Betrayal (23 page)

How was it possible that Penelope was here, no longer the girl who had ignited his desire, but a woman, confident and intelligent?

Damn it.

Damn it.

He wanted, he lusted, he longed… and he could not have.

Nine years ago, he had had no right to involve her in his doleful fate, yet he’d been young and impetuous, and he hadn’t been able to resist her.

Since then, she’d lost a husband and a mother. What kind of ass would jump her bones now, use the solace of her love to smooth the edge of his fear, and then in a violent, bloody display, abandon her to loneliness again?

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Yet he had been in the same room with her for less than five minutes and he’d dragged her outside because she’d made a single snarky remark.

Civilized.
Civilized
. Not in a million years.

He’d kissed her with all the ferocious desire that was in him, and after a moment’s resistance, she had yielded with grace and passion.

Then…
Anguish
, she had whispered. She had recognized his anguish.

How was that possible? How could she read him so ably?

Because she was his soul mate, of course. He’d figured
that out the first time around. But what cruel destiny had sent her here again now?

Had her husband tapped that hidden reserve of spirit within her? She buried her emotions so deep, this girl who had been raised in the Los Angeles ghettos. She had suffered early under her grandfather’s rule, where only he was allowed to rage or shout. Then she’d escaped, she and her mother, to a different place, where she could be what she wanted… if she fit in.

She’d learned her lesson, and now she pretended the fire of her Latin heritage didn’t exist, and she did fit in.

But her passions called to him, loosed his own fire, until he was crazy to touch her, to have her, to love her in every way a man could love a woman. If he could have stripped off her clothes right there in that tree—in a damned tree!—he would have done it. Done her.

And now he wouldn’t be walking along with a woody the size of that tree trunk.

Except that he would, because once he had her… he wanted her again.

He needed to remember he was out here walking the two miles down to the road in an effort to distract himself. He needed to stop thinking of Penelope, of her soft, dark hair, her olive skin, and those eyes that spoke to his soul.…

Absorbed as he was in the memories of Penelope, he paid no attention to his surroundings… until Hendrik stepped out from behind a tree.

Chapter 34

N
oah stopped. Lust vanished. His blood rushed to his brain, and he used the weapon he possessed in abundance—intelligence. “Wow. I was just thinking of a dick, and here you are.”

Hendrik’s face crinkled in confusion.

“It’s like God knew I needed a punching bag and threw you into my path.”

Hendrik understood that, and grinned. “You want to fight, little cousin?”

Yeah, the big guy still thought Noah was the feeble, gullible weenie he had been the first time around. “Not yet. What are you doing here?”

“Watching for you. Wanted to make sure you are wearing the pretty necklace Brigetta made for you.” In the ten years since Noah had last seen him, Hendrik had grown thicker, his green eyes smaller, his fists meatier. Sometime in the last three days, he’d dyed the tips of his
short black hair blond. He wore black from head to toe: black shirt, black jeans, big black boots that concealed weapons Hendrik knew all too well how to handle. The meanness… that was the same. Hendrik was mean through and through, and ten years ago Noah hated him as he had never hated another person.

He saw no reason to change his mind now. “If I weren’t wearing the necklace, I would not be wearing my head. Isn’t that right?”

“That’s right,” Hendrik said in his singsong Scandinavian accent. “I never know when
Tante
Liesbeth talks to people whether she fully explains matters.” Like a soldier on a mission, he had smeared dirt on his face and neck and on the back of his hands. “She’s getting on, you know. Not as sharp as she used to be.”

“I think you should express your concerns to her,” Noah advised. “Perhaps she could reassure you.”

Hendrik’s smile changed to a scowl, and he stepped up chest-to-chest with Noah. He was two inches taller and a full thirty pounds heavier. “I never liked you. I never could tell whether you were stupid or sarcastic.”

“Anyone who is sarcastic to you would have to be stupid.”
But only if you understood.

Hendrik tried to work that out, and when he couldn’t, he bumped Noah’s chest with his.

Noah stumbled backward. “Some of that muscle you used to throw around… isn’t muscle anymore.” In a voice rife with phony concern, he asked, “Hendrik, have you let yourself go?”

“I can still crush you with one fist.” Hendrik lifted his hand, and right in front of Noah’s face, he closed his fingers. He shoved his knuckles under Noah’s nose.

We’ll see… but not today.
“How did you get on the property?”

“The security is good.” Hendrik nodded in approval. “Expertly done. But Grieta’s taught me a few tricks for disarming security alarms.”

“So it was you at my brother’s house.”

Hendrik grinned, his white teeth big in his mouth. “Me and the others, we were bored.”

“I figured.” Noah looked around. None of Rafe’s people were in sight. “What about the security detail we have patrolling the grounds?” His voice sharpened. “You didn’t kill anybody, did you?”

“No. That would be fun, but not conducive to the success of our mission.” Hendrik sneered; obviously those were Liesbeth’s words. “The visuals are only as good as the people who watch. A little diversion, and they’re off on the wrong scent.”

“So you broke the alarms, and you screwed with the guards. Nice.” Something to tell Rafe. “Why? Why bother? Not just for fun. What are you really doing here?”

Satisfied he’d made his point, Hendrik said, “You used to talk. When you thought we were your friends. Remember? About your Nonna’s Sunday parties with all her friends. I wanted to see. There are some pretty girls in that house.”

A chill swept through Noah. Hendrik bullied anyone who was weaker, but with women… mentally, physically, he loved to abuse them.

Brooke. Chloë. Bao.

Penelope.

“Next week you could invite me,” Hendrik continued. “Introduce me as your friend.”

“
My mother
wouldn’t like that,” Noah said, spacing each word.

“
Your mother
doesn’t need to know.” Hendrik imitated him.

Sneaking around behind Liesbeth’s back, was he?

Yes, Noah had been right to be nervous with Hendrik and the gang in town.

In a split-second decision, Noah locked eyes with Hendrik and reached around for the back of his necklace.

“What are you doing?” Hendrik grabbed Noah’s hand.

“I’m going to cut off the necklace. Better to blow my head off than to bring a Dutch pig like
you
into my family’s home.”

Hendrik crushed Noah’s fingers. “I am not Dutch. I am noble. I am Russian. And I’m going to kill you. I can’t wait to kill you. Before this is over, I’m going to tear you to pieces.”

As the hard bones of his knuckles ground together, Noah fought a groan. “Let me take off the collar and save you the trouble.”

Hendrik squeezed harder, then flung Noah’s hand away. “Liesbeth would think I forced you.”

Yes. Hendrik might scorn Liesbeth aloud, but he was still afraid of her.

Noah cradled his rapidly swelling hand. “In Holland, afterward… Mother would have put me in charge. If I’d stayed with the gang, I’d be in. And you’d be out.”

Hendrik’s voice rose. “That’s not true.”

Noah hammered at him. “I’m Liesbeth’s son. That summer, I learned a lot. In a year or less, I could have learned everything it took
you
a lifetime to learn. Because I’m smarter. I could have the job in a minute.”

Hendrik lunged, and he was fast.

Noah blocked Hendrik’s fist with an upraised arm, then smacked him backward with a blow to the throat.

Hendrik’s head snapped back, and he staggered away, choking.

Someone shouted.

Noah glanced down the road to see two men rounding the curve, running up the hill toward them: Gary Shoemaker, one of Rafe’s employees, a security guard patrolling the perimeter of Nonna’s property, and an older man who looked… familiar.

Hendrik recovered. “Kill you now,” he said hoarsely, and prepared to charge.

“Witnesses, Hendrik. Witnesses.” Noah pointed.

Hendrik stopped. Looked. Saw the younger of the two men picking up speed, reaching into his jacket, pulling a gun. Hendrik stood with his chest heaving, his reddened eyes fixed on Noah. “Kill you,” he repeated.

“But then there’s no chance for me to get my head blown off,” Noah mocked.

Gary Shoemaker was getting closer, shouting, pointing the pistol.

“I’ll tear your head off.” Hendrik turned and raced into the vineyard.

Gary stopped. Spoke into the walkie-talkie pinned on his shoulder. Then ran after Hendrik, shouting, and when Hendrik picked up speed, Gary shot.

Hendrik staggered.

Damn
. He was wearing a bulletproof vest.

Noah watched as he took evasive action: ducked low and wove through the vines.

Every job has the potential to go bad, Noah. Always have more than one escape route planned.
His mother’s
voice echoed in Noah’s mind as he watched Hendrik drop into a ravine that wound its way through the landscape and eventually into the river.

Gary followed.

Noah glanced down the road at the older man. He had slowed to a walk.

Noah shouldn’t have blocked Hendrik’s blow. He shouldn’t have punched back. He should have let his foul cousin believe he had lost all his fighting skills. But the truth was, Hendrik was in a rage. He could have killed Noah. Better that Hendrik realize Noah still sparred than to die too soon.

Noah’s mistake was taunting Hendrik in the first place. Normally he held himself in exquisite control, but ever since he’d clicked the clasp on this damnable collar, ever since he’d heard his watch strike three thirty-seven p.m. three different times… he had been very aware he had inherited those uncivilized Propov genes.

He wanted to kill Hendrik.

He wanted to bring his mother and her gang to justice.

He wanted to have long, slow, leisurely sex with Penelope.

And he wanted to do it all before the tiny bomb at his throat exploded.

He intended to succeed in two of his three goals.

But right now… as he watched the older man puff up the hill toward him, tall, handsome, and putting on his best act of concern, Noah knew they had other problems.

What timing. Just who they didn’t need here now.

“Noah!” the older guy shouted. “Are you all right?”

“Shit,” Noah said with deep feeling, and hurried toward him. “Dad, what the hell are you doing here?”

Chapter 35

P
enelope made her wobbly way from the oak tree in Sarah’s yard up the steps to the porch, and sank down on the swing.

Oh, sure. She could go inside and face a dozen pairs of eyes that had seen Noah drag her out like a caveman dragging his mate. They would be wondering what had happened between her and Noah. They would speculate and chuckle, imagining a mating ritual between two consenting adults that should turn out well.

But she and Noah were doomed. She’d been willing to sleep with him—not just willing, but orgasmically eager. He’d refused. She’d even suggested a quickie. And he’d walked away, saying there was no time.

He had time to play a game of poker, but not to play around.

Really. She didn’t need a house to fall on her. She got the message: He didn’t want her.

But—she sighed—he said he did. And he sounded so sincere, so full of that seductive
longing
, and she’d seen such anguish in him.…

She’d yielded easily. She knew that. She was embarrassed by that. All her noble intentions washed away by one man’s seemingly genuine feelings. Conflicting feelings, at that.

Anguish.

And longing.

Those feelings… they made her want to comfort him, hold him, love him until he was the confident, arrogant, conceited Noah she adored.

With a groan, she leaned forward, put her elbows on her knees, and cradled her head in her hands.

Orgasms were funny things. They left a woman tearful, trembling, unsure, needing more emotion and wanting it to be real. Being alone afterward… that sucked.

The orgasm Noah had forced on her had left Penelope feeling more isolated than ever before, and very glad that tomorrow she would go with Mrs. Marino into Joseph Bianchin’s house to confront the man who was her father.

Penelope lifted her head and half laughed.

Only another round with Mr. Wonderful, Noah Di Luca, could make her consider confronting her unsuspecting ass of a father to be stress-free. On the other hand, maybe Noah had done her a favor—she wasn’t going to take any shit from the old man, either.

Once she’d spoken with Bianchin, she would know better how to proceed with her life. Yes, she had committed to finishing the project for Brooke Di Luca, but if Bianchin embraced Penelope and her claim as his daughter, she would consider putting down roots in this town and dealing with Noah as needed.

If Bianchin rejected her, as she fully expected he would, she would view this visitation as temporary and be oh, so careful not to make friends, join in this community, look for a home.

That was a good plan, for this week of all weeks, she needed to have a care for herself.

She recognized the irony of seeing her father now. She realized that the timing could blast away the thin veil of her composure and expose feelings still new and unhealed.

She whimpered softly.

She straightened and, with her toe against the floor, she gave the swing a push. As it rocked her, she gave herself the lecture she had been reciting more and more frequently.