Marked For Love (Mob Romance) (9 page)

He called himself getting breakfast for them, when, in reality, Vicente needed time to clear his head.

He had spoken far too much. On the plane ride back from America, he had sworn to himself to remain stolidly silent. He’d even attempted to sleep. That, of course, had failed. How could anyone sleep with a squirming, restless girl seated across from one’s person?

Luckily enough, she wasn’t wearing his shirt anymore – that would have been hell to contend with: an eight hour flight just feet from a scantily clad woman. Jeans and a blouse had been procured from her, but as they’d been bought by a female, they were the kind that clung to curves and flattered figures.

Just his luck.

He’d thought he might have enough self-control to allow himself a reprieve on the plane, and instead, he’d found himself talking simply to lessen her nervousness. Ridiculously enough, she was still convinced that her own father wouldn’t pay for her. Despite what he’d told her – that they always paid, the tension in her small form was enough to fill the cabin and affect even Matteo’s sleeping form.

Gio, of course, had been caught up with his stewardess for so long that he’d hardly noticed, and perhaps that was for the best. The last thing Vicente needed was for the man to think he’d gone soft. He would, no doubt, relay such news to Giorgio – and the Don would take pains to remove the problem.

Why the hell had he said anything at all?

It wasn’t as if he’d never watched a woman writhe in her own discomfort. It was practically the very nature of his profession. There was something about Grace, however, that drove him to alleviate her pain – to the point where he’d been on the cusp of removing her bonds.

Which could have been disastrous.

With a bag of pastries in one hand and several coffees in the other, he made his way back towards their hotel. It wasn’t quite as lavish as their accommodations in Boston, but this establishment was owned by those under Giorgio’s protection – meaning what happened within its confines stayed within its confines.

As he passed through the front entryway, Vicente’s phone rang. He took a moment to set his purchases aside before answering it. He didn’t have to look at the caller ID. If someone called him at this particular number, he knew it was important.

“Vicente here.”

“You have returned.” The voice of his stepfather, as always, worked his spine into a column of stiffness as he stood ramrod straight. “And you have the girl well in hand, I’m told.”

“Yes, father.” Not nearly as in hand as he might like – literally or metaphorically – but to belay such information would be suicide.

“Have you sent the information yet?”

“Today.” Vicente assured him, leaning into an alcove as he spoke under his breath. Even if it was Giorgio’s establishment, one never knew who might be listening. “Rest assured, you will have your money by the deadline you established.”

“I’d better,” the Don returned with absolute conviction, “Or you shall return Grace Trellis to her father in pieces.”

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, the thought of dismemberment – of violence – suddenly made Vicente very ill. He was glad, in that moment, that he was still far from his stepfather’s gaze. Giorgio could smell weakness like a bloodhound, and root it out even more efficiently. “I’ll expect you back in Sicily within the week.”

“Yes, father.”

Giorgio hung up abruptly, as was his way, and Vicente released a breath he hadn’t even been aware he was holding.

Pieces. He remembered times where he had sent fingers, toes…and more select parts of those who disobeyed Giorgio back to their loved ones. While those situations hadn’t involved ransom, the torture had been asked of him, just the same. Vicente had done as he was told, certain that his heart was too dead to make himself care.

Apparently, he’d been wrong.

“About time!” Giovanni took the breakfast bag from him the moment he entered the suite, cursing in Italian. “I’m starving!”

“You’re always starving.” He managed a smirk, to keep up with appearances, even as his gaze flitted to the locked door behind which Grace was contained. Right now, Matteo stood watch just beyond it, twirling his knife effortlessly through his fingers before beginning to work on the espresso Gio passed him.

Vicente was seized with a sudden burning need to speak to Grace alone. Where he hadn’t dared open his mouth with her before, he now found himself desperate to know why she thought no one would pay for her. He’d heard of self-deprecating women before, but this was something else entirely.

“Have an itch you need to scratch, Vicente?” He looked over his shoulder to see Gio shooting him a crooked smile, and cursed to have been caught staring. The blonde man popped a fresh baked goods into his mouth. “You know, I don’t think she’d refuse you if you asked. Seems to be quite taken with you, doesn’t she?”

Vicente stared at him incredulously. Taken with him?

The woman had been nothing but trouble since they’d acquired her. She didn’t like to be alone and she talked too much. He might have thought she was a punishment sent down to punish him specifically, if he believed in such nonsense. Giovanni wasn’t half as observant as he perceived himself to be.

…was he?

“We all have needs.” Gio sipped his espresso with a look of pure bliss before adding sugar. “Why not assuage yours before we’re forced to give her up?”

“Because she’s Giorgio’s property.” Vicente returned curtly, his eyes narrow, “And I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

Giovanni shrugged, reaching into the bag for another pastry. “Suit yourself.” With that, he sauntered off to take a seat before the television and absorb himself in it, leaving Vicente to his thoughts.

Vicente glanced into the mirror in the entryway of the suite and frowned. He looked haggard, as if he hadn’t rested properly in days. Which, he reminded himself, he hadn’t. Grace Trellis had been far too deep within his consciousness for him to rest easy. As he procured his own breakfast, he glanced one more at the doorway Matteo guarded.

He needed to speak with her again, the sooner the better. Once his curiosity was assuaged, he promised himself, he would be done with her. In his profession, he met death almost every day. To run from it was one thing, but to accept it? That was a different matter entirely. Who was this girl that accepted the prospect of her own death so readily?

He had to know.

Vicente got his opportunity late the next afternoon, after Giovanni had recorded a personalized message to the girl’s father. It explained to Ignacio, in no uncertain terms, the nature of the bargain they intended to strike. Five hundred thousand dollars, with interest, within two weeks’ time, if he ever expected to see his daughter alive again.

The recording was all the more poignant as it was in Grace’s trembling voice. She sounded afraid, which would no doubt galvanize her father’s movements. If he didn’t have the money, he would find it.

While Giovanni and Matteo went out to deliver the tape, Vicente found himself at her doorway once more. Since they had recorded the message, no one had checked on her all morning. He doubted she was ruminating on escape, but if she was, his visit would be a delightful surprise for her.

He opened the door without warning, freezing when he was greeted with an expanse of nude back and the curve of a pert behind.

Grace inhaled sharply, glancing over her shoulder where she’d been busy dressing. A low sound of embarrassment escaped her as she grabbed for the coverlet from the bed to shield herself from his view.

“Can you knock?” She demanded, her cheeks flaming as she gazed up at him in a panic. For a moment, Vicente was too enthralled to answer her. The soft curve of her shoulders was utterly bare, and before she’d covered herself, he’d caught a tantalizing glimpse of the curve of her breast. Her body was, without a doubt, even finer than he’d imagined, and to be confronted with it was toying with what little composure he had.

When neither of them spoke, Grace cleared her throat obtrusively. “Well, Vicente…is there something I can help you with?”

Her breath came in short, nervous little inhalations, and Vicente searched her gaze even as heat slammed through his body at her nearness. She was such a little thing, to believe that death would come for her so swiftly; soft, beautiful, and trembling, like delicate bird on the cusp of flight. Even without the slightest hint of makeup, her lips were red and full, her cheeks flushed, and he wanted nothing more at that moment than to drag her into the room’s small bed and have her screaming for him.

It had been far too long.

Instead, he merely spoke a single, low demand, struggling to reign in his desires. “Tell me.” His gaze searched her open, upturned face. “Tell me about your father.”

The young woman stared at him, disbelief evident in her features. “Wha-right now? I’m not even dressed!”

“Get dressed, then.” He made no attempt to move, and the young woman’s mouth fell open.

“You can’t possibly expect me to dress with you standing right there!”

“That is exactly what I expect you to do. You are my captive and I am your kidnapper.”

Grace’s eyes widened even further. While he might have expected to see fear – and even the beginnings of refusal in her gaze – When Vicente searched the cornflower blue orbs, he found, instead, what he could swear was a gleam of excitement.

Was there some chance that Giovanni had spoken the truth? That this girl saw him as something beyond her kidnapper – as a woman saw a man?

Before he could contemplate the matter further, the young woman took a deep breath before dropping the blanket she held, exposing herself to him.

Vicente stared, all the blood in his body rushing immediately southward.

She was a goddess –a vision. Long, tapered legs with a flat stomach and round, full breast topped with dusky chocolate hued nipples. Her dark hair fell to tease her rounded aureoles, and as she stared at him, he knew she sought his approval.

At that moment, Vicente would have given anything to be the scrap of lace that covered her most secret haven from him – to be able to touch her,
taste
her there until she trembled in his arms.

“Is this what you wanted?” Her voice reached him on a barely audible whisper and he swallowed thickly, forcing his eyes upward to her flushed face.

“No.” He shook his head slowly, his voice hoarse. “This is nothing compared to what I want, Grace.”

A shiver traversed the length of her nearly bare form, and she appeared to hesitate a moment, before taking a step toward him. The heat of her body was fairly palpable, and Vicente watched as her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “Why not take what you want, then? Didn’t you tell me you could do anything you wished with me? That I’d be completely helpless?”

Those were, indeed, his words.

Reaching forward, Vicente took hold of her shoulder, her skin like silk beneath his fingertips. He drew her to him, running his hand indulgently over the fine line of her bare spine as his opposite hand lifted her chin and her breath fell delicately against his collarbone. “You want this,” he murmured lowly, disbelief creeping into his words. “You want me.”

Grace nodded, her eyes never leaving his own.

The power of the revelation was enough to make his gut clench in almost crippling want, even as he was consumed with a guilt the likes of which he’d never known. “I’m a monster, Grace. The one that haunts your dreams and steals away small children in the night. I’m the one they all fear.”

Reaching up, the young woman cupped his face with slender fingers, her gaze searching his. “Show me.”

Vicente was lost.

He swept her into his arms, brusquely, crushing her mouth against his own and tasting the salty tang of her blood with the force of the gesture. Even so, she didn’t withdraw, her arms winding around his neck as she pressed her lithe body to his. Her skin was so hot that she scalded him even through the clothing he wore, and Vicente groaned as he tasted her.

Sweet. So goddamned sweet.

She was like a meadow after a summer’s rain – the light after eons of darkness – and she wanted to see his true nature.

So he would give it to her.

Grace gasped as he nipped at her lower lip before drawing it into his mouth to suckle – hard. His hands slid possessively over her bare back to curl tightly into her behind, pressing her to the jut of the erection that tented the front of his slacks. At the feel of it, the young woman moaned, arching against him, and his fingers curled into her thighs, hoisting her into the air.

Vicente’s mouth found a taught nipple to bite and suck and he worried the small bead of flesh until it was red and enflamed, drawing a choked cry from the woman in his arms. Grace trembled as he switched to its twin, applying pressure with his teeth until she keened in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

She was wet.

Already he could smell her, feel her arousal wetting the front of his trousers. He bit back a groan, stepping forward to drop her onto the bed before yanking at the buttons of the button-up he wore. He stripped off the garment and the t-shirt beneath, pride filling him at the way she stared in awe at his bare form.

He kept his body honed because he had to, but he’d forgotten what the appreciation in a woman’s eyes looked like. Reaching for her ankle, he yanked her to the edge of the bed to raise her calf to his jaw. His stubble rasped against the sensitive flesh before he bit at it, making her squirm.