Assassin (An SOBs Novel Book 2), page 10
“I am,” she admitted. And I’m desperate. I’ll do anything not to be alone tonight.
“Tell me what you really want,” he said patiently. “If you want me to leave, I’ll leave.”
“No. Stay. Just one night. I don’t want to be alone. Stay with me. Please. Just pretend you like me and stay.”
“That’s the problem. I do like you,” he said.
“Liar,” she murmured, right before he eased her onto the bed.
Chapter Eleven
Victoria was killing him with that sad expression and those too-big-for-her-face melted-chocolate eyes. But her come-on signals were all wrong. Worse, she’d been sending those mixed signals all day, one second over the top confident enough to threaten him with a blade, the next cowering behind his jacket collar, glancing over her shoulder at any sudden noise, and afraid to step out of the elevator. She’d had no trouble taking out that joker in the middle of a busy Chicago street, but now she froze when Pagan finally had her where he thought she wanted to be, on her back in his bed.
He knew damned well there were no silk or satin barriers to stop him beneath that fluffy robe, but he’d expected Victoria to come onto him like some Playboy Bunny hooker now that they were alone. But the robe was still closed. Her legs weren’t spread in wanton invitation. And her eyes weren’t sparkling. She didn’t look happy to be there.
What the hell?
So, he stood there at the side of the bed to get his bearings, because what was wrong with this picture? She’d said she wanted comfort. A screw. A one-night stand. A quick get some, then get out while the getting’s good, and before the morning’s regret had the chance to fester and ruin the night before. He could do that. He’d certainly done that with enough women in the past.
But this thing with Victoria was different. Pagan couldn’t recall any of those other women’s names. None of them were memorable or worth remembering. But how could anyone forget Miss Hex? The way she commanded an entire room by simply opening those come-hither, deep brown eyes and breathing? The way she commanded without a word.
Now he was thinking poetry and romance and—?
Oh, hell, no. This was just chemistry with an overload of adrenaline to top it off. Even if they’d climbed under the covers and shagged each other like rabbits, it’d still be over come sun-up. They’d go their separate ways and never speak of this night again. As for the romance and poetry happening in his head? That was because he was in his mother’s favorite writing place, and yeah. That was it. Exactly. Yeah. That was precisely what the soft spot in his head was about.
But why’d Victoria look so unhappy? Was that because of Kruze? Had that son-of-a-bitch ruined her for other men? Or was she pining for Scarlett Sinclair’s middle son, wishing he were here instead of his younger brother?
Pagan took a knee at her bedside. “I can’t do this,” he admitted. He was a man and a real man never infringed on his brother’s territory. It wasn’t honorable, and it wasn’t right.
“Can’t?” she asked as she lifted to her elbows, her voice as brittle as an icicle. “Or won’t?”
“You’re my friend, but you’re also Julio’s baby sister. I’ll never be able to look him in the face if we... if we...”
She filled in the blank with a particularly nasty word.
“I would’ve said make love,” he told her quietly, “but yeah. Okay. That.”
“You didn’t even know Julio or I existed until last year,” she pointed out.
Pagan nodded. “You’re right, but he’s a friend now and—”
“And what?”
“And what about Kruze?”
She cocked her head. “What about him?”
Pagan dropped his gaze to the carpet, not about to disclose what he knew—or thought he knew—about what this woman and his brother had between them. It just wasn’t done. “Listen. I got carried away out there, and I’m sorry I misled you. But this isn’t going to work. You and Kruze—”
“You keep saying that. Me and Kruze.” She bolted upright, her long hair softly shining over her shoulders even in the dark. “Spit it out, Pagan. What is it you think you know about me and your brother?”
“Nothing,” he replied. Nothing I’d ever tell.
“Then get out,” she told him. “Get out of my room and leave me alone.”
“But you’re in my room,” he said timidly, for the first time afraid of angering a woman. At least, of upsetting this woman more than he already had.
“It’s mine now.” With a flounce of her ebony locks, Victoria rolled over and gave him her back. Again.
Pagan lifted to his feet. Well, okay then. The line was drawn. He’d have to live with it. Wouldn’t that be fun, protecting a pissed-off woman from some unseen and as yet unnamed enemy, as well as from himself? Maybe from Kruze too if he were dumb enough to show, not that Pagan expected him to drop in for a quickie. Still. This was the audacious Miss Hex, and normally intelligent men were known to perform extreme feats of daring all because of a beautiful woman. They got irrationally territorial, possessive, and downright stupid. Look at all the trouble Helen of Troy caused.
“I’m sorry,” he said one last time. “I’ll be right outside. Good night.”
A pillow flew over her head at him.
Yeah. This mission was going to be a real riot.
*****
Damn, she could smell Pagan on the sheets. In the air. On her skin. As un-mussed as the bedsheets and blankets were, he hadn’t been in here very long, but he’d left behind a delectable combination of manly deodorant, body wash, and some kind of wonderful. Not musk. Not sweat. But somewhere in between Heaven and Hell. Whatever it was, she now had it all over her body and in her hair, and Gah! Vicki couldn’t get away from him, nor could she get enough of him. She would’ve bathed in his scent if she’d known where to buy it by the bottle.
Only now she’d run him off. But honestly, every time this cosmically charged thing between them exploded… Every time she thought she had him where she wanted him—out of control—the dumbass opened his big mouth and dragged his brother into it. What did Kruze have to do with anything, anyway? Unless...
He wouldn’t!
Vicki shoved Pagan’s other pillow off the bed, her heart racing at the most outrageously and very probable explanation. Had Kruze bragged to his brothers about something he’d tried, but hadn’t actually ever—not ever—not even close—achieved? How juvenile! Was that what this yo-yo act between her and Pagan was about, Kruze laying untrue claims on Julio’s little sister like some lying teenage boy with a boner?
What a joke! Vicki would never. Not with Kruze. Eww. Sure, he’d made several over the top salacious offers in the past, but the never-gonna-grow-up party-boy of the Sinclair family was not Vicki’s idea of a hero. The way he strutted around like he owned the world, she wasn’t even sure he was a real man.
And Pagan! Was he dumb enough to believe everything his brother said? And why? Just because that was just what ‘big, brave men’ did? Brag up their conquests? Objectify women? Minimize a female’s intellect, skill, and abilities because she was born with breasts that jiggled when she walked? Like she should dress like a nun or worse, wear a burka or a hijab, so weak-minded men wouldn’t be distracted by the sight of quivering female flesh?
Get real. A man’s failure to curb his mind or his appetite was not any woman’s fault! And Pagan was no better than Dane if he’d believed Kruze’s lies. The nerve! Damn those men for reducing her to just another idiot with a vagina instead of the gifted covert agent she was. Men were stupid. All they needed to satisfy their over-inflated opinion of themselves was tits and ass with a keg of beer and a slab of crispy bacon on the side.
Dogs. They were dogs. Weiner dogs!
Feeling righteous and with a full head of steam now, Vicki shoved her butt and back against the headboard and peeled the gauze off her hands and fingers. Yes, her fingers were sore, but she’d live, and these wounds were nothing. She’d been in worse shape before, once when Cabb had actually called his private physician to her penthouse to stitch her up. But she had work to do now, and money to do it with. Pagan could go play doctor with someone else.
Tugging the large bills, all five of them, out of that silly leather wallet of Sullivan’s—what was he trying to do, impress her?—Vicki reached for the phone on the nightstand, and made two calls. One to her handler, so he’d know she was still alive and still on the job. Dane might be a horndog, but he tended to nag when she failed to report. That was the last thing she needed to deal with now, one more horndog on top of the others.
He was the reason her Class A weapons dealer façade worked as well as it did in Mafia-land. He supplied the guns she sold. She moved them like lightning, then the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives moved in for the kill. They didn’t take down every sale she made though, just specific ones, and how they decided which to go after, she had no idea. But the cover worked, and that was all that was important.
The second call went to her product specialist at the local Neiman Marcus. Vanessa might be home at this time of night, but she worked on commission. She’d answer this call.
Sure enough. The phone rang three times before a groggy female voice answered, “Hello?”
“Vanessa? Hi, it’s me. Vicki Hex.”
“Oh, umm, hi Vicki!” See? That dull sounding voice turned sharp and alert in a hurry. “Man, it’s awfully late, but wow, hi! What can I do for you?”
Enough with the small talk. “Remember that outfit I tried on last month? The one with the whalebone inside the satin panels? I think it was light orange or pink or something like that.”
“I do,” Vanessa answered, only she made it sound like ‘I do-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!’ “And it was sunset coral. It enhanced your natural coloring, and it looked like it was made for you.”
Perfect. “Could you send that outfit along with my usual order of silk stockings, and a pair of those thong panties I like to my new Chicago address? A new pair of thigh high boots, too.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that first thing in the morning. What’s the address?”
Vicki relayed her current location, then added, “I can’t wait until morning. I’m sorry, but I need them tonight. Can you get them for me or not? I’ll pay extra.”
“Yes, ma’am, I most certainly can do that.” Vanessa’s phone hushed as if she’d covered the mouthpiece. “Get back to bed. You heard me. I’ll be right in. Quiet.”
A little voice grumbled on her end of the line, and wasn’t that interesting? Until now, Vicki hadn’t known the savvy saleswoman she relied on was married or had a family. Vanessa had always just been that eager, smiling face on the other side of the counter at Neiman Marcus. Blond and blue-eyed, she’d gone out of her way to assist her wealthy customers, and Vicki had been thrilled to toss a few extra dollars her way at the end of a hard day shopping.
Interesting. But uncomfortably interesting. Because Vicki had just mentally accused Pagan of treating her like a mindless object instead of a living, breathing human being, while she’d been doing the exact same thing to Vanessa. Not lumping her into the sex toy column, but certainly treating her as simply a means to an end, instead of as a human being with a family and a life and…
Oh, crap. She has a kid, and here I’m calling her in the middle of the night. Waking her and her little one just to pander to me. Vicki cocked her head as she listened to bits and pieces of the discussion coming over the line. Sounded like quite a little boy or possibly, a girl. It was hard to tell by just the petulant whining. Apparently, someone was spoiled and wanted Mommy to stay where every good mommy should be at zero dark thirty. At home. Like the rest of the normal world.
At last Vanessa came back on the line with a weary sigh. “Okay now, where were we?”
“I didn’t know you had kids,” Vicki said.
“Oh, yes. I’ve got two. One perfect little diva and another on the way, but Leena’s back in bed now…” She raised her voice and called out, “At least she’d better be if she knows what’s good for her.”
“I’m so sorry I’ve disturbed you. I never thought—”
“Oh no, I’m glad you called, and yes, ma’am. I can run to the store right now and have these articles to your door in an hour, maybe two. Will that work for you?”
Vicki shook her head though Vanessa couldn’t see her. “I’ve changed my mind,” she said quietly. “Tomorrow’s good enough, Vanessa. Stay home with your family tonight. Go read to that little girl of yours. I can wait.”
“Are you sure?” Vanessa sounded incredulous, and didn’t that humble Vicki even more? That Vanessa couldn’t believe a rich bitch would cut her this small portion of slack? Talk about a reality check.
I really am a bitch.
Vicki nodded, more at own her admission of guilt than the woman on the other end of the line whom she’d so blithely called friend all these years. But a friend was someone you knew and truly cared about, wasn’t it? You put their needs ahead of yours. And Vicki had never gotten to know the real Vanessa. Until now, she’d just been a clerk with a pretty smile. An overzealous product specialist who’d acted as if she’d do anything to please her best customer. An act. Aw, damn. Vanessa was acting. That Vicki understood.
Vanessa was just like Vicki Hex.
I suck.
“Yes, I’m sure. There’s nothing more important than family, so please accept my apology for bothering you so late. I’ve treated you badly, and I’m sorry. Sleep tight.”
“But… but…” Vanessa sputtered. “Are you sure? It’s no trouble. Really. I can be there in an hour.”
Vicki smiled. “I believe you would, but please, not for me. Go snuggle that baby of yours. She’s the important one.” Not me.
There was a pause on the line. Then a concerned, “Miss Hex? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. See you tomorrow.” Vicki hung up the phone and looked at the door. No light crept underneath it, but she knew Pagan was out there in the hall. And he wasn’t Kruze.
Chapter Twelve
He didn’t go far. Pagan took up post, sitting with his back against the wall outside the bedroom he usually slept in when he came to town and his pistols once more alongside his thighs. He’d never been comfortable using his mother’s bed. Mental note to self: Probably ought to buy a new one. It’s just furniture. Nothing special. Except Mom used to sleep there…
The bedroom door in front of him opened noiselessly and there stood Victoria in that fluffy robe. She was a vision, her tangled black hair cascading over her shoulders and breasts, not that he could see them. But no male alive could miss the dips and curves hidden beneath even the fluffiest bathrobe.
Her head canted. “You’re sitting in the hall? Out here? Alone?”
Well, duh. He grunted. No sense in answering the obvious.
“We, umm, need to talk.”
Pagan slapped the carpeted floor beside him. “So sit.”
Victoria knelt, revealing only her toned legs and her knees as she situated herself beside him. She drew her feet to one side, then made sure her thighs were concealed and the sash was tied snugly at her waist.
Pagan didn’t dare glance her way. He’d tamped down his zest for a frolic under the covers the moment things got out of hand. This woman had once been Kruze’s girl. Might still be for all Pagan knew. He was just here to get to the bottom of her kill order. Not to bang her into submission. End of story.
“So talk,” he said to the wall across from him.
Victoria’s hand clamped over his forearm. She tilted her head as if she wanted to see him better. It was dark in the hallway. “Hi. I’m Vicki Hex. I think we’ve met before.”
He spared her a quick sideways glance, then went back to staring at the wall. Hell, yeah, we’ve met. You shot my ass the first time, and this time around’s not working out too well for me, either.
She cleared her throat and started over again. “Hi, there. I’d like to introduce myself. I go by Vicki Hex when I’m working, but that’s not who I really am, and if we’re going to work together, I’d like you to know the real me. I’d like to know the real you, too.”
He couldn’t help the way his head cranked to the side as if its clutch had popped. “The real you?”
She nodded. “Yes, Pagan Sinclair. We got off on the wrong foot. I’d like to rewind that last scene, pretend it never happened, and start over. Good?”
Pretend what never happened? The way her mouth had tasted of Scotch mingled with some exotic honey? The way he couldn’t get the warm, slick sensation of her lips against his out of his mind, much less off his mouth? The way his fingertips craved another touch of the satiny smooth hair they’d tangled in when he’d picked her up? The weight of her lush but lithe body in his arms? The handful of her delectable and oh, so soft ass? The smell of her, a cross between the Scotch on her breath and the perfumed body wash she’d showered with?
Even now, his nostrils flared for every last epithelial drifting off her skin and drifting out of her hair. And yeah, he’d give anything to lose himself deep inside her warm, lush body. What man wouldn’t? But all she wanted was to be friends?
“Good enough,” he said as he gave in and crossed his left arm over his chest to shake her hand. “Friends.” Now leave me alone, because that’s the last thing I want to be with you.
She had a nice firm handshake, but he didn’t let the contact linger since they were nothing more than friends.
That handshake seemed to make her happy, probably just for a minute, though. “So tell me about yourself,” Victoria said, a warm light twinkling in the corner of her eyes. “I already know who your mother and brothers are. Where’d you grow up? What were you like as a kid?”
A scowl seemed to have taken up permanent residence on his face. This was the dumbest conversation he’d ever had with another contract killer, but if she wanted to play Q&A, well, okay then. It beat sitting in the hall by himself. “San Diego. Joined the Navy straight out of high school. Became a SEAL. Learned to blow up things. Fought for my country. Resigned my Budweiser when Chance nearly died. Figured he needed me. There. The end.”
