Fate Book (20 page)

“No. But they all moved on after Janice hit you. They failed to do their job.”

Had he meant the people were fired? I sank down in my seat and let the craziness in my head settle. “But Janice wasn’t some spy, was she?”

“No. Janice was a complete fluke—I checked it out myself. She just went crazy.”

From where I sat, crazy was not such a foreign concept. “I thought I’d imagined you, you know. I thought I was losing my mind.”

“I’m sorry, but it hadn’t gone as planned. Your father was supposed to fill you in before I arrived, but then you were hit by that truck, and he got called away to an emergency at the same time. I was under strict orders not to tell you anything.”

“So you just let me believe I was insane and used intimidation to keep me in line?” I said.

“I didn’t have a choice. And as long as I kept you safe, I knew we’d sort the rest out later. Once your father resurfaced, we did. More or less. Your father pulled me off and assigned someone else to you.”

“Why?” I asked.

Paolo shrugged but didn’t reply. Maybe he simply wanted to save me from hearing something unpleasant, such as I was a complete pain in his ass.

“Who took your place?” I asked drearily.

“I can’t discuss the details.”

My mind wouldn’t let that one go, of course. I started to sift through the faces at school. Had there been anyone new my senior year who’d arrived after Santiago disappeared?

“Oh my God! Pierre? The French exchange student?” I asked.

Paolo didn’t respond.

“I kept wondering why anyone would show up so late in the year. And I bumped into that guy everywhere. Mandy said he was following me.”

Of course, I hadn’t cared. I’d been so messed up after Santiago—Paolo left that nothing seemed to matter, not even my raging popularity. I’d tried dating a couple of times, wanting to forget. Even went out with Dax once, but when he’d kissed me there was no spark. Nothing. All I could think of was Santiag—
Christ—Paolo. It’s going to take me forever to get used to his real name.

“You’re name
is
Paolo, right?” I asked. “Because I’m not going through the effort of learning a new name only to find out later on that you’re Bob or Mike or Buford.”

“Buford? If that were my real name, I’d change it anyway.”

“Good point.”

“My real name is Paolo,” he confirmed.

Paolo. Italian for Paul. I chewed on that for a moment. I supposed he looked like a Paolo, but I was still trying to grasp him not being the sexy Spaniard Santiago.

“How old are you?”

“Just turned twenty-three.”

Well, at least that wasn’t a surprise. “How long have you been working for my dad?”

“I met your father when I was nineteen, but started working for him when I was twenty. Next question?”

“What’s your last name?”

“I prefer not to say,” he replied. “What you don’t know can’t hurt you.”

“Why would knowing that hurt me?”

“If you’re ever…captured.” He spat out the last word like a curse. “I have family to protect, too.”

“Oh.” Captured. Because my father was some very powerful man who probably had tons of enemies just itching to find a crack in his armor.

Paolo must have noticed the horror on my face because he reached over and put his hand on my thigh. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

I expected him to remove his hand, but instead he left it there. Did he realize what he was doing to me? The gesture wasn’t nearly as intimate as what we’d done last night, but it somehow felt like it. I stared at his large, powerful hand for what seemed like an eternity, remembering how he’d touched my breasts and hips, remembering how he’d taken his hard, hot flesh and rubbed it against me through his jeans.

My stomach began to flutter wildly and my nipples tingled into sharp little points like giant lighthouses, signaling that I wanted him now just as much as I’d wanted him last night.

Shit. What am I thinking
? I moved my leg away and turned my head toward the window, closing my eyes.

I didn’t know why he wanted to touch me, since he’d made it clear we could never cross that line he’d drawn. But then he promptly removed his hand.

Breathe, Dakota. Just breathe.
I wanted him to put the hand back immediately. It felt comforting, and I was beginning to realize that my feelings were much more than simple lust. I was falling in love with my ghost.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Just after sunset, Paolo pulled into a small motel away from the main highway on the east side of Las Cruces, New Mexico. We’d made a quick stop for supplies, picking up toiletries, sandwiches, clothes, and a backpack for me. It had been the fastest Target shopping trip of my life because I was simply too tired to care about what Paolo might think of me wearing sweats, which is what I bought. Three sets. Lord, how far I’d sunk in fashion. They weren’t even cool, vintage-looking sweats, like those fun 1970s-style Puma jogging suits. And given where things had ended up between Paolo and me—not the steamy, hot place I pined for—I’d grabbed a couple sports bras and those really super-comfy panties in the multipack. I’d be damned if I’d be on the run, picking a thong out of my ass—not even to appease my ego.

“You shower first,” he said, “while I set this stuff up.” He plunked a large duffel bag on the motel room table.

“Thanks.” I grabbed my shopping bag, relieved to have a few moments to myself and to get out of my grubby, dirty clothes. I turned on the hot shower and let it wash away the film of sweat and smoke stuck to my skin, trying not to think about what would happen to my life. I scrubbed and scrubbed until my skin felt clean and new, but the worries only made me feel heavy, tired. Sadly, there was no one to really turn to. Paolo had made it clear that I was…his work. And if he truly had lost the woman he once loved because he’d gotten too close, well, what could I say? I’d keep a distance from me, too.

I dressed in the bathroom, blow-dried my hair, and brushed my teeth to a pristine shine. When I finally came out, Paolo was staring at me like he’d just seen an alien.

“What?” I asked.

“One hour. How is it humanly possible to shower for one entire hour?”

“I was dirty?”

He smiled. “Well, I’m pleased to see you have skin left.” He glanced at the table, which had a laptop connected to several cell phones and a small black box. “Don’t touch that, got it?”

“But what if ET comes by and wants to call his mother?” I asked.

“Tell him to fuck off.”

“Noted. But what is all that stuff?” I asked.

He scratched his whiskered chin. “Well, that,” he pointed to the black box, “is a kind of phone hacker device. If I have someone’s cell phone signature, I can program my phone to tell me what calls they make and receive, or even block them from calling certain numbers.”

Grrr…
“Like the police, for example?” I remembered my call being blocked in San Diego after I’d booted Paolo from my car. Then there was the time back at my house when I couldn’t call anyone except my parents.

“Maaaybe.” He flashed a mischievous grin. “But right now I’m using it to scramble my signal. Only data can get through, so the cell tower thinks it’s a WiFi device like a portable GPS or an iPad, but not a phone. It makes it harder for anyone to trace—if they’re trying to find us via a cell signal.”

“Can I e-mail my mom?”

He shook his head. “I said ‘harder,’ not impossible. And we definitely don’t know who’s watching your mom’s e-mail.” He looked at his watch. “Just don’t touch. I’ll be right back.”

Paolo disappeared into the bath, and I plunked down on the bed, resting my back against the headboard. My notebook was on the nightstand next to the remote for the TV.
How sweet
. Santiago—
ugh—
Paolo must have put it there for me. I opened it up and found my favorite beautiful pen inside.

I skimmed the leather binding and admired the beautiful thick paper of the pages. It was almost a shame to write it in, but once I started, I couldn’t stop. Everything about the prior week came pouring out—my first days at school, thinking I’d lost my mind when I saw Paolo, realizing he was real, and knowing that there’d be no chance in hell of my forgetting him. I wrote about how looking at him made me feel, how his body felt next to mine, how he made me feel safe even though my world was falling apart. Before I knew it, tears streamed down my face. The stress and heavy emotions I’d been carrying around, including the anger I had for my father who’d hid so much of himself from me, exploded from the confines of that invisible space inside my head where all dark thoughts resided. I didn’t even know who my father really was. And my mother? How could she have hidden all this from me?

“Dakota?” Paolo stood there staring at me, wearing faded button flies, a white towel slung over one should, his shirtless chest expanding and contracting rapidly.

“What?” I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand.

“I heard you crying. I thought…” He sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor for a moment before looking at me again with his hypnotic, deep brown eyes. I noticed then, as the light of the lamp on the nightstand illuminated his eyes, that they had flecks of bright gold around the irises. So beautiful. Just like the rest of him. His smooth olive skin, his thick arms and ripped stomach, everything about him was so addictive, so masculine.

He suddenly leaned over and kissed me. It was a soft kiss, at first. The kind a man might give a woman to comfort her when he’s unable to say how he feels. But what did I know? I’d never been with anyone. Nor did I truly ever want to be unless it was Paolo, which is why it was impossible for me not to react to his touch, to his hand moving to my cheek, to the smell of his clean skin flooding my nostrils.

The kiss suddenly became
me
trying to communicate the words
I
couldn’t say…
I want you. I need you.
But it would be silly to need someone so much when I didn’t really know him, wouldn’t it? So why did I feel that way?

His tongue slid into my mouth, and I savored the feeling of him inside me. No, it wasn’t sex, but it was the closest we’d ever get. His hand moved to the back of my hair and pulled me closer, deepening the kiss. The way he tried to mold me to him, to make me fit against his male frame, overwhelmed my senses.

I moved my hand to his chest and let it glide over the rounded, firm contours of his muscles. As we sat there facing each other, letting our lips and tongues do the talking, my mind dipped a toe in the water. If I told him I really wanted him, really wanted to make him my first, what would he say? Another rejection? I didn’t have the strength to endure another one of those. Not now.

But when his hand moved from the back of my neck to my shoulder and gently pushed me into the bed, I felt the simultaneous explosion of relief and the flood of sensual heat throughout my body. I don’t know if he sensed the reaction, but the pace of his kiss turned frantic, and I followed along eagerly.

He stretched out against the length of my body and slid his leg between mine. I instantly felt the thickness of his erection pressing into my hip bone, making the spark between my thighs turn into a throbbing ache that blazed through my core.

His hand slid up my sweatshirt and cupped my breast. “God, I love your body, Dakota,” he panted in between frantic hard kisses.

I turned toward him and slid my hand into the waistband of his jean, wanting to explore the soft skin and hard muscle of his ass. It felt even better than it looked.

I pulled him into me, signaling with my body how much I desired him, but he held back.

He slowed the kiss and looked at me. “Do you really want to do this?” he asked.

“Yes.” I touched the side of his stubbled face, hoping he’d see the tension screaming inside my body. “But do you?”

He stared for a moment. “You know I can’t give you anything. No relationship. No phone number. Nothing.”

It sucked, but I knew. And maybe a small part of me believed if given the chance, he’d change his mind. Just like I’d changed mine about him. “I don’t care.”

He kissed me hard, and that’s when I felt him let go. He wasn’t trying to be careful and kind or protect me; he was simply a guy giving into his needs, his desire. For me.

He lifted up my sweatshirt and his lips worked their way down until they found my nipple. He licked it slowly and then kissed every inch of my breast. “You have the most beautiful tits I’ve ever seen.”

That was really nice, but…“Paolo, please. You don’t need to warm me up.”

He lifted a brow and smiled. He went to his knees and began removing my sweatpants. “Wow. I did not see those coming.”

I looked down at my neon orange Fruit of the Loom bikini briefs. “What? I needed comfort. It’s been a hard day.”

“No, I think they are very…hot.” He grinned.

I laughed as he began kissing me at the waist and sliding down my “man killers,” leaving me exposed. He stared at my most intimate domain for a moment. “Damn it, Dakota. Is there any part of you that’s not perfect?”

He dipped his head and kissed me just over my throbbing, tingling bud, then slid his tongue inside, finding the tender, hot flesh. I grabbed fistfuls of sheets, having never felt anything so erotic, so sinful.

“You taste even better,” he whispered.

Oh my God, if he doesn’t get on with this, I’m going to cross the finish line without him.
“Paolo, please. Please don’t do any more. I am ready. Really, really ready.”

“Patience, Dakota. It’s your first time. It should be memorable.”

Yeah. Little did he know that memorable was in the eye of the beholder. That scratchy tree trunk from last night would have been hunky-dory with me. Just as long as I was with him.

“I could never, ever forget you,” I panted.

He looked up at me and tilted his head in a strange way, and I wondered why. He crawled up my body and hovered over my face. “I’m going to fuck you so hard that you won’t even remember your name.”

I swallowed. “Ummm…Okay.” The words came out scratchy and dry.