her was too powerful to resist. Hell, he didn’t want to resist. He dug his fingers into her back and turned her over, pressing her into the mattress. “No promises, Selena.”

“No promises,” she echoed.

Selena closed her eyes and gave herself up completely. Every barrier crashed to the ground, exposing her vulnerable core to the man above her.

His big hands swept up from her hips to her breasts, cupping them painfully as if he still resisted what they both wanted. She felt his turmoil, his frustration, and his overpowering need for her body. It matched hers for his.

The hot sting of tears surprised her. It shouldn’t have. She had cried more in Nikko’s arms tonight than she had in her previous lifetime. Emotionally, she was raw. She was so tired of running, of the lies, of being afraid. Seeing Johnny and Marisol together today had been so right.

He pulled the sweater over her head, turned her on her side facing away from him, and yanked off her jeans. His big, warm hands rested on her ankles, his fingers lightly caressing her skin. Selena didn’t move, afraid if she did, he would change his mind. She bit her bottom lip when his fingers traced along the curve of her calf. “You’re still so soft,” he whispered against her skin. Gooseflesh erupted across her chest, stiffening her nipples. His lips followed his fingers’ trail. He kissed the back of her knee, then traced along her thigh to the curve of her hip. He nibbled the thong strap of her panties before his hand slid along the dip of her waist. She closed her eyes and savored his touch. He was a considerate lover, never taking what he was not willing to give,

He dug one hand into her thick hair, pulling her head back against him, exposing her neck and chest. With his free hand, he swept his fingers across the tips of her bra. Selena hissed in a sharp breath. She was wound tight, her body desperately needing to uncoil and be taken.

“I’ve never touched another woman the way I touch you,” he said against the swell of her breast. He unhooked the front clasp of her bra.

Selena could barely breathe. “I’ve never touched another man the way I touch you.”

She felt the hitch in his breath. Her declaration had taken him by surprise, given the way she dressed and conducted herself in Lost Souls.

His warm lips nudged a tight nipple. Selena closed her eyes and exhaled. His tongue slid across it, the sublimity of the oh-so-simple, yet oh-so-erotic caress pushing her again to the verge of tears. There was no one else on this earth for her. No one could make her feel the way Nikko made her feel. He’d always loved her fully until she begged him to stop.

“Jesus, Selena,” he breathed against her. “You make me forget everything.” He pressed her back into the mattress; his hands cupped her breasts, and his mouth voraciously suckled a nipple.

Selena gasped, arching into him. The deep pull of his lips lit a fire in her womb. He pressed his body tightly against hers, his hips undulating in rhythm to his lips. She slid her fingers into his thick hair, digging her nails into his scalp, arching deeper into him.

“Nikko,” she moaned. “Don’t ever stop.”

Tearing his lips from her, his hot gaze caught hers and held it. He was a magnificent sight. His blue eyes blazed with furious passion. His nostrils flared; his swollen lips parted, the barest hint of his fangs beneath. He grasped her chin and brought her lips to his. Then she was lost.