Fate Book Two (15 page)

“How could I expect you to take me back? I knew exactly what I was choosing.”

“Guts and glory over me.” I should’ve known it would lead to this.

“If you mean that I chose saving millions of lives, including yours, over making you happy, then yes.”

“Screw you, Paolo. Don’t make this into some glorious he-man debate!”

He crossed his arms. “Spoken like a nineteen-year-old.”

How dare he!
I stepped in close, pressing my body to his. “You and I both know that I’ve always rolled with the punches. Even when you let some asshole kidnap me. Even when you left me in Costa Rica, thinking you were dead. But I didn’t crumble. Not even then, Paolo. Not even when I thought you were taken and being tortured. I picked myself up and did what I could to get you back. While you,” I poked his stacked chest, “acted like a little spy boy, wanting to protect
the girl
from all the evil,” I whined my words, taunting him. “God. You’re such a chauvinistic asshole.”

His dark eyes narrowed, and I could tell he was pissed. And yes, it made him look even hotter.

“Fine,” he said. “You’ve never acted your age—I give you that. And yes, you’re strong and resilient, and it’s what I’ve always found incredibly sexy about you. But that mouth of yours…” Suddenly, his eyes were locked onto my lips, and I found myself looking at his. They were full and sinfully sexy and the sort of lips a girl dreamed of on a man. Especially when he’d moved those lips so sweetly over the most intimate parts of my body.

Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Step away from the hot Italian man, Dakota. Step. Away.

I moved back, but he quickly reached for my waist and pulled me into him, stealing my breath in that same moment.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

His mouth formed into a slow, sensual grin. “Just because I can’t keep you doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”

I pushed back and swallowed. It didn’t matter that Paolo was quite possibly the best-looking man on the planet—lean, strong, and with a smoldering, dark gaze and messy, short, almost-black hair. Didn’t matter he had a perfect set of deeply chiseled abs or milky brown skin that smelled like cinnamon. And I certainly didn’t care that his penis was thick and long and that he’d taught my body how to sexually respond to him in ways that were probably listed as a sin in one or two religions.

Think, Dakota. Think.
I took another step back. I didn’t want him. Not anymore. I’d had a lifetime of the people I loved placing my feelings last—way, way, way behind that of duty and country or planet or whatever!

And no, I couldn’t argue with his choice. It had been the right one. But that didn’t mean his choices left me unscathed. And it didn’t mean I was about to live the rest of my life being second. Or last. I needed to know I could depend on the man I loved and that he would be there for me if I gave him my heart. I needed to come first and to be in a relationship based on honesty. I would never have that with Paolo, because if it wasn’t this crisis, there would always be something else—if we got through this.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I can’t live life wondering if you’re telling me the truth, and I can’t be content with a few crumbs—the leftovers of your important time.”

“I know that, Dakota. And when I proposed to you, I truly believed I was out of this job for good. But then this came up and…” He sighed exasperatedly and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Doesn’t matter. Believe me; I want you, all of you. Even if I’ve already decided we can’t be together. But some things aren’t meant to be, and—certainly—some things can’t be undone.”

He decided.
He
decided?
I stared into those deep, dark eyes with tiny flecks of gold, trying to tamp down the bitterness and hear what he was actually trying to say without the ego attachment.

Conclusion?

I felt the same way. I couldn’t undo wanting him or loving him, even if I knew he was a bad choice for me. For both of us.

“Yep,” I agreed. “So, what’s next?”

He gave me a look, as if shocked, then blinked and said, “You leave Italy, and I wait.”

“For the phone call from the buyers?”

He nodded.

“And if they don’t call?” I asked.

“They will. The only things left to do now are for my father to confirm the buyers have deposited the money in the bank and for me to orchestrate the drop.”

“Okay. Let me ask it this way: What if the deal isn’t done before your family gets incredibly suspicious about you being the real Felix and tips the buyers off?”

He shook his head. “My family won’t tip off the buyers; they want the money. Ten million per cadaver.”

“So then what will they do?”

“They’ll quietly kill me and finish the deal. But then the mission is screwed, because my family would change the pickup spot and my people wouldn’t get to ID the men or follow them back to their lab.”

Of course, Paolo skimmed over the part where he dies.
Spies! It’s all about the mission.
Not that it wasn’t important, but so was his life.

I thought it was over for a moment. There was only one way to make absolutely sure Paolo’s cover stayed intact long enough to complete the deal.

“Take me to your father,” I said.

“Why would I do that?” He looked at me as if I were beyond bonkers.

“Felix would bring me back to his father.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. These are not good people, Dakota. They’ll kill you.”

“Oh. I get it. It’s okay for you to risk your life or sacrifice it—that’s noble and manly—but I’m not allowed. I’m not allowed to be heroic or care about what happens to the world I live in.”

“I didn’t say that,” he argued.

“Paolo, you and I are over. That includes your obligation to protect me. It ended the moment you left me in that church.”

“Yeah. I noticed how quickly you moved on. Nice of you to do it with my cousin, by the way.”

He was jealous? After everything he’d just said?

I sneered, “
You
gave me up. You! So don’t go there. And don’t change subjects—if I want to help, any way I can, that’s my right. Just like yours. Just like my father’s.”

“He’ll never approve of this.”

Ohmygod! Can he be any more…ugh!
“It’s not his choice.”

“He won’t see it that way.”

“I don’t care! He’s my past. Just like you.” I know it sounded harsh, but I needed him to see the truth. This was the only way. “If the buyers don’t call within a day, you make up a story about where you’ve been. Say my father caught you, but you got away with my help—you suckered me into it. Then you present me as a nice prize.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not? You said yourself I’m not more important than millions of people, and you’re right.”

“Sending you to die is stupid. I’ll find another way.”

“You said that
this
is our last chance.”

“It is.”

“And if you’re confident the buyers will call to finalize the exchange, then—”

“It could be up to three more days. The bodies have to be cleared through Lviv, then transported by truck to the drop-off.”

“Where’s Lviv?”

“Ukraine. From there we follow the shipment. Of course, we don’t expect any further contact with the buyers after we drop the body, but I’d planned to stay in place until the end—and the arrests are made—to keep up appearances.”

“So you’re planning to slip away and no one will know about you?” I asked.

“They’ll think Felix was taken and tortured for information by your father, or something like that.”

Which probably wasn’t far from the truth. Felix was being held somewhere and wouldn’t likely ever see the light of day—not if he was as bad as Paolo said.

Anyway, the plan was actually pretty smart; if the Abellis never knew Paolo had been posing as Felix, it reduced the risk of them reviving their efforts to come after him someday. So, all Paolo really needed to do now was show up with me as his prize.

“I’ll find a way to get free,” I said. “But you have to keep your cover intact.”

He laughed. “I think you’ve watched too many movies.”

“You act like I haven’t lived an entire life of weirdness with the man who makes James Bond look like a wuss. Or that my made-up boyfriend turned out to be real and my bodyguard.” My life made movies look boring.

He sighed deeply. “Let me think about it. We’re not going anywhere today, regardless.”

He slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out his cell.

“Who are you calling?” I asked.

“I’m ordering groceries. We can’t live off of Nutella, and I need to eat.”

Typical. He’s thinking about food.

“I’ll need some clothes and other essentials, too,” I said.

He nodded and began speaking into the phone, ordering whatever from whomever.

I wandered over to the window and peeked outside. The small apartment we were in was on the third floor and had a view of a little park with trees and a fountain. Several moms sat on a bench, their strollers in front of them. They didn’t look much older than me—maybe about Paolo’s age, in their early twenties—but their smiles and laughter as they chatted away made me envious. Once again, I found myself sitting in the middle of a crazy nightmare and on the sideline of a normal life, knowing I was missing out on so many experiences someone my age should be having. No, I didn’t mean I wanted to be a mom, but the path I was on would never get me there if I wanted it someday.

Don’t do this, Dakota. Don’t think. Don’t get emotional.

“My brain hurts,” I said. “I’m going to go lie down.”

Paolo jerked his head at me, still talking away on the phone. I knew he was no longer ordering groceries, but coordinating with his people. And I had no doubt his next call would be to my father.

I crawled into the small bed and closed my eyes, telling myself that whatever happened, the worst was over. I’d gotten my answers about Paolo, and we were through. Nothing that could happen now would hurt me because there was nothing left to hurt—nothing that really mattered, anyway.

CHAPTER TWELVE

When I woke a few hours later, I felt the familiar and wonderful warmth of Paolo’s body stretched beside me on the small bed. At first I thought about pushing him away, but he began to mumble in Italian. The tone was distressed, and I knew he suffered from terrible nightmares years before we’d ever met. Sometimes he’d dream about his mom being shot, lying facedown in a pool of her own blood. Sometimes he dreamed of Annette, his ex, but usually he dreamed about me—dying, being kidnapped, or simply disappearing. For the nine or so months we’d lived together, the frequency of his nightmares became less and less until they were almost nonexistent. He said the only thing that made him sleep through the night was holding me.

Paolo nestled his face into the side of my breast and then slid his large, warm hand underneath my shirt to my stomach. I felt my heart beat faster as I remembered how so many times his sweet, nocturnal nuzzlings turned into something more after I was awoken by his massive hardness eagerly prodding my thigh.

Dammit.
The warm, sensual tingles traveled like an erotic bolt of lightning from between my legs to deep inside, making me painfully aware of what I’d been missing these past months. That hollow, sexual ache was all for him. Or the lack of him.

Okay. Time for a cold shower.

I moved to leave the bed, but Paolo tightened his grip around my torso and slid his leg between mine, holding me even closer.

“No. Don’t go,” he mumbled.

“Paolo?” I gave him a little shake with my free hand. “Paolo?”

He mumbled again, but I didn’t understand. His hand then traveled up inside my shirt and cupped my breast while he nuzzled his face into the other one. “Mmm…you smell so good. I bet you taste even better.”

I stared up at the ceiling.
Lord, please give me the strength to resist this very sexy, hard man who is provoking very normal feelings for a woman my age. Please?

But I couldn’t allow us to slip into any old patterns of intimacy, even if he felt so good, so right against my body. Even if I craved him. I would only end up hurt. Again.

Dammit!
“Paolo!” I snapped.

His head jerked up. “What? What’s wrong?” His hand slipped from my shirt behind his back.

“Did you bring a gun into bed with me?” I seethed.

“What’s the matter?” Sleep-filled panic was strewn across his face.

“You are…ummm…” My eyes moved down in the general direction of our hips.

He quickly realized what I’d meant, but instead of pulling away or apologizing, he simply stared with those smoldering eyes. “Old habits.”

I huffed and half rolled, half pushed my way out from under him. “I’m taking a shower.”
A cold one.

“Need help washing your back?” A wolfish smile crept over his lips as I turned away and left the room. Despite everything, Paolo hadn’t changed a bit—still cocky as hell. And still sexy as hell, too.

I hope the buyers call in the next twenty-four hours
. Because being stuck with Paolo in close quarters was not going to work.

When I emerged from the bathroom with triple-washed hair and body, I found the place empty. Paolo had probably gone out for some supplies, so I helped myself to his duffel bag in the closet and looked for something clean to wear. I found burgundy boxers, the ones I’d bought for Valentine’s Day, and a small picture of the two of us on the beach in Costa Rica, the tropic waves in the background. My hair was wet with ocean water, and our faces, covered in tiny flecks of sand, were red from the sun. We’d been playing in the waves and decided to take an “usie” after officially declaring it the happiest day we’d ever lived. Paolo promised to make every day just as happy for the rest of our lives.

My eyes instantly teared up.

“I really like that picture,” he said from the doorway.

I immediately stood, holding the towel, boxers, and picture to my body. “You’re back.”

“Yeah. I just went to check one of the cameras.”