Wreckless (7 page)

“That’s it, baby, lose it for me. Arch your back, scream for me,” Enzo continued his hoarse litany, as, locked into his own rhythm, he slammed in and out of her.

Amid all the sensation storming through her, sadness well too.

Enzo never called her by her name; now, it was always Baby or, at times, Sweetheart. He hadn’t called her Lexi for over a year, since back in London. She knew it was his way of creating emotional distance between them. That was fine by her. After all, look where all that emotional crap had gotten her. Chucked aside like yesterday’s newspaper.

Baby
was fine by her. If
Baby
got her this, she could live with it, she vowed, as another orgasm careened through her like a tidal wave before sucking her under.

Above her, Enzo continued to pump inside her. With his first, heady orgasm out of the way, he had time to pleasure her. Once he’d slowed his thrusts to accommodate her heady release, he let go of her arms, flipped her over onto her knees, and started all over again.

On and on it went, fuck after splendid fuck, orgasm after screaming orgasm, slamming into her again and again. He teased and held back, making her beg for him, but even he didn’t escape the carnage. Every half hour or so, he shuddered through his own release. He’d bury his hands in her hair, sealing her lips with his as spasms shook his body.

For hours, they feasted on each other, until, in the early hours of the morning, she finally collapsed in a heap of nerveless exhaustion with Enzo’s hard body caught in spasms beneath hers.

His sexual prowess always left her gobsmacked. And after six months of doing this, their passion showed no signs of abating. What they did in this room every Friday night had become a pivotal part of her existence. She craved it the way she craved air or sustenance. Without it, she feared she wouldn’t be able to function. She would go through the rest of the week in a daze, a fog of contrived smiles and automatic responses honed from sheer survival-instinct.

But here her defenses were stripped bare.

Because in feeling alive again, she was reminded of the loss of the hopes and dreams she'd harbored. The fairytale existence that had been wiped out within a blink of an eye.

Lexi forced her mind from that painful memory. She had her work to occupy her now...

Work…

Vegas. Airport at ten.

Those were the last disjointed thoughts to pass through Lexi’s mind before sleep

claimed her.

CHAPTER FOUR

Enzo leaned on his elbow and looked down at the sleeping woman who’d broken his heart into a million tiny pieces.

How could she look so angelic, so sweetly sexy, and yet be so callous and unfeeling? In one single stroke, she’d shattered not only his life, but those of his sister’s and two other women. He should hate her.

He
did
hate her.

Except, somehow, he couldn’t live without her. Or rather, her brand of sex, which had him so hooked, half the time he didn’t know whether he was going or coming. His lips twitched on a cynical smile.
Coming
, most likely, if the last four hours were anything to go by.

The first time they’d slept together, she’d been restrained, almost shy, until he’d coaxed her out of her shell. And boy, had she eventually exploded out of it.

Their second time together,
she’d
been the one ripping his clothes off, clawing his body with frenzied need, and vocalizing her every want. At first, he’d wondered whether the same woman shared his bed, until after her climax, she’d all but apologized for her behavior. He’d set her straight, telling her outright that he preferred her sassy, vampy side to the shy, virginal side she probably thought some men wanted. The pleasure of seeing her out of her shell made him, and his very eager cock, very happy indeed.

As it’d turned out, the rampant, screaming vixen hadn’t been the only side she’d hidden from him.

She’d conveniently forgotten to mention she was a slut; not just a shameless slut, but a heartless one who hadn’t seen anything wrong with fucking her ex on the side - the same ex, who also happened to be his sister’s fiancé, Ian Pulbrook.

Enzo had found out after the accident after he’d decided to postpone their wedding. At the time, his instincts had warned that he was making a mistake; that he should be pulling the woman he loved closer, not pushing her away, no matter how irrational his sister was about any contact with Lexi.

True, Lexi had driven a little too fast that night. And true, the accident had left his sister physically and probably emotionally scarred for life. But as much as it’d hurt him to think Lexi had carelessly endangered his sister’s life, he’d been sure that after a suitable period of healing, they could all move on with their lives, together.

Until the truth about her drinking came to light. He still remembered his horror when he’d found out that, although the other driver had been driving under the influence, Lexi herself had had a drink on the night of the accident.

Why had Lexi gotten behind the wheel knowing she’d been drinking? Why would she risk her life and those of his sister and friends in such a heartless way?

He’d asked her, when he’d finally been able to drag himself away from his sister the day after the accident. He’d hoped for some rational explanation for Lexi’s behavior. At first, she’d tried to deny it, told him she’d only had a sip of the cocktail. But when he’d persisted, she’d confessed it had been more than a small sip. Truth be told, his trust in her had crumbled at that first lie.

Sure, she’d passed both the roadside Breathalyser test and the second test at the hospital, but that didn’t keep him from believing that she was responsible for what had happened. It was no consolation that the other driver had been charged with “causing death by dangerous driving.” Enzo couldn't help but believe that by having that drink, Lexi had reduced the reflexes needed to act quicker behind the wheel.

That reason made it hard to forgive her but he'd tried damned hard to because despite the horrific events and her part in it, he hadn’t stopped loving her.

No, that particular gross error of judgment had bit him in the ass later. It'd bided its time, ready to destroy him, when a mere two days after the accident, he’d seen his beloved fiancé fucking Pulbrook, her ex; the same preppy asshole who’d dumped his sister along with her fairytale wedding plans.

Hate and deep bitterness had swamped him then.

He’d left London as soon as the doctors cleared Cara because he’d known if he stayed, he’d have ended up in jail for double homicide.

He’d brought Cara home, taken care of her by day, and fucked every woman in sight by night for two weeks straight until his best friend and business partner, Larry Morton, had knocked some sense into him.

When Larry had dragged him out of yet another hotel room, bleary-eyed, with yet another nameless bleached blonde with a face and body as dissimilar to Lexi’s as he could find passed out on the bed, he’d realized he needed to get his act together.

He’d succeeded, or he thought he had, until Cara received a call from Fiona’s parents with the news that Lexi had moved to LA and was asking permission to visit their daughter in the hospital.

It’d taken three days to calm Cara down. Her hysterical questioning of Lexi’s motives resounded in his own head with an urgent need for an answer.

What the hell was she playing at, forcing them all to relive the horrific time?

With revived anger, he’d vowed to make her pay for what she’d done to Cara by whatever means necessary.

Only he hadn’t needed to. He’d taken one look at her the first time he’d seen her at the hospital, seen the private hell of survivor’s guilt she inhabited, and decided to leave her to it. Except along with the pain, he’d seen something else… A dark longing that lurked in the back of her eyes and thought, hell, maybe he could have a little revenge after all.

Obviously, Pulbrook hadn’t done it for her, not the way he could.

He’d smiled around the fire that burned in his groin and seen the answering heat in her eyes. She’d sent him a text message the very next day and asked him if he wanted to meet for a drink.

He’d replied, no, he didn’t want to meet for a drink. He’d sent a crude, succinct reply
– throw in a fuck and I’ll think about it.

Her reply –
where and when?
- had been immediate and surprised the hell out of him.

They’d met here ever since, in the penthouse he’d bought for them to live in after they were married but had never had the heart to sell, emotionlessly fucking their brains out every Friday night. The hell remained visible in her eyes; the only time it disappeared was when she was caught in the throes of ecstasy.

He looked down, surprised his fingers had wound themselves into her hair.

Shit! He was getting his revenge--every time he made her scream out her orgasm, she paid him back a little for her betrayal. He should be happy.

He was happy. And when the time came to call a halt to this thing, he’d cut her off without a single thought. Original tit-for-fucking-tat.

She stirred beneath his hand as it roved over her silky-smooth rump, and he wondered whether to fuck her one last time before she left. His eager cock agreed with an impatient nudge. Hell, yeah.

Reaching for a condom in the almost-diminished pack, he slipped it on and slid on top of her. Enzo was between her thighs and inside her warm cunt before she came fully awake.

With a heartfelt sigh, she spread her legs wider for him. Another sigh, a soft dreamy cry of, “Oh, Enzo,” and she was there with him, eager for another mind-blowing ride.

He must have fallen asleep afterward. Movement around the room pricked his consciousness, and he woke up to find her stepping into her clothes.

He jerked upright. Had she intended to leave without waking him? The residual anger he’d carried around since he found out about her Vegas trip surged again.

“What the hell are you doing?”

She looked up in surprise, then shrugged. “I think it’s obvious, Enzo. I’m getting dressed.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s 3:30 a.m., and I have a flight to catch in a few hours.”

He bit back the harsh words which rose to his lips and swung out of bed. If she wanted to leave, fine. He’d had more than his fill of her for the next seven days.

“What time do you leave for Vegas?” he asked, pulling on his boxers.

She shrugged on her jacket. “My flight’s at eleven. I have to be at the airport at ten.” She looked around for her hair clip, gave up, and ran her fingers through her hair.

The look of exhaustion on her face tugged at something inside that he didn’t want to identify.

From nowhere,
take care of yourself
, sprang to his lips, but he forced them down. Why should he care what happened to her in Vegas? What he should be saying was,
Make sure you don’t fuck anyone else while you’re in Vegas or this thing between us is over.

He didn’t say that either. Exclusivity wasn’t part of their deal. Changing the terms of the arrangement now would be unthinkable and smack of weakness on his part.

But would she? He eyed her, his gaze drawn to the delicate perfection of her face. Would she check into one of those hotels with the sleekly oiled cabana boys and indulge in a quick fuck behind the potted palms? Or would she pick up a guest for a night of mindless screwing?

Jesus,
what the hell was he doing? Jealousy wasn't part of their deal either.

He pulled on his jeans and yanked up the zipper with more force than necessary. The images his mind threw up caused his jaw to clench in anger.

So, he didn’t trust her. Damned straight. Look where trust had gotten him last time.

But it pissed him off at how deeply she’d embedded herself under his skin, so rampantly in his blood that he would count the minutes, hell, the seconds until Friday night rolled around again.

“You ready?” he snapped, although he saw for himself she was. Her head jerked in his direction and wariness crept into her eyes.

“Yes. I am.”

He pulled her to him, rammed a savage kiss on her lips and stepped away. “Let’s go.” Grasping her elbow, he steered her out the door and smashed down the part of him that screamed to hold on and never let her go.

He knew better.

Once bitten, hell, never again.

CHAPTER FIVE

The plane landed at McCarran International just after midday on Friday morning. Lexi bit her lip at her body’s tenderness as she reached up for her carry-on. Thankfully, there weren’t many people in business class to witness her gingerly stride out of the plane.

She still couldn’t believe how animalistic, almost primitive, Enzo had been in bed last night.

He’d always been a powerful, earthy lover, but sex with him had never been the ruthless, feral coupling of last night. She’d barely had a moment to breathe before he’d been ready again, demanding, and receiving, a consuming performance from her. She hadn’t asked what had bugged him last night--talk simply wasn’t on their agenda when they met up.

No, their time together was all about sex, where the only words spoken were meant to enhance the sex; make it hotter, steamier. Enzo loved it when she vocalized her demands in bed, and he in turn vocalized his. Apart from maybe a
hello
and
goodbye
as a nod to civility, they barely spoke outside of the bedroom.

Except last night, when Enzo had introduced another dimension to their sexcapade - sex with more than a hint of dominance and a whole lot of anger.

In the clear light of day, Lexi berated herself for not standing up to him.

Whatever had gotten him into that state had nothing to do with her. She shouldn’t have tolerated it. But God, the experience had been phenomenal!

She inhaled sharply. Nevertheless, she concluded as she wheeled her carry-on toward the exit, it had been wrong to give in to him. Wrong to let him march her down the hall into the elevator afterward, his fury palpable, tingeing the air around them. Wrong for him to kiss her again, hard and deep against her car, before shoving her inside and striding away with taut instruction to drive safely thrown over his shoulder.