Savage Secrets (Titan #6) (15 page)

Her hand pressed tight against his breastbone. The
thump, thump, thump
of his heart beat against her palm.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Tell me anyway.” She didn’t want to move her hand. “
Por favor
.”

A long sigh fell from his mouth. His brow furrowed, then he dropped back against the edge of the tub, staring at the ceiling and pulling her closer, so the deep water covered her back. Rocco stroked her spine. Her chin rested on the scar.

“A job in New York City went wrong, but the girl’s safe, and I got a new war wound to add to the collection, end of story.”

“I think there’s more.” Her cheek moved to lie against his chest. Warm water teased her neck, her hair. His body tensed underneath her. “I want to know. I want to know everything about you.”

“Everything about me?”

“
Si
.”

“
Si
? Oh, Kitten, you know that’s my weakness. Don’t you?”

She did. Playing up the one-syllable accent, she reached between them and grasped him, stroking long and slowly. “
Si
.”

He chuckled, rough. Velvety. “What do you want to know?”

“Why Titan?”

“Gotta love a job with the good guys. Bouncing all over the world. Great team. Good jobs.” He sucked a breath when her thumb covered the crown of his cock. He tilted his head, breathing in and flexing his hips to smooth his length against her submerged palm. “I met this lady once, had to work with her, pretending we were hitched. She liked candles in the bathroom. Bubble baths. Crazy girl stuff like that.”

She smiled again. “Really. Sounds like torture.”

“You know, you’d think so.”

“But?”

“But she was pretty damn incredible.”

That was more than enough to make her forget about planning their next day, but she wanted to keep going. “Tell me more.”

His palms rested on her butt and massaged. “She had this Penelope Cruz look to her and an accent that brought me to my knees. Think she knew it. Used it against me.”

“She sounds smart.” One of his hands drifted to her hip, sliding on her skin. Shivers erupted under the water. Her sex throbbed for his touch.

His fingers found the vee between her legs, teasing. The pads of his fingertips parted her, stroking, sliding, testing, and tantalizing. Focusing on her clit, he put her through agony. The little bundle of nerves seared her from the inside out.

“Yeah, smart. And ruthless.”

Still lying on him, still with her hand wrapped around his erection, she stroked him as he stroked her. His powerful legs held hers in place. His other hand cupped her ass, squeezing tight.

He pushed into her. Two fingers delved deep, and she gasped. “You’re the ruthless one.”

“And the sounds she’d make before she came—they’d be the only thing I could focus on all day long. Getting to that moment again.”

She shushed him, tightening her grip. “Don’t say that. You’ll embarrass me.”

“Sweetest sound I’ve ever heard was when your tight pussy milked my cock, Kitten.”

Her cheeks flamed, but the rest of her did too. Fingertips to toes. Even her shoulders burned. Ragged breaths and racing blood. She could barely hear him. “Rocco.”

Fingers curving, the water splashing between them. “Love when you say my name.”

She nodded, biting her bottom lip, near blinded by a tidal wave that was about to crash over her. Panting, she tried to say it. Whispering, hoarse and hot. “Rocco.”

“Fuck, yes.”

She moaned, unable to stop it. The sound reverberated off the bathroom’s wall. Her insides were building, building…

“You’re gonna come on my hand. On my face and on my cock.” His hand pumped, diving deeper, and he sucked a deep breath, cursing. “You have a long night ahead of you.”

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The fireworks had been lit, the sizzle was getting ready to explode, and she wasn’t going over the edge alone. Her hand stayed with his rhythm, working him over just as he did her.

“Cat.” He gasped with her. “Caterina.”

She bucked in his arms, feeling his erection pulse in climax. They fell apart together, water splashing and bubbles melting in the wake of their heat. Breaths mirrored, gasping and rasping. Lips, legs, lives tangled. The moment lasted forever, and it was perfect.

“That was worth waiting until tomorrow to plan our attack.” He hugged her tight, letting her stare at him.

Those eyes melted through her. Powerful and passionate. Nothing hidden. He was in the moment, so raw it was a thing of beauty. And she would ruin it all with her lie.

Rocco wanted justice.

She wanted vengeance.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Another day living large in luxury. As much as Rocco wanted to complain about wearing business suits and not firing weapons, he couldn’t. Waking up with a gorgeous girl, planning a terrorist takedown, acting like this was his normal life—wasn’t a bad way to live. He slammed back the last of his black coffee and double checked the .45 he’d decided to use as his sidearm and the 9mm subcompact tucked into his ankle holster. Both weapons were concealed, not his preferred way of carrying. It was much easier when those babies were easy-access, strapped to his hips, thighs, chest, wherever. But wearing weapons like they were some Armani accessory didn’t go with the designer labels.

The morning ticked by so slowly. He stood, glanced in the mirror next to the kitchenette, and didn’t recognize himself. Yeah, he needed to get back to camouflage and ditch his collar stays. Caterina swayed in, looking every bit her part: elite, untouchable, and all his. The room brightened when she walked in, and that had zero to do with his mind trips. He checked his watch. “It’s go time.”

“Almost ready.” With a quick tug that nearly stopped his heart, she propped up a long leg on the coffee table and hiked a clinging skirt thigh-high. A serrated blade was already secured to her thigh, and she was repositioning a subcompact .22. After a moment of up, down, all around—he would’ve killed to be that gun—she smoothed the fabric down as she stood, grabbed her Diet Coke off the table, then did a spin. “Can you see anything?”

Man, he saw all kinds of stuff, mostly a woman he couldn’t spend enough time with, both in and out of bed. He saw a deadly intelligence gatherer with a Northern African knowledge base that made him proud and an operative who’d been an independent operator for so long that she seemed to ping-pong between taking El Mateperros down and simply taking him out… but none of that was what she meant.

His palms itched to slide over her curves. “Nope. Don’t see a thing.”

The soda bottle hung limply in her hand, and her chin fell back when he stepped close enough that their stomachs kissed.

“Good.”

Damn, that accent would be his undoing. “Let me tell you what it does to me, knowing you’re all geared up under that pretty little outfit of yours.” He slipped his arm around her waist, letting his hand drift down the sway of her back and settle on her perfect ass. Her subtle perfume teased him, intensifying how extraordinarily feminine she looked and mocking how absolutely dangerous she was.

“But you didn’t see this. Did you?” From between her breasts, hidden by the silk of her blouse, she produced a blade. The thing was thin as a letter opener, sharp as a razor, sexier than all the lace lingerie in the honeymoon suite. All the blood in his chest dropped, rushing straight between his legs. Sporting wood and having no time to do anything about it, he laid a kiss on her that did little to tame the snap, crackle, pop rushing under his skin.

He brought his lips off hers, just enough to still feel their heat. “You don’t actually want us to leave the room, do you?”

Her melt-in-his-hand chocolate brown eyes turned to concrete. All the gauzy softness she’d been seconds ago stiffened into a starched soldier. “Of course I do.”

Alrighty then
. She had a serious hard-on for this job. A knock at the door took both their attention. They were a few minutes behind, and Roman wasn’t having it.

“
Vamos
.” His fake-newlywed-wife turned hardened-operative detached herself from him and power walked in killer heels toward the door. She threw it wide as if she couldn’t wait to leave.

Roman leaned against the wall, eyeballing them suspiciously, then shook his head. He stepped closer and discreetly motioned toward the elevators. “You’re being watched.”

“You sure?” Rocco asked.

Caterina glanced down the hall. “We should confirm.”

Roman nodded. “Agree.”

“Got it handled.” Rocco took Cat’s hand, and Roman led the way.

Passing the housekeeping cart, Rocco paused in front of the woman fiddling with a bed sheet. “Excuse me.”

The woman looked up, putting the sheet on her cart. She wore a uniform and name badge like she worked there. “Yes, sir?”

“I lost a button.” He gestured to a sleeve cuff that was hidden by his sports jacket. “Do you have one of those sewing kits?”

Caterina laughed and rolled her eyes at the attendant. “Like he would sew anything.”

The woman nodded, surprise that they’d approached her written all over the lines scrunched on her forehead. “Of course. One second.” She searched the top of her cart, the sides, and a few pouches. “I’m sorry. I’ll have one left in your room.”

“That’d be great. Two doors down on the right. Thanks.” Rocco winked and wrapped an arm casually around Caterina.

She whispered into his ear. “We’re in play.”

“Ten-four, darlin’.” Because seriously, housekeeping didn’t know where their supplies were? He expected better from the likes of the ACG’s people.

Roman punched the elevator’s call button, and a minute later, they stepped in. “Too easy.”

“Or sloppy.”

Cat shook her head. “Not El Mateperros. Never sloppy.”

“So they wanted us to know they were there?” Roman walked toward the door as they neared the lobby’s level. “Why?”

“
He
wanted us to know.” She chewed her bottom lip. “The bastard has a thing for mind games and power trips. The Lockes are a new vendor. He wants the upper hand. I’d be surprised if he didn’t pull something else equally as bold.”

Caterina made a good point. The elevator car slowed to a graceful stop, and they hit the lobby looking every bit their parts. Rocco and Cat, Mr. and Mrs. Locke, arms-dealing lovers, and their bodyguard, Liam Laird. They were an imposing bunch. Even clothed like urban sophisticates, he and Roman looked like a two-person football team—the American, pigskin kind of football—and Caterina like a movie star billionaire heiress. Looks and money. And she was his. They pushed through the doors and merged onto the bustling, London streets. The crowd moved about them.

Roman slipped on a pair of shades and lagged behind them. “I make this bodyguard work look good.”

Rocco rolled his eyes. “If you say so.”

Caterina went up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, whispering. “See anyone?”

He shook his head. They wanted to avoid the sitting duck routine while waiting for El Mateperros to send for them. The right offense was a good defense, and that meant getting to where they were out in the open and on neutral ground.

Well, not neutral.

Parker’s intel from the devices they’d planted said Big Ben was the ACG’s ground zero, and Titan was on their way for an offensive strike of the head-fuck variety. If the ACG had plans to strike Big Ben, and no one was supposed to know, then they were playing their own version of obvious-maid-in-the-hall-watching-a-room, which was kind of a long name for a game that should’ve been called
one up, fuck you
.

They needed El Mateperros unsteady and ready to make a mistake. They needed more than to just stop a single terrorist attack or remove a single terrorist leader from power. What they really needed was to learn more about the ACG’s behavior, future plans, and then when the opportunity was right, they would take El Mateperros into custody, after learning every possible tidbit of intel. Then the ACG would no longer be one of the world’s most secretive groups.

“We’ve got company,” Roman gruffed behind them.

Caterina linked arms with Rocco, and they put their best tourist-foot forward, because what else would honeymooning, arms-dealing couples do before a meet-and-greet with an elusive terrorist? Just a normal day in their made up world. She pointed to a store front filled with candies, then spun to his chest, arms around his neck. “Got one. Your four o’clock. White male. Khaki jacket, white shirt, blue jeans.”

Damn, she played the newlywed wife gig well. She repositioned to his other shoulder, and Rocco held her close, just for a moment to breathe her in… and let her look for other ACG groupies. He eyed Roman, who nodded.

Rocco flagged another and whispered her ear. “And your two o’clock. Black hair, dark skin. Same clothes. Jeans, white button-down. No jacket.”

“That’s a lot of people to set up a sit down. El Mateperros means business.” She shook her head. “I’ve got a bad feeling.”