Baddest Bad Boys (29 page)

But the candle wasn’t there. He shook his head. Swearing under his breath, Max started opening and slamming drawers until he found it. Then the ancient disposable lighter next to it didn’t want to work. It took a few tries, but finally the candle’s wick ignited. He set it next to the sink. The glow, while soft, was at least steadier than the lightning.

Moving back to Ellie, he grasped her left foot and angled it toward the candlelight. A thick, triangular-shaped piece of glass was still wedged into her heel.

“How bad does it look?” she asked.

Instead of answering, Max twisted the cold water faucet on full blast. The anger that he’d felt earlier over not catching her assailant flooded through his veins again. Because of that fucking creep, she was hurt. He wanted to—

“Please talk to me, Max.” Ellie touched his arm, drawing his attention. “Say something.”

“This will hurt.” He yanked the glass out, then held her foot under the faucet.

He felt her fingers dig into his forearms. He heard her gasp as she sucked in air and just as quickly cut off a cry. He looked up, but she had dropped her head. Pulling away, she reached for one of the hand towels.

Regret swamped him. That he’d hurt her—even under the guise of helping—instantly deflated his temper. Left him feeling like a brute. Before he could apologize, a loud boom resounded. The tree outside took a direct hit. Clusters of lightning seemed to explode inside the kitchen as branches slammed against the window.

Max had already swung Ellie back into his arms. “Let me get you someplace safer.” In the living room, he had to pause to let his eyes adjust, then carried her to one of the sofas and set her down. “I’ll be right back.”

Retracing his steps to the kitchen, he retrieved the candle and another hand towel. When he returned, he found she had drawn into the corner of the couch.

She had a towel pressed to her foot, but her eyes were shut. She looked exhausted, miserable, and incredibly fragile.

Max felt like a jerk for being insensitive to her anguish. He tried to justify his anger, but couldn’t. She had been victimized tonight, not him.

The coffee table had a three-candle centerpiece which Max quickly lit. The additional wicks didn’t help that much but still he moved them closer. He knelt on the floor in front of her. “I’m sorry if I hurt you, El.” Very gently, he reached for her ankle. “Will you let me?”

Ignoring her resistance, he coaxed her foot up firmly but gently. He peeled back the towel. The wound still bled, though not as bad. With the poor light, it was difficult to assess how bad the cut was. He refolded a different towel into a makeshift bandage, applied compression, and then secured it around her ankle.

“Are you current on tetanus?”

She nodded, still not speaking. Damn it, he hated the silent treatment. Even if he deserved it.

“We’ll wait a moment to see if it stops bleeding,” Max went on. “Then I’ll figure out if it needs stitches.”

That got her talking. “I don’t think it’s that bad.” She shifted forward.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He reached for her hand, to prevent her from loosening the towel, and found that her fingers were like ice. “Christ, sweetheart, you’re freezing.”

He looked at her closely, noticing her struggle to hold herself upright. He touched her arm. Her skin felt chilled and she was shaking all over, probably from shock as well as cold. The wet clothes had to go.

He snatched the decorative blanket draped across the back of the couch. Then he sat beside her and pulled her onto his lap. Her lack of protest concerned him.

His shirt still hung on her shoulders, but it had gaped apart, the sheer fabric clinging to full breasts. He saw a hint of delicate-colored areolas. Lower, a shadow of tawny curls suggested she wore no panties, a fact Max had suspected when his hand brushed her bare butt when he’d first picked her up.

“Let’s get you dry. Warm.” He moderated his voice, cajoling her like he would a child as he stripped his wet shirt from her with quick, efficient moves.

He tossed it to the floor. The wet scrap of gown followed. That seemed to rouse her, but before she could move, Max swirled the blanket around her back. Then he pulled her forward against his chest, holding her in place with one hand while the other tugged the long, wet strands of her hair free of the blanket.

She made a strangled protest at the first press of bare skin to bare skin, but just as quickly she buried her face against his throat, seeking warmth. Her cheeks and nose felt frosty. She shivered violently now.

Max tucked the edges of the blanket in, making soothing noises as he ensured every inch not pressed against his chest was snugly covered. She shifted, huddling closer. Even after being drenched in the rain, he could still smell the soft floral scent of her shampoo. The feel of her pearled nipples digging into his chest made his body react.

Gritting his teeth, Max reminded himself that this wasn’t about sex. Yeah, right. When it came to Ellie, that’s always where his mind went. Even—God help him—when she’d been married to Stefan. Staying away had been Max’s only choice.

And being here now, at this house, triggered a lot of old memories, a lot of regrets. He had first met Ellie here seven years ago. They’d made love upstairs. She’d been a virgin, but not for long. His arms tightened possessively around her shoulders, remembering.

At twenty-five, he had thought he’d already seen everything the world could offer, whereas she’d been only nineteen—shy, proper, and bursting with life. She and her college girlfriends had taken over the house while Ellie’s grandparents traveled overseas. That summer had been idyllic.

Or had it just been the calm before the storm? Ellie had returned to college. They both made promises. But his father died a few weeks later, forcing Max to move to Italy and assume a role he’d felt ill prepared for. Twelve months later, Ellie’s grandparents were tragically killed in a train crash. That’s when Stefan had weaseled in and—

Shit. Who was Max trying to kid? No matter how many times he’d replayed the why and how, the bottom line was the same. Back then he’d been an idiot and let her go.

A particularly loud crash of thunder made her flinch. Max squeezed her tighter. Recriminations about tonight’s incident continued to eat at him. As much as he wanted to blame her for not being more cautious, he felt some culpability. If Bridgette hadn’t been at the penthouse, Ellie would have stayed. He would have found her note. And they would be discussing—or acting on—the terms of her “deal,” not the aftermath of an attack.

How long they sat there, Max didn’t know. The storm seemed to end with the same abruptness it had started with. The wind settled outside and suddenly all was quiet.

Ellie stirred, tried to sit up. He countered the movement, purposely tipping her back against him, not ready for the intimacy of the moment to pass.

“Start at the beginning and tell me what happened here tonight,” he said.

She cleared her throat. “Something woke me up. The power was out, so I got up. That’s when I realized someone was in the house, coming up the stairs. It frightened me so much, I simply bailed out the window.”

“Had you set the alarm before going to bed?”

“Of course! But it didn’t go off.”

Max made a mental note to have the system thoroughly checked. “Look, I know you’ve had some incidents recently with e-mail.”

“How did you know that?”

“We’ve had some corporate problems. I hired an outside firm to assess risks and vulnerability.”

“And I was considered a risk?” She sounded offended.

“They looked at all key personnel and shareholders, Ellie. Routine stuff, including police reports and public records. I know about the stalker. Do you think these incidents are connected?”

For a moment he didn’t think she’d respond. Then she nodded. “I recognized something he said tonight, something he’d written in one of his messages.”

“What kind of messages does he send?”

“The cyber equivalent of heavy breathing—I’m-thinking-of-you-naked, that type of stuff.”

I’ll throttle him, Max thought. “When did this start?”

“Three weeks ago.” She rubbed her head.

About the same time the tabloids started running stories about her shares, he calculated. “Why did you wait so long to go to the police?”

“I pretty much blew it off until—” Her voice trailed off.

“Until what? You might as well tell me everything.”

“He sent a photograph of me, at a coffee shop. I’d been there less than an hour before. His last message said he wanted to watch me sleep.” Her shoulders dipped. “He obviously knows I live in New York, but I thought I’d be safe here.”

“Who knew you planned to come to Rockport?”

“No one. It was a last-minute decision and it was late when I left the penthouse.” She met his gaze now. “So how did you know where I went?”

“The limo service.” And it had been surprisingly easy to procure that information. Who else had gotten it?

“But how did you know I needed help?”

“I didn’t. To put it bluntly, I came because I was pissed you left Boston.” He could feel tension gather in her, but refused to drop the subject. Better they get it all out in the open. “I wasn’t happy to find Bridgette at the penthouse tonight. I didn’t invite her.”

She held up a hand. “I shouldn’t have—”

“I found your note, El.”

Silence. Pulling the blanket completely around her, she broke skin contact and tried to squirm sideways off his lap. Max stubbornly held her in place.

“Well, this is awkward,” she said finally. “My behavior at the penthouse was totally inappropriate, Max. I didn’t realize you and Bridgette were engaged.”

“Jesus Christ! We’re not. We’re not even dating, if it matters. Unfortunately, Bridgette’s been talking with a reporter. You obviously know what has been printed. You quoted it.”

ONE NIGHT. NO COMMITMENT, NO STRINGS, JUST SEX. He hadn’t liked having his infamous motto thrown in his face, especially by Ellie. So he’d concentrated on the first two words. One night. When he and Ellie had been lovers, their time together had been too short. Hell, they’d probably only had sex a half-dozen times that summer. Privacy had conspired against them, then fate. One night wouldn’t begin to make up for all the years of regret.

He caught her chin, forcing her to look at him. Even in the diffused light, her expression was easy to read. The entire topic distressed her, the incident with Bridgette too recent.

He pushed ahead, refusing to let her withdraw. “The bottom line is this: I accept your proposal with one caveat. I want a week. Seven days, not one. Deal?”

4

The man looked over the photographs he’d spread across the motel bed. He picked up his favorite, taken a mere eighteen hours ago. Ella-baby. He had trailed her from Manhattan to LaGuardia. And while waiting to take the same flight, he’d managed to digitally capture a few unguarded moments.

That’s when he’d nailed her allure, her essence. Where others saw blond hair, flashing green eyes, and a fab bod, he saw her spirit. Her inner magic. Chicks like her went straight to heaven when they died. It’s how angels were made.

Devils were a different story. His hands fisted. He’d been furious when the other man had shown up. And more than a little scared. Holy fuck, DeLuca had been livid.

In the end, however, he had prevailed. He’d gotten away. Lived to fight another day. No harm, no foul…yet. But after he finished this job, he’d figure out a way to get back at DeLuca.

He glanced at the clock. If things had gone as planned, he’d still be there with her. As planned meant it would have been over by dawn. Now that he’d showered, calmed down, he wasn’t so sure he wanted it to end that quickly.

He’d touched her tonight, felt her heart beat beneath his gloved hand. Her reaction, her fear, had been better than he’d imagined. And he’d get to do it all again. Sweet.

Yeah, the police would be brought in, but he wasn’t worried. They hadn’t caught him the last three times. He was good at what he did, getting rid of nuisance ex-wives and mistresses. Worth every cent of his fee, too. Though he might have considered doing Ellie for free. His previous marks had all been older, miserable women. He hadn’t wanted to do to them the things he planned to do to Ellie.

Picking up the prepaid cell phone he’d purchased the day before, he dialed a number.

The person answered on the first ring. “Yes?”

“You screwed up. My fee just doubled.”

“Don’t pull that crap on me.”

“You were supposed to handle DeLuca.”

“There were problems. Tell me what happened.”

He summarized the evening’s events. “DeLuca ended up looking like a hero.”

“Where’s Ellie now?”

“With him.”

“Did either of them see you? Or anything that can be tied to you?”