11 Poison Promise (34 page)

Appreciation and desire sparked in his eyes, but Owen hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” I replied in a husky whisper. “I don’t want to think about Benson or anything else but you for the rest of the night.”

Owen reached for me, but I put my hand on his chest and backed him over to the bed. He reached for me again, but I kept him at arm’s length as I unbuttoned his shirt and unzipped his pants. He stepped back long enough to shed his clothes and grab a condom from his wallet. I took my little white pills, but we always used extra protection. He reached for me a third time, and I finally let his arms encircle me.

For a while, we just stood there, our foreheads touching, our breath mingling together, my hands resting on his broad shoulders, even as his fingers stroked up and down my back in light nonsense patterns. Then I stepped forward, and we both eased down onto the bed together.

Sensing my need for control, Owen lay back and let me explore his body. I kissed him gently, teasing my tongue against his, stoking the fire that always burned between us.

For a long time, that’s all I did. But then my kisses grew bolder, harder, and longer, and my hands began to wander. I lifted my lips from Owen’s and kissed my way down his body, starting with the crooked tilt to his nose before moving to the scar that slashed across his chin and then down to his muscled chest. Eventually, my lips, tongue, and hands slid even farther down, exploring his hard length.

Owen groaned. “You drive me crazy.”

I grinned and took him in my mouth.

He groaned again, his muscles bunching and twitching with every hot flick of my tongue and gentle nibble of my teeth. Just before he went over the edge, I backed off and kissed my way back up to his mouth.

We broke apart, and he stroked my hair. “Gin?”

I knew what he was really asking. I nodded, lay back, and finally let him touch me,
really
touch me, his hands exploring my body just as mine had explored his, from the sensitive curve of my neck to my breasts and then down to the tangle of curls between my legs. Owen slipped a finger inside me, even as his tongue danced around one of my nipples, then the other one. The low, languid fire that had been flickering inside me erupted into something much hotter and far more intense.

Suddenly, it was all too much and not enough at the same time.

“Condom,” I rasped. “Now.”

Owen ripped open the packet and covered himself with it. The second he was finished, I plastered myself on
top of him, kissing him hard and deep, my hands touching every single part of him. Then I rose up and slid down onto his hard length, making us both cry out.

Owen put his hands on my hips, steadying me, anchoring me, grounding me, as I rode him hot, hard, and fast. The pleasure and pressure between us built and built, until we both exploded, finding our release together.

Then, when it was over, I slumped down over his body. Owen’s arms went around me, and he drew me even closer to him, cradling me against his chest and murmuring how much he loved me over and over again. I buried my face in his neck.

And it was only then that I truly let go and drowned in all the horrible emotions and memories of the day.

My feeling of frenzy slowly dissipated, and I shuddered out a breath, going limp and boneless in Owen’s warm, solid embrace. His murmurs slowly faded away, but he kept stroking my hair, arms, and back, as if trying to reassure me with every soft skim of his fingers that this was real, that he was here, and that neither one of us was going anywhere.

Maybe he was trying to prove that to himself too.

For the first time since Benson had shoved that Burn pill into my mouth, I felt truly safe, like the vampire would never be able to hurt me again. Of course, that wasn’t true, and it wouldn’t be true, not until I killed him. But as I listened to Owen’s heart drumming in his chest, I let myself have the illusion of safety, at least for the rest of this night.

Because tomorrow would be even more dangerous than today. Tomorrow I would face down my enemy—and only one of us would live through the confrontation.

25

I drifted off to sleep and woke up sometime before dawn. Owen was still holding me close with one arm, while the other was thrown up over his head. He must have grabbed the sheets sometime during the night and flipped them up onto us, because we were cocooned together in a warm web of silk. Not wanting to disturb him, I slid out of his embrace and out of bed.

I went into the bathroom, stepped into the shower, and turned it on as hot as I could stand it, letting the water beat against my body. Jo-Jo had healed my injuries last night, but my muscles still felt stiff and sore from all the fights of yesterday, so I stood under the scalding spray until everything felt loose and warm. A white, fluffy robe was hanging on the back of the door, so I grabbed it and put it on before going back out into the stateroom.

Owen was still asleep, soft snores rumbling out of his mouth, but I was too restless to lie back down, so I unlocked
the door and went out into the hallway. The only sound was the soft, steady
slosh-slosh-slosh
of water against the riverboat. Jo-Jo had said that Phillip had everyone, except for a few of his most trusted workers, cleared off the boat when Owen and the others brought me on board. I climbed a set of stairs, which took me to the third level, then opened a door and stepped outside onto the main deck.

It was a beautiful September morning, cool and crisp, and I shivered with a delicious chill as a faint breeze danced over my face and gusted through my wet hair. The sun was just rising over the tops of the eastern mountains, streaking the sky with layers of red, orange, and yellow. The warm, vibrant colors reminded me of those in the heart-and-arrow sign outside Northern Aggression.

Despite the early hour, I wasn’t the only one out and about. Sophia was here too, sitting in a white cushioned deck chair next to the gangplank that led to the ground and watching a movie on her tablet. Probably one of those old westerns she loved so much, judging from the faint
toot-toot
of a train whistle and the soft
crack-crack-crack
s of gunfire that drifted out of the device. An open metal thermos sat on the deck next to her chair, the wisps of steam curling up out of the container bringing the rich scent of chicory coffee along with them. A shotgun lay next to the thermos on the deck, and a second, matching weapon was propped up against the railing.

Judging from the blanket that was draped over her shoulders like a serape, Sophia had been out here all night, screening movies, drinking coffee, and keeping a watch in case Benson and his men found us and decided to attack.
Her devotion touched me, and more tears pricked my eyes. I told myself they were just there because the sun was already so bright.

Sophia glanced over at the sound of the door opening, then smiled and waved at me. I waved back. But she didn’t get up out of her chair and approach me, and I didn’t walk over and talk to her. I still needed a little more quiet time to think about things, and Sophia respected that. I went over to the far side of the deck, leaned my forearms on the railing, and watched the last bit of night give up its ghost to the dawn.

I hadn’t been at the railing long, maybe ten minutes, when one of the doors creaked open, and soft footsteps sounded. I glanced over my shoulder. Catalina stood in the middle of the deck, wrapped in a white robe, a hesitant look on her face, as if she wasn’t sure if she would be welcome. I waved her over, and she joined me. She mimicked my pose, and we stood there staring out at the rippling surface of the river.

“It’s so beautiful,” she said, skimming her hand along the brass railing. “Everything here is. I drive by the
Delta Queen
every day on my way to work at the Pork Pit, but I never thought that I’d get a chance to come on board, much less see the inside. It’s nice.”

I nodded, although
nice
was a bit of an understatement, since the
Delta Queen
was six levels of gleaming whitewashed wood trimmed with blue and red paint. A paddle wheel at the very back loomed up over the rest of the riverboat, casting a large shadow that cloaked Catalina and me, despite the early hour.

“I wanted to thank you,” she said. “For helping Bria
and me. For saving us. What you did . . . how you got us off that bridge and away from Benson and his men . . . it was
amazing
. It was everything I’ve ever heard about you and more.”

I gave her a questioning, sidelong look, and a bit of a blush stained her bronze cheeks.

“I had heard all the rumors about you being an assassin, about you being the Spider.”

“But?”

Catalina drew in a breath. “But . . . I never really thought they were
true
. At least, not until I saw you handle Troy and those two vamps at the college. You seemed so nice, so . . . normal. I thought it was just some crazy story people were making up. An urban legend or something.”

“But weren’t you ever curious before then?” I asked, facing her. “About everything that happens at the restaurant? Especially about me and why I’m always so . . . disheveled?”

That was a nice way of saying bruised, beaten, and bloody.

She shrugged. “I was, but you were always so nice to me I figured that there was no way you could do what people said you did, that you could be what everyone said you were. Besides, even if I’d realized sooner that all the rumors were true, I wouldn’t have cared anyway.”

“Why not? Working for an assassin isn’t the sort of thing most people can overlook.”

She shrugged again. “With the way my life has been the past year, coming to the Pork Pit, working there, waiting tables, it was like a relief, you know? Because no
matter how angry I was over my mom’s death, no matter how much I missed her, I knew that I could come to the restaurant and forget all about it, at least for a little while. During my shifts, I could just hang out, do my job, and pretend I wasn’t falling apart on the inside.”

“But you don’t need to work in the restaurant. Not with that trust fund Silvio set up for you.”

She nodded. “I know, and I’ve thought about quitting. But working at the restaurant, it was . . . an escape for me, you know? A place where I could feel like I was actually
normal
. Just a girl, just a waitress, just a college student. Instead of someone with a dead mom, an uncle who works for the biggest drug dealer in town, and a trust fund full of money made from other people’s misery.”

She closed her eyes, and her hands tightened around the railing, as if she were bracing herself for something. After a moment, she opened her eyes and looked at me again.

“I’m sorry about what happened yesterday,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, raspy, guilty whisper. “About what Benson . . . did to you. I heard Bria and the others talking about it. It’s horrible, and it’s all my fault. You were right. I never should have agreed to testify. I almost got you and Bria killed.”

I shook my head. “No, you were right, and I was wrong. You were just trying to get justice for Troy the best way you knew how. Don’t ever apologize for that. Not to me, not to anyone. What happened, what Benson did to me, it’s not your fault. I knew that you and Bria were in trouble, and I made the choice to help you, no matter the consequences. I would make the same choice again—and again.”

She nodded, then stared off into the distance, chewing her lip in worry. “What about Silvio? Bria told me that he helped rescue you, and that he went back into the mansion to lead the guards away. Do you think that he’s still . . . alive?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. I promise you this: if he is still alive, then I will do everything in my power to save him, the same as he did for me. Will that work for you?”

Catalina nodded, and some of the tension drained out of her body. “So what happens now?”

“You’re going to stay here and stay safe,” I said. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle the rest.”

•  •  •

Catalina and I both went back to our staterooms to try to get some more shut-eye. I crawled back into bed next to Owen, snuggling up against his warm, muscled body, and drifted off to sleep with no trouble.