Savage Secrets (Titan #6) (8 page)

He leaned against the door, feeling like the worst husband ever—worst
fake
husband ever—and pressed his forehead against the jamb. What would he even say?

“Caterina.” It wasn’t loud enough for someone next to him to hear, much less an angry Spanish female ready to slice his balls off on the other side of the door. He knocked, almost scared she
would
hear him and then the end would begin.

No answer.

This time, he knocked again. She should’ve heard that. No answer.

“Cat. I’m sorry.”

Look at him, knocking and apologizing outside the door of a honeymoon suite. No way was he qualified for marriage.

“Cat. Let me in.”

A bellboy or housekeeping or someone walked by, eyeing him. How pathetic.

The hotel staffer stopped a few feet away. “Are you okay, sir?”

What
? Distrustful of anyone, Rocco nodded and went back to staring at the door.

“Are you…sick?”

Guess he looked worse than he thought. “No, thanks, though. Just locked out. I’ll head downstairs in a minute for a new keycard.” Yup, this moment defined pathetic. He’d fucked up his fake marriage and was locked out of the room before being handed his bags and booted out. No freakin’ problem. He would just book it back down to five twenty-one, catch up on some
Man vs. Wild
and see what his boy Bear Grylls had to say. That guy was British. It had to be on some channel.
Right
?

Life advice from Bear would be something like survive the wild, and get out alive. All very pertinent to the woman and the job occupying his thoughts. He would order room service. Sounded like a plan. He also sounded like a freakin’ chick. Christ.

“I can help you with that, if you like.”

He raised his eyebrows. Still distrustful, he would’ve put his hand on his sidearm, but it wasn’t there. “How’s that?”

"If I could get your name, sir?" He unclipped a walkie-talkie from his belt. "I can confirm with the concierge and let you in.” He looked at the hotel room door then at Rocco. “You look like you need a break tonight.”

A break? Yeah, one of those would be handy. What was the name Caterina had used to make the reservation? Something Spanish… something she said she’d never forget. What was it?
Bingo
. “Last name de Campoamor. First name Dehesa.”

A minute later, he said thanks and walked into a very quiet hotel room. “Cat?”

Nothing. She wasn’t there. Guess it was easier for her to walk out then bother waiting for him to return. Knowing that crazy lady, she’d stalked down El Mateperros and was reading him the riot act, in Spanish. Then she’d string him up to a metal bar and pull out her electrical wires. She seemed to have a hard-on for taking it to Team Bad Dudes. The woman had become his definition of ideal.

He did a lap around the room. His bags weren’t packed and waiting. Not that he had any personal effects, but he didn’t want to leave just yet. A pink dress lay crumpled on the floor next to an empty beer bottle. Somehow, that made him miss her even more. Damn it. He’d left an ex-girlfriend at home who wanted nothing more than to create some cohabited life together. That’d been all wrong. Settling down hadn’t been for him. Rocco tried. Didn’t work. But now Caterina’s dress was abandoned on the floor, and he’d give his left nut if she’d walk back in and finish this job with him, if she’d pretend to want to spend the night with him, if she could just lay down in his arms and fall asleep.

Rocco had several options. He could sit alone in room five twenty-one. He could go for a walk. Both of those gave him the option to map out a strategic response for when he saw Caterina. Or he could visit the hotel bar. Throwing a couple back seemed like the best idea. He hit the shower and then sulked downstairs to the bar because the mini-bar wasn’t going to do it. On the way to the first floor, he passed the guy who’d let him in his room. Dude gave him a knowing glance, one that said sorry about trouble in paradise.
You have no idea
.

He rounded the corner toward the hotel’s bar and grill and came up short. Closed glass doors and a “closed sign” just about tore his heart out. Couldn’t even grab a beer. It was the second time tonight that he’d been hanging on a closed door. The hotel guy meandered over. Rocco didn’t trust him, turned, and walked away, this time more comfortable that he did have a sidearm.

“Excuse me, Mr. de Campoamor?”

Right. That was him. Undercover work seriously wasn’t his thing, and Rocco
really
didn’t want a conversation. He stopped and stared back at the closed doors, willing the guy to walk away.

“I believe your wife is still in there. She closed the place down.”

That got his attention. Rocco changed tactics, from ignore to inquire. “My wife?” He looked through the glass into the darkened room, and turned back. “Is in there?”

The man nodded, and Rocco couldn’t figure out his MO. “Seemed like she was having a bad night too. Asked the bartender if she could stick around for a little bit.”

Who was this guy? Some kind of hotel concierge couples counselor? Rocco was always ready for a setup, but the more he didn’t want to trust it, the more it was too obvious not to trust. What was the likelihood that enemy combatants were waiting for him on the other side of the door? Probably nil.

There was a much better chance that there was an angry woman with a master’s degree in torment and suffering plotting his slow demise. At least he’d get to see her one last time before he left or she offed him. Still, his palms tingled to make contact with the butt of his holstered gun, carefully concealed by a jacket.

“Thanks, man.” Rocco nodded and pushed open the door. Quiet piano music drifted from the corner. The lights were low. He didn’t see anybody. Not the enemy. Not his pseudo-wife.

“Cat?”

Nothing.

He walked through the empty tables to the deserted bar. “Caterina?”

The music stopped. He spun toward the silence, realizing the sad notes hadn’t been background music. It’d been his wife. He couldn’t see her, but he made his way over to the piano, hands in his pockets—a dead man walking toward a woman he didn’t know nearly enough about. What else would he never know about her once they parted ways?

She sat in the middle of the bench, dark hair falling over her face and hands caressing the white and black keys. She didn’t acknowledge him. He wished she’d just rip him a new one in words he didn’t know, but that was just selfish on his part. He’d like it too much, and she clearly wished he’d get out.

“I got nothing. I suck. Sorry I screwed our plans.” Apologies weren’t his forte, but that was about as honest as he could be.

Her head tilted. The dark hair obscuring her sweet face fell to the side, and she tucked it behind an ear. Dark bags discolored the skin under her eyes. Her trademark smile and sass didn’t surface. Sullen and silent. Not how he’d normally describe Cat Cruz, but there she was, looking as if her day couldn’t get any worse.

Until he walked in.

Regret socked him in the gut.

She turned to him, sliding her foot underneath her on the bench. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?”
Hey, what’s up, dick?
Or
Get lost. You ruined my op.
were more what he thought she’d say. “Just had something come up.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Yeah, no
. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “I can’t get into it, but… I just had to go earlier.”

She turned back to the keys and slid her fingers over them. “Sit with me.”

His fingers fidgeted in his pockets. He had prepared for war. Not this. Rocco chewed the inside of his mouth. “I should get going. Jared can pull someone else in on the quick. Or, like I said before, any of those MI6 boys would cut their nuts off to play house with you.”

Pretty pink lips gaped. Her eyes widened. “You’re leaving me?”

“Well, yeah.” Shifting his weight from one boot to the other, his hands knotted in his pockets, and his tangled mind couldn’t stop thinking she was so damn beautiful. “Just assumed going AWOL meant—”

“Did you have a choice?”

“Excuse me?”

She rolled her wrist. “Whatever it is, the reason you left, did you have a choice?”

“Nope.” He shook his head. Wished he did, tried like hell, but nothing helped. “No choice.”

“Sit with me.” Scooting over a couple inches, Caterina patted seat next to her. “
Siéntate
.”

Move over, reality shows. Spanish was now his crack. He dropped to the bench, sliding next to her. It creaked under his weight. Her spicy perfume hung faintly in the air. He wanted to lean close to her neck and breathe her in.

Caterina tapped a few keys, humming a tune. Very simple. The same notes over and over. He couldn’t place it, but it sounded more familiar and comforting than anything he could remember.

“I like working with you.” She sighed, leaning. Her shoulder touched his. “I don’t want you to leave. But, you, what do you want?”

Nothing appropriate for this conversation
. This was a land mine, especially when a slight touch made his skin warm. “Kitten…”

“I pushed you into this. I was manipulative.” She banged a key. The harsh noise punctuated her word. “It’s the job. My training. I do things almost without thinking. Push people even when I shouldn’t. You could be home, watching your awful TV.” She nudged his shoulder then dropped her chin.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

Her half smile and sad head shake were a punch to his gut. “You could be anywhere but here.”

Her voice was like velvet, flooding his senses and causing a rush of tingles to erupt on his chest. He swallowed and didn’t know what to say or where to bring the conversation.
Anywhere but here
. They were on the edge of a talk, and he’d never been one for that. He could say he’d been drugged, and the aftershocks were messy. But that would earn him pity. Or he could mention how badly he wanted to kiss her lips, taste her skin…

Cat’s slender fingers drifted over the piano keys. She’d given him just enough rope to jump in deep. Or strangle himself. Either or, but jumping anywhere with her sounded fun.

“I want to be here.” There. That was talking. A big explosion of honesty.

She nodded, her fingers played with more strength on the piano. “This is a good gig. El Mateperros is a big catch. Guess I can’t blame you for wanting to stick around.”

What? The job hadn’t entered his mind. “I don’t give a shit about El Mateperros.”

She angled her face toward him, and the browns in her eyes intensified. “But…”

“I want to be here.” His heart expanded in his chest. The beat, beat, beat thudding against his ribcage. He could barely swallow. Barely speak. All this honesty was going to kill him. “With you.”

“Me?” she whispered, her fingers stopping on the keys.

“I’m here for the wrong reasons.” With the tips of two fingers, he touched her wrist and skimmed up her silky forearm. Shivers bit his shoulders. Something about touching the smoothness of her skin made her even more irresistible. If he hadn’t fucked their partnership up enough earlier, he was about to do it again.

“You.” Rocco touched her chin, her jaw line. His fingers brushed into her thick hair, then back. Both of his hands cupped her face. “I’m here because I couldn’t walk away. From you.”

A sharp, little breath pursed her lips, and her eyes flashed like daggers. “You’re crazy.”

“About you.”

The surprise and defense washed away. Her head tilted, cheek resting against his palm, a fraction of a move that weighed heavily. It was a go, the thumbs-up he didn’t think there was a chance of getting. Ever. Especially after today. From under thick eyelashes, she stared up, so close and not moving. He lowered his lips to hers, and she softened. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. He’d walked in expecting a boot in the ass and now… His hands slid down her cheeks, her neck, across her shoulders.

Caterina sighed, and her eyes closed. Touching her, causing those little erotic, enticing sounds and reactions, he’d have her on the bar beneath him before he thought better of it.

“Roc.”

His lips slanted over hers. The contact was fire. Flames roared through his blood. Red wine flavored her kiss, rich and exotic. She tasted like heaven. Her mouth parted, inviting him. Their tongues met. He wrapped her into his arms. Holding her to him wasn’t nearly enough. The clothes had to go. He’d die to see the naked swell of her breast push against his chest. Just the thought made his cock throb.

“About time you kissed me.” Caterina twisted on the bench, straddling her legs around him and grinding against his lap.

Eating at her lips, smiling against her kiss, he needed her like he’d never needed anything. “You specialize in suffering. Wasn’t going to push my luck.”

One hand clutched her hair, the other wrapped around her back, holding her to him. He stood up, setting her on the front of the grand piano. The piano sounded around them in a chaotic chorus as they crashed against the keys. Her arms strangled his neck. She bit at his lip, her thighs squeezing around his hips. From this angle, even if she kept that dress on, he could—