Sin on the Run (18 page)

“You know things about my family no one else does,” he'd explained. “Please, I have no one else to trust with any of this.”

It'd been hard to say no. She dried her hands and took one last look at herself in the mirror. She'd decided to forgo her usual makeup, keeping it simple. It was funny actually. She'd been using makeup for years to hide behind and in the last few weeks had been going without—to hide behind. Sort of. But she liked the way she looked. This was who she was really, and Blake seemed to like who she was. So Rhonda decided the stripper should stay in Vegas, and she was going to Scotland.

She brushed her hair, and satisfied with her appearance, stepped out of the bathroom. Blake sat in one of the lounge seats, eyes closed. She took the seat beside him and glanced out the window watching the sun as it set under the clouds. They'd fly overnight and be in Edinburgh early morning. From there, a car would take them to Oakley Manor, to his family. His aristocratic family. While he wasn't a prince and she certainly wasn't Marilyn Monroe, what would they think of their prodigal son returning home with a stripper? Not that they were going to find out.

“What are you thinking about?”

Rhonda flinched. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“You think one double whisky will put me to sleep?” He lifted a questioning brow, referring to the stiff drink Cowboy had suggested she give him when Blake had refused pain meds.

“Oh, yeah, forgot. You're a Scottish rogue.”

He grinned. Snatching her hand, he tugged her toward him and planted a hard kiss on her mouth. “And proud of it.”

Would he be like this when they reached his home, this bold and nonchalant about what was sure to piss his grandmother off? He seemed to enjoy being the black sheep of the family. She could say she brushed off people's opinions of her, but it wasn't the truth. She made all those sacrifices, and to be thought of as a bimbo who took her clothes off for money was degrading and untrue. His family would be no different.

“Blake? Could we not tell your family we're sleeping together?”

“We could,” he said, closing his eyes and drawing her hand across his lap. “However, my family is many things. Stupid they are not. Especially my mother.” He opened his eyes. “She'll take one look at you and know I was lying. I'm not just a rogue. I come from a long line of Scottish rogues. My great, great grandfather is said to have sired twenty-four sons with six different women.”

“That's horrible,” she said.

“Different times, lass. And had they been legitimate, he'd not have buggered up the title.”

“Stop trying to charm me with that brogue.”

“I thought you liked my accent. Especially,” he said, coming closer, his lecherous smile a sign he was about to do or say something that would make her blush.

“Don't,” she warned.

“What?” he asked, all innocent.

Doing her best not to laugh, she frowned. “I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you and you turn it into dirty talk.”

“Aye, that's another thing you like.” He kissed her knuckles. “Fine.” He settled back into the chair. “Have at it then.”

“As long as we act like friends, we could pull it off.”

“Rhonda, my mother will see how I look at you, and figure it out in an instant.”

“How is it you look at me?” It wasn't like he had puppy dog eyes for her.

“Like,” he turned his head toward her, “I want to eat you. I don't need a mirror or someone pointing it out. When you're with me, all I can think about is that day on the boat.”

“You're lying.” She didn't believe him.

He closed his eyes again and sighed. “I remember watching you steer. Your hands on the wheel. Those sexy shorts. The way you'd spread your legs for balance. I kept thinking how much I wanted you naked.” He groaned. “Your breasts in my hands, my cock inside you. Then you got all snotty on me, and I wanted you even more. I can still see the sun against your bare ass and remember thinking how much I was going to enjoy tasting you. Mmm, Christ. Sooo good.”

Rhonda's face heated and she wasn't sure she wanted him to stop.

“I'm getting hard just thinking about it. The way you pushed back every time I pounded into you. And that . . . God . . . sweet sound you made when you came . . . heaven.” He breathed. “I could listen to that all day, all night. So yes,” he said, his eyes popping open and gazing at her with such heat, she had to clamp her legs shut. “Even now.”

Temporarily mute, she said nothing. But she wasn't going to let his trying to fluster her change her mind. “I don't want your family to think you're fucking a bimbo.” Her blunt words drove her point home. She shocked him because he
said
nothing, only looked at her like she'd lost her mind.

Then quietly and calmly he spoke. “I'm not fucking a bimbo. I'm fucking you.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don't. Are you talking about your profession? Is that your problem?”

“You're a Scottish aristocrat. I'm going to look like . . . damn . . . like an opportunistic skank.” And if she was pregnant? How would they react to that news? “You shouldn't have brought me. You have a title. And I . . . I have a whip.”

“Did you bring it with you?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow with a sly smile.

She groaned. It was her fault. She'd made the joke. How was he to take her seriously? How was anyone going to take her seriously?

“You're being ridiculous. Rhonda, I understand how you feel. I do. If you don't like the road life has taken you on, then you think no one else would either. But—”

“The road life has taken me on? Seriously? I take my clothes off for money. You think your grandmother will see it as a shitty road life took me on? Or will she think me the biggest whore she's met who's after your money?”

“You are not a whore! I never want to hear that word out of your mouth again.” He was angry now.

“Damn straight I'm not,” she shouted back, then took a deep breath and began again. “But you've told me what she's like. A smurf like her wouldn't approve of her grandson sleeping with someone she'd consider unworthy of her family genes.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up in a grin. “Yes, you can find my family's name in the history books, but I'm a
smurf
too, you know. And my blue blood doesn't care how you earned your living. It doesn't make you less of a person. You sacrificed everything for your father. In my books that makes you far more honorable than any of my ancestors.”

She returned his smile, believing he meant what he'd said. “And I appreciate that, but you aren't going to tell me your family would see it that way. You're going home, and you'll have to face your brother's loss of his child and your grandmother's demands. I'm the last thing you need to deal with. They'll know I don't belong in their world. Whatever this is between us, I don't want them spoiling it. They won't approve, and it will make me feel inferior. So they can't think we're sleeping together.”

She was a good person. She didn't kill anyone, steal anything. Back home she was almost the norm. No one really cared about who she was, what part of town she'd come from . . . what she'd done. She lived in a world of secrets, some big, some small. She fit in—for the most part. In a blue blood's world she'd be
so
out of her comfort zone. What normal person wouldn't feel inferior?

“You're selling yourself short.”

“And if they see my scar? Are we going to lie about how I got stuck in the middle of a serial killer targeting strippers, at a club I worked for?”

“If you don't want to tell them details, don't, but I'm not returning to that big old manor and not sharing a bed with you. Being home is hard enough. I need you.”

Her heart melted at his words. The man she loved needed her. But she couldn't allow it to sway her. This, whatever this was, was going to end. She'd always thought that decision would come from Blake, but now, better it come from her. So maybe this trip was for the best. In Scotland she could distance herself from him. In the end it would be easier for her to do what needed to be done, without having slept with him in his home. A home she had no business being in.

“Please, Blake.”

“Fine,” he growled and stood. “I'll tell them we work together or something.” He pointed a finger at her. “But I did a lot of sneaking around in the dark in that manor house. Don't think I won't be doing it again.”

The open laptop on the table in front of them chimed, halting any further comment. Her body tensed, and judging Blake's suddenly stiff spine, he wasn't exactly eager to take this call either. He smiled, his attempt to reassure her. They were in the air. No harm could come to them. So why wasn't she assured?

He motioned for her to change seats, to get out of view of the computer's camera. They weren't certain if Krupin had identified Rhonda and they weren't going to do it for him. Once she was out of sight, Blake sat and answered the call. She was amazed they had video reception. Then again, this
was
Ryan's plane.

“Dobrey vyecha”
Good evening
.

“Nyet, dobrey utra,” answered the caller.

Blake looked at his watch. “I guess you're right. It is morning. Three
AM
?”

“Long time no see,” he said in an understandable Russian accent.

Blake nodded, wearing a friendly expression. Rhonda knew better.

“Not long enough.”

Krupin laughed. “Same cocky bastard. It's nice to see things don't change.”

“And yet the last time you and I saw each other, you warned me what would happen if we met again.”

“Wounded pride. You stole my date,” he said, shocking Rhonda.

If she didn't know better, she'd say these two were friends.

“If I recall, you had two other women with you.”

“Yes, but that one was special.”

“And she is safe and far away from you.”

Krupin laughed again, this time in a not so affable way. “Not a good idea to bring up our past.”

“You brought it up. There's a Russian proverb that says, ‘He who mentions the past will lose an eye.' ”

“True enough. So let's put it behind us.”

Somehow she doubted a Russian mobster could do that, but it was a game Blake seemed to know how to play.

“My condolences on your nephew. I swear I had nothing to do with his death,” he said, sounding sincere. “I didn't like him, but neither did I have anything to gain by killing him.”

“Last week I wouldn't believe you. But yesterday I discover one of mine was shot in Florida. And his
partner
,” he said, with clear disgust, “is nowhere to be found. It lead me to believe they knew what would happen if I discover they take contract on their own, to kill you. Which,” he laughed, “let's be honest, I would not shed a tear.”

Blake inclined his head. “Right back at ya.”

“Yes. But then I wonder, on whose authority they act? Not mine, I say to myself. So who?”

“Do I need to point that out to you?”

“Nyet. And it would seem I have war on my hands.”

The man didn't sound happy about it.

“What do you want me to do about it?” Blake asked.

“Let me get right to the point.”

“Please.” Blake inclined his head.

“The girl had something that belong to me and now it's missing.”

“Are you insinuating I have it?” Blake's eyes darkened.

This guy may not have contracted a killer, but if he thought Blake had something that was his, they'd be right back where they started.

“Do you?”

“Nyet.” Blake shook his head.

Blake's answer was simple. But what was the Russian looking for? Was it the diamonds?

“Care to tell me what you're missing?” Blake asked.

“Nyet.”

Well that was productive
. What was it he expected to get out of Blake?

Blake gave the computer screen a blank stare. “Why
are
you calling? Even if I had whatever it is you're looking for, I wouldn't give it to you.”

Krupin laughed. “But I would know if you are lying.”

Blake's eyebrows twitched before returning to his blank expression. He was as confused as Rhonda but didn't want Krupin to know.

“Are you a human lie detector now?” he asked blandly.

“Instinct. I have a deal for you.”

“I don't make deals with known criminals. Goes against my better judgment.”

“You might want to consider this one. If you find what I'm missing and return it to me, I will give the authorities enough dirt on our
mutual acquaintance
to put him away for life.”

Blake's hesitation was short, but she saw interest in his eyes. The Russian was being careful about revealing anything that could come back and bite him in the ass, but their mutual acquaintance could only mean Sorrentino.

“What do I care? I'm not a cop.”

“Yes, but old habits are hard to break. And that lying piece of shit nearly got your woman killed. Think about that before you turn me down.”

“Let's say I agree to it, are you going to tell me what I'm looking for?”

“Here's what I can tell you. My nephew disagreed, but he was blinded by love. His fiancée was conspiring against us. And she had help.”

“Conspiring how?”