Hard to Hold (15 page)

Her breathing quickened. Her heart fluttered wildly beneath his palm. “I’ve got you,”
he whispered against her ear. “No need to be scared.”

His words must have made her brave. They certainly made her naughty. Her fingertips,
tentative at first, then bolder, played a piano concerto the length of his spine then
her hand slid between them, her knuckles brushing his balls before her hand fastened
round his hard, hot cock. “And I just got you.”

The back of his eyes caught fire. All breath whooshed from his lungs.

She held him fast. Her pump long and slow. Her fingers tightening. He couldn’t stop
himself, his hips began to dance. She arched her back, widened her thighs and steered
him home.
Double Jesus Christ.
So slick. Tight and fiercely molten. Gripping.

“Finish this, Nick. Please. I can’t…I need you. Now.”

Cursing himself for his lack of control, for weakening despite his vow to give Anna
a night of agonizingly slow, drawn-out passion, Nick surrendered. She needed him.
Wanted him.

Seizing her lips with his own, he thrust his hips and drove, deep, high and fast,
again and again.

He swallowed her scream, the vibration setting fire to his tongue, his throat echoing
his own roar as she lost control and he followed, her hot, sweet muscles milking the
very life from him.

How long they hung on and clung to each other, all slick, their breaths mingling jagged
and uneven, he’d never know, but their sweat was already cooling when he felt it.
Felt her wariness return. No, not wariness, something much worse—shyness.

The scent of sex hung heavy in the air. She was draped across his chest, her hair
messy, tickling his chin. The muscles in his arm, around her shoulders keeping her
close, tightened without his permission. Anna, shy? Embarrassed. Self-conscious. Doubting.
God, what the hell had he done to her? He shifted, angling for a better look at her
in the moonlight filtering through the uncurtained windows. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

“I don’t know you anymore, Nick,” she whispered jerkily. “I don’t recognize you. Not
like this. Caring, sensitive, tender. I’m in free fall, and it scares me.”

Muttering an oath, he shoved her away, twisted his torso, and thrust to his feet.
Not caring that he was buck naked, he crossed to the wall, leaned back, and lightly
knocked his head against it to shake free some semblance of sanity. Christ, he didn’t
want her anxious and scared. Not of him.

A nasty, vicious thought speared what was left of his brain. The words were out before
he could stop them. “You sure that’s what’s scaring you, Anna? Or is it because you
know I’m a killer, stained with blood? That with my DNA, there is always the danger
I might do so again? Maybe even to you?

She stared back at him through the disarray of her hair, her eyes wide and desperate.
“No. No. It’s just…Nick, I’m sorry, I—”

“Save it, Anna. And do me a favor, drop the bloody guilt.” He pointed a finger at
her then at himself, waggling it in a tick-tock motion. “This, you and me, shouldn’t
have happened. There’s no future in it. There can’t be.”

She threw aside the sheet covering her, rose to her knees, and crawled, in all her
magnificence, to the edge of the bed.

He pressed his spine deeper into the wall behind him. Her movements, confident, unrushed—toward
him—disturbed the air.
Fuck.
He could practically smell the tears she was trying to hold back. Pure against the
scent of body heat and torrid sex.

Her small hand found his and tugged gently. “Come back to bed. I know you’re scared,
but I’m not. Not of you. Not of the future. Not if you’re a part of it.” Her words
were soft, but the tug on his hand insistent. “I need you, Nick. I can’t do being
alone. I love you. Do you hear me? I. Love. You.”

She released his hand and turning her back, returned to the bed. “I know you, Nick.
Better than anyone. And I love you. Think about that. Think about me, then think about
you.
What kind of man you must
really
be, for me to have made you the center of my universe?”

She leaned sideways and clicked off the bedside lamp plunging him into solidary darkness.

He heard the soft rustle of cotton sheets, a pillow being plumped. Then, a sigh. A
long, sad sigh.

His heart thundered and kicked against his ribs.

He waited a good twenty minutes before crossing back to the bed. Then, forcing himself
to relax, he lowered himself down beside her. On top of the coverings. Right now,
the last thing he needed was skin-on-skin contact. Not with her. He felt too ashamed
and too damned defenseless.

She didn’t awaken and protest when, a few hours later, he slid his arm around her
and pulled her close, pillowing her head on his chest. Pathetic, but he wanted her
near, wanted her softness, needed her safe.

The ache intensified when he slid his hand low to settle on the small mound shaping
her lower belly. Damn it, he wanted them both safe.

Chapter Thirteen

Too early the following morning, she damn near gave him a heart attack slinking into
the kitchen, her hair all pillow-tousled and her eyes still slumber heavy. To her,
the sleep vest and short-shorts might have seemed innocuous enough, but her security
detail must have had a field day—every bloody morning.

“The men are changing shift, but they’ll be through shortly, so do you think you could
go and put some proper clothes on, Anna?” Even to his own ears he sounded strained.

“Why? They’re used to seeing me like this.” Elbow on the counter, she dropped her
head onto her hand, still fighting drowsiness. “They’re civilized. They also know
I’m not fully awake until I’ve had toast and tea.” She yawned. “They usually make
it for me, and yes, that is a hint.”

No fierce looks of resentment about what had happened. No stinging barbs thrown his
way to add to the weight of his guilt. This was Anna as he remembered. Always moving
forward. Never looking back. Her way of coping. No yesterdays—no regrets. Christ,
he envied her the freedom.

He killed the annoying what-ifs and nagging “if onlys” pricking his mind and dragged
his eyes away from the silky, slender length of her legs, the hint of bottom cheek
peeping from beneath the hem of her shorts. “Both will be waiting for you, just as
soon as you’re fully dressed,” he said evenly.

“Jeez, you sound proper…and territorial. I’d be flattered if it wasn’t so damned annoying.”

He grinned at the sulk in her voice, crossed, and lifted her from the stool, his hand
beneath her elbow. “Go.”

She returned his admonishing, gentle slap on her behind with a sharp dig to his ribs.

He was still laughing when her security detail traipsed in. The surprise—maybe even
shock—on their faces stoked his irritation. He knew they called him “DMW”—Dead Man
Walking—behind his back, but hell, he wasn’t that bad. He wasn’t so deadened that
he’d forgotten how to laugh. Or maybe he had. The sound had seemed kind of unfamiliar.
And he had a nasty suspicion hell would freeze over, before anyone heard him laugh
again.

Fuck, but was he going to miss her. The pain had already started. Like a poisonous
node. Growing slowly. Swelling. Christ, how long would it take this time for his chest
to explode?

He gave himself a savage mental kick. Time was wasting. He couldn’t afford self-indulgence.
He’d only fold—and then in private—when Anna was safe.

By pilfering the laptop and going online, she had broken terms. He needed to confront
her about it, or she’d feel free to bypass his edicts again. Something he couldn’t
allow. Not now he’d made his decision to order her into witness protection. She’d
hate it, definitely fight it. His last job for the Service would be to make sure she
obeyed.

With a mug for her in one hand and a plate of toast in the other, he killed the men’s
salacious grins with a single grim look before setting out to head her off at the
pass. If he and Anna were about to take chunks out of each other, he’d prefer they
do so in private.

Anna sailed down the corridor toward him, all jaunty with a spring in her step.

He spread his arms wide to forestall her and cursed as the hot tea slopped onto his
hand. “In the study. I want a word with you.”

“Thought you might,” she muttered, changing direction to lead the way.

He tried not to notice the fluid sway of her hips beneath the flirty, pale gray linen,
nor the temptation of her shapely legs again, this time left on display by the short
hem, the dainty pink toes he’d licked and sucked the night before. Damn it, was she
doing it deliberately? She knew she was in trouble. He wouldn’t put it past her to
resort to dirty tactics to distract him.

She perched on the edge of the desk. To his relief, her inner strength radiated. Christ,
she was going to need it.

He set the tea and toast down beside her with a
thunk
and went for distance, moving a good eight feet away before turning to confront her.

“Want to share what you learned from your little foray on the Internet, Anna?”

“Lose the death-ray glare, and I’ll consider it.” She lifted a triangle of toast,
and with the tip of her tongue, lapped to catch a fall of melting butter.

His cock took an immediate interest. The vein behind his eye began to throb, forewarning
of a colossal headache. Some things never changed. Managing Anna had always been part
pleasure, part pain.

…

Anna raised the mug to her lips for a sip. She watched his gaze shimmy up her legs
and swallowed a grin. Nick was on edge in a way that went beyond the need to read
her the riot act. That would make him careless, less guarded when he answered the
question she had for him. “What’s the connection between Antila and some place called
Devil’s Whim?
”

Her pulse skipped a beat as he vibrated annoyance. “It’s not a place. It’s a yacht.
More a cruise liner he purchased for his own exclusive use. Why?”

If he barked at her like that one more time, she’d reconsider sharing. “Because he
calls it all the time. Every day. Twice a day. I know because I hacked his cell phone
records. And I don’t mean for the number he gave me, which I then passed on to you.
He’s got more phones than British Telecom.”

She heard him grind his teeth.

“I know. So does the Service. Four teams work around the clock tracking every call.”

His God-give-me-strength tone was beginning to sorely piss her off. “And yet you’ve
never asked yourself why he calls his yacht
all the time
?”

“For an update from the captain, I imagine.
Devil’s Whim
is Antila’s pride and joy. No doubt he likes to keep a very close eye on it.”

She crinkled her nose. “No, that doesn’t sound right. Antila employs only the very
best. Those he trusts absolutely. He wouldn’t need a daily update. Who else is on
that boat, Nick?”

“Aside from the crew, no one. Antila doesn’t entertain; all his business dealings
are conducted on shore. The yacht is his private sanctuary and he guards it jealously.
Why?”

She heaved an exaggerated sigh. No wonder they called it
women’s
intuition. “Because, if we take you out of the equation, because you’re an exception,
men only make that number of calls and of that duration if they’re speaking to someone
special. My guess would be Antila has a love interest secreted away on board that
yacht of his.”

He took a moment, a very brief moment in her opinion, to consider her suggestion,
then dismissed it. “It would be on record if he had a woman.”

She tried really hard not to look triumphant. “Exactly, which is what made me suspicious.
He’s a very attractive man, suave, sophisticated, and I’ve no doubt he could turn
on the charm if he wanted to. And before you suggest it, he certainly isn’t gay. I
noticed the way he kept looking at me. He’s definitely into women.”

His scowl deepened, and she had to smile. Nick really couldn’t help himself. He’d
always hated it when other men scoped her out.

“It’s not often that international agencies cooperate fully, we’re too competitive,
but when it comes to Antila, we’re a bloody fraternity. If he had a woman, we’d know.”

“Not if he didn’t want you to. He’d be behind bars by now if he wasn’t brilliant at
covering his tracks.” She jabbed the air with the triangle of toast she’d been nibbling.
“I’m telling you, he’s got someone special tucked away. And I’m fairly certain he
made reference to a woman when I first met him.”

“And you’re only telling me this now?”

“I just made the connection last night,” she mumbled, pretending an interest in her
cuticles to cover the heat stinging her cheeks. She hated being deficient. Nick had
once admired her for the acuity of her mind.

The long silence dragged. She dared not look up. She could stand most things but not
his disappointment. Not in her.

“Looking for a job, Anna?” he teased unexpectedly. “I’m sure the Commander wouldn’t
hesitate. He’d like nothing better than to sic someone like you on the enemies of
the realm.”

Her head shot up. It wasn’t like Nick to let her off the hook. He was one of the most
unforgiving bastards she’d ever come across, and yet here he was trying to reach out
to her. “Did you just pay me a weird kind of compliment?”

He turned to stare out the window behind him. “I married you, Anna. I thought that
was endorsement enough. Hell, if it was pretty words you wanted, you should have told
me. I’d have taken lessons.”

She laughed. “Wouldn’t have worked. You’re too thickheaded. And I never asked for
pretty words.”

“No, but you probably needed them occasionally.”

His regret floored her. She didn’t know how to respond. To buy time, she set her toast
aside and dusted imaginary crumbs from her fingertips. She couldn’t keep up with his
sudden switches between professional agent and surprisingly sensitive man—who she
still didn’t recognize. Suddenly flustered, she ducked behind the protection of off-the-cuff
flippancy. “If you’re going to chase this lead down, can you make it fast? My inner
devil wants some relief. All this confinement is—”

“Necessary, Anna… If Antila does have a woman, why did he need you?”

His choice of words stung. She wondered whether he even realized how much. “Beats
me. Maybe he should have asked you for a reference first. You’d have soon put him
straight,” she said tartly.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Stop bringing
us
into everything.”

“I can’t. You’re here as a constant reminder, and you’re the one who cuddled me last
night. Not the other way around. I was…mortified.”

Just for a moment, he was speechless, and then he grinned. “Really? I thought for
a wild moment you were up for round two. From the way your fingers kept toying with
my chest, especially my left nipple—”

“I was asleep, damn it.”

“So how’d you know I was cuddling you?”

It was her turn to lose the power of speech.

“Want to get back down to business, Anna? And I’m talking as a professional, not a
male, so you can stop blushing.”

She shot him what she hoped was a castrating look. “Fine by me. Just so long as you
remember the way to your own room in future. After all,” she pianoed her fingers at
him, “we wouldn’t want these to go a wandering again would we?”

“Certainly not over anymore keyboards, not if you want to live—or had you forgotten
Antila isn’t the only psycho after you?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Actually, for a blissful moment there I had. Thanks for reminding
me.”

He heaved his shoulders, then fixed his hand to the back of his neck as if it ached.
“We’ll have to move you to a new location just in case.”

Her mouth dried. “If that’s supposed to give me peace of mind, think again, because
I don’t think it’s going to be enough. I got a really bad feeling about all this,
Nick, and I warned you my instincts were sharp.”

Nick grimaced. “Okay, then let’s put those instincts of yours to good use. In the
control room. Let’s get you online, Anna. I want every damn thing you can dig up on
Antila’s love life. Right down to the size of his co—”

“Don’t you dare finish that word,” she warned him. “I’m having a hard enough job not
getting sick at the thought of that man, without you calling his…his…man-bits to mind.”

…

A day later, his arms stiff at his side, Nick stared unseeing at the view of London’s
skyline framed by the huge window making up one wall of the Commander’s office.

That he had just received the bollocking of his life hadn’t touched him. But hearing
himself speak aloud, the request that Anna be placed in witness protection, had sucked
the light from his world.

“For God’s sake, take a seat, Nick. I need a moment to think this through.”

He didn’t want to sit, but he complied anyway. Crossing to the leather bucket chair,
he dropped into its clutch and yanked the lapels of his creased suit jacket into place.
Creased because he’d walked the lone, damp night, his shoulders hunched in indecision,
before turning up at HQ.

“Why Anna? Antila doesn’t make mistakes. So why choose a woman with a connection to
the Service, a woman who couldn’t do low profile if she tried? It doesn’t make any
sense.” The Commander tossed aside his pen in disgust and let it lie when it skidded
across the surface of his desk and fell to the floor.

Nick dug into the inside pocket of his jacket and leaning forward, slid a photo in
front of his boss.

The Commander looked confused. “Anna?”

“No, Not Anna. Antila’s wife. Antoinette Borosky-Antila.”

All color ebbed from the Commander’s face. The names of certain crime families could
do that to man.

“Anna dug deep,” he continued. “Deep into the darker layers of the Internet as only
she can. She connected with someone willing to confirm Antila has a wife.” He leaned
forward and stabbed the photo with his forefinger. “Her.”

Finding the back of his chair again, he forced his teeth to part, his jaw to relax.
“When that photo was sent through—which incidentally decimated my budget and put a
nasty dent in Anna’s own financial reserves—she had to go throw up. The resemblance
between the two women is striking. She thought she was looking at herself in twenty
years’ time.”

The Commander stared hard at the photo and then set it aside. “So, Antila’s fixated
by women of a certain type. Remarkably beautiful women. But that doesn’t explain his
obsessive need to have a son.”

His stomach began to churn. Antila and Antoinette’s history was as tragic as it was
grotesque. “According to Anna’s source—an elderly doctor looking cancer in the eye
and desperate for redemption before he passes—
Devil’s Whim
is a floating asylum. For Antoinette Borosky-Antila. Who is, apparently, crazier
than a sack full of monkeys. Antila adores her. But that didn’t stop him insisting
she be sterilized after the death of their baby. Possibly from SIDS—sudden infant
death syndrome—but, and this is where it gets really nasty, Antoinette’s involvement
can’t be ruled out. The Borosky brothers are behind the attacks on Anna. Her being
pregnant with Antila’s heir is too much of an insult to their sister.”