The Australian (Crime Royalty Romance Book 2) (32 page)

“Charlie, love. Ever occur to you that you don’t know everything?”

Blood flooded my cheeks. He was calling me out for being over-confident.

“I told you that you had it wrong that night, and I was right. Dmitry meant good things because he thinks I deserve good things. We go way back.”

“But he called you terrible names!”

“Didn’t he call everyone nasty names that weekend?”

Oh.

“Yes,” I whispered, realizing perhaps that was just his personality.

Jace was smiling sadly. “No. Who would want to get rid of me
and
set up Dmitry for retribution?”

Goosebumps of realization . . . and sorrow tingled down my arms. So he knew.

“Bennie. That’d be right,” he muttered. I experienced relief even as Jace crossed his arms over himself protectively. I stepped forward, longing to comfort him, selfishly counting my blessings that I did not have to deliver the bad news myself, or account for my source after all.

Sullivan Blaise escapes again.

“He’s been battling an imaginary war with me ever since I branched out,” said Jace quietly about Mr. Bennett. “Nothing I could say or do would make him see I wasn’t standing in his way. I handed the reins over to him in front of Dmitry in Port Douglas just like he wanted, too. Paranoid cunt.”

Jace walked around the island and opened up the fridge door, helped himself to a beer and drank half in a series of gulps.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to have B betray me in that way. To want me dead?

I wanted nothing more than to protect Jace from other threats, namely Giuseppe’s son Joe, even as I sharpened my own knife.

“What about Joe? Mr. Bennett met with Joe in your office—”

“No. Joe wouldn’t’ve fucked his father over like that. No, it was Joe who told Giuseppe Bennie and Simon had plans for me. Giuseppe was the one who called and warned me.”

I was shocked. Enemies were turning out to be friends, and friends, killers.

And lovers, snakes.

He shrugged, placing his beer on the counter. “That’s the cost of that life, ay. I’m paying it . . . when I shouldn’t be. That’s why I want better.” His dark eyes flashed on me. “I’m sick to death of the petty minds, the turf wars, the wasters and the wannabes, the no-hopers. I’m so close to making a real go of things for myself. Another week or less, in Vegas, and we’ll be safe. I swear to Christ, Charlie.”

I stepped up to the counter opposite, drawn to his words, his passion. He meant it; I knew it. Because I did have faith, still.

“In Vegas?”

“Yeah, we leave tomorrow.”

He eyed me speculatively.

“To establish the new Knight Enterprises hotel?” I asked quietly, praying to the heavens, if it existed, that was all he was going there for.

“Yeah. But it’s not mine.”

I glanced in his eyes.

“It’s for Giuseppe. Getting him this hotel, it’ll wipe the slate clean between us. I owe him, you see, for where I am today. He helped set me up and this hotel will clear up any debts. I’ll be free from his control at last. It’s why he and Joe warned me. Giuseppe wanted to make sure he got his hotel.”

Relief showered through me, and astonishment.

“That was the deal you made in Port Douglas.”

He nodded, watching me. After a moment, flat, he said, “I’m also meeting with some members of a new high-caliber . . . organization.”

I tried to still all my facial muscles. His big black eyes were watching me, unblinking.

“One with really epic potential,” he continued, “which will establish me firmly as untouchable. No one from my past would dare threaten me then. They appreciate my keen eye for real estate development, and my discretion,” he added.

“Oh. Well. That’s promising,” I said.

I should sound more enthusiastic, perhaps.

“Really.” I added.

Now would be a good time, Charlie.

“What is its name?” I whispered.

“What’s that?” asked Jace. “Didn’t hear you there, Charlie.”

I glanced into his eyes and they were challenging me—to create a negative emotion in him.

Why?

Did he . . . know?

No. He couldn’t.

He held me there on a wasteland, no direction to go.

“Nothing,” I choked out, thinking of the tattoo on B’s back—an archangel reaching for the heavens.

I burst out into tears—blinded—not caring, only feeling. Where would I find the courage? I wished I could . . . disappear.

“
Shh
,” he whispered in my ear. He was beside me and I melted into his strong arms, which wrapped around me, and rubbed me, making me feel worse . . . better . . . then twice as bad.

“Everything’s alright now,” he said. I believe he meant the danger had passed. I shook my head, emotion shattering everything I was into tiny mirror shards, nothing reflecting back at me that was decent or worthy.

I looked into his caves, wanting him to save me.

“I’m so scared,” I confessed.

“I know, and you don’t have to be. I know.” He hugged me to him and released me again. “And I’m going to make it safe. I promise. I’m twenty-six steps ahead, Charlie, remember, ay? Stop that, okay? It’s hurting me to see it,” he said, tenderness in his face, which only made me cry harder.

I would have to hurt him yet, far worse.

“I’ll keep you safe.” He kissed my head, shaking me a little to get me to stop. “You just have to do one thing. You have to quit doing runners. You have to stand by me.”

I rubbed my face dry. He placed his hands on my shoulders.

“Look at me, Charlie, ay?” I did as he asked. “I don’t want this without you. That future I want? Means half as much to me without you. I felt it before, but I really felt it after you scarpered earlier today. You think you can do that? Stand by me?”

Standing by him was exactly what Interpol wanted. I wanted to scream.

What he was asking me . . . how would I have answered if Interpol wasn’t forcing me to do their bidding?

Yes, that was what I needed to resolve.

A few hours ago, I had decided I wanted to make something of my life. Staring at him, feeling his hands on me, the comfort and safety he promised, believing in him with all my heart, it occurred to me that standing by him and making something of myself weren’t mutually exclusive. I might even be stronger standing by him.

But it wasn’t my choice to make anymore.

And he couldn’t know that.

“Will standing by you require a flak jacket in the future?”

After a moment, he laughed out loud. “No.”

“I am serious.”

“I know you are. That’s what’s funny,” he said, grinning. “And no, it won’t, I promise.”

“But . . . what about . . . Mr. Bennett and Mr. Carlisle?”

His face fell. “I’ll take care of them.”

I wondered at the ache inside.

Empathy.

Standing on my tiptoes, I kissed his lips hoping a gesture of affection would make him feel better. It appeared to distract him at least.

We were near melting to the floor when Miss Moneypenny made her feelings known. Jace released his grip on me only after I asked twice. He was frustrated.

I let Miss Moneypenny out of her carrier, and she dashed straight for under the bed. It took me twenty minutes to coax her out while Jace waited quietly, conducting business on his laptop. I followed Miss Moneypenny around his place as she explored tentatively. He accompanied us, between phone calls in the bedroom.

I told him his suite was just like he said, impersonal. The one exception: two bookshelves full of well-thumbed business books. I knew he was a self-taught man but seeing it was believing it.

The origami dragon I crafted using B’s tattoo as inspiration sat on one of the bookshelves.

My heart pounded and I stepped over to touch it. I clenched my eyes tight for a moment to stop the tears.

“Charlie.” Jace stepped close, perhaps seeing my body shudder. I did not know he was behind me.

I shook my head. I had to conceal my emotions. He knew of the dragon tattoo-origami connection.

“It is B,” I heard myself confess. “She’s struggling with something personal.” I thought of the German’s threats to accelerate her situation. “I am helping her.”

I glanced into Jace’s eyes, seeing the cost, measuring it, and deciding to pay it. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her,” I told him fiercely. He needed to know. He deserved to know.

He stared deep, but I would not go inside his caves. I owed him that much: to betray him and take from him was low, too low. Instead, I imagined an army in those eyes, at its head the general, working through the news I had just delivered.

“Well then,” he said finally. “She’s a lucky sheila to have such a loyal friend.”

I sniffled, and stared at his throat.

“You hungry, Charlie?”

I nodded. He ordered room service and we waited for it on the sofa, watching the TV. I could not taste the burger but felt better for eating it. I could barely keep my eyes open, having not slept properly since before Uluru.

When Jace was done eating, he got back on the phone. I heard him discussing boarding for Miss Moneypenny and, suddenly alert, stood up right in front of him, my face bent in an intense frown. He hung up and I asked, “Why are you inquiring about boarding facilities?”

“Well she’s not coming to Vegas with us,” he said, spreadeagled on the sofa.

I stared down at him.

Earlier he had implied I was going with him tomorrow to Las Vegas. It irked me that he had not asked, even when it was what Interpol wanted.

He did not have to make it easy.

Of course I wanted to go, and would go, because it was a way home. Once in America, I would try to find a way to stay.

I fought strenuously to control the terrible dark gray and black emotions pressing down on me. When I emerged again, Jace’s jaw was clenched.

“I am not leaving Miss Moneypenny behind.”

His eyes broadcast a strange glint.

“Yeah, well you’re coming back,
right
.”

I gave away a clear indication of surprise—he had realized I was hoping not to come back.

“I know!” I exclaimed. That was too defensive. “I just can’t leave her again. I have been a terrible mother to her.” My voice had hitched, and I rolled my eyes at my own feebleness.

He tilted his head, his brow softened. “You’re way too hard on yourself.” He pursed his lips.

“All the same. I am not leaving her . . .” I omitted to say “behind.”

“Fine,” he snapped. “If it will make you happy, she can come. But we’ll have to smuggle her in on the way back to avoid quarantine again.”

“Yes. Please.” I added, greatly relieved.

After that, I let go of some of the tension, and we cuddled stiffly on the sofa, talking briefly about plans for the Vegas trip and how we would be leaving early in the morning. I fell asleep around ten p.m., desperate to escape all the . . . emotion. I slept heavier and deeper than I ever remembered having done before.

• • •

Jace must have carried me to bed. For that is where I woke up, with his cock pushing its way inside me, from behind, on our sides. Unprepared for the invasion, and remembering I was not free to take from him, I garbled, “No,” pulling away from his body. His arm grasped tighter around my waist, the other was arched above my head.

“Charlie,” he insisted, in my hair, prodding his way inside my body.

He wanted his morning
shiny
.

I pressed my legs tight together but it didn’t block anything. My heart rate had gone from a gentle beat to a sprint. I glanced at the clock, the only light in the pitch-black room. Early in the morning. Two hours before I would be flying back to America.

I felt . . . winded. Yes. That was it. In the fresh light of morning, I could see everything with absolute clarity. I did not wish to go back to America. I wanted to stay in Australia. I had failed. I was a failure.

“Let me love you. Everything’ll be okay, you’ll see,” he said, hoarse, forcing me onto my back and wrestling his way on top of my rigid body, spreading my legs forcefully with his knees. I wasn’t wearing anything under the long T-shirt.

I wanted to believe him.

I wanted to take. I needed to take. I was weak. I needed him.

“Okay,” I whispered and wrapped my legs around his hips. We both gasped as his length slid into me.
Mmm
. I moaned out and clasped his shoulders. He pulled out and pushed back in, creating such a powerful burst of pleasure, something beautiful and good, and right . . . I let him.

I was grateful for the rescue.

“Yes,” I cried out. His hand snaked under my head, grasping my skull. He planted his mouth on mine as I arched my back. He thrust back in and out of me, slow, then fast, creating short and long surges of deep ecstasy, heaven, yes, it was heaven—pristine, humble, bountiful—and quicker and quicker.

He leaned down to my ear and spoke dirty-sweet words to me the way he likes to do, about how sweet my cunt is and how it was all his and how good it felt. His voice, its erotic affection, gravely haunting, its virile lust, partnered with his physical instrument, plunging, rubbing, ramming, all created a perfect amour—I felt my body tense with pleasure. “Jace, I’m—”

I exploded into a bright light, mentally holding on tight.

But it wasn’t full, or replete, like usual . . . so I let it go, like freeing a butterfly from a net.

When I opened my eyes, he asked me if I wanted another one, while he stroked in and out. I shook my head, my heart full of regret already. His mouth on mine, he sped up then and pounded me furiously, and, in that moment, I felt the distance from him was just punishment for me.

His own body tensed over mine, and he growled quietly, as if in pain, but I knew better.

When he was done, he lowered himself, forcing me to take some of his weight.

Our hearts thudded against one another, as though we shared two between us, one on either side. The idea made me smile up at him.

“There she is,” he said. “I don’t like it when you hide from me. You need to stop that, Charlie,” he added.

How could I have done that?! Let him in . . . let us be? He inhaled deeply, and flopped off of me, pulling a sheet over top of him. “And she’s gone again.”