Snow Blind-J Collins 4 (29 page)

The bathroom door opened and I heard the

clatter of metal crutches. Low male voices. Tony’s snappish response. I hadn’t asked how they’d explain 299

Martinez’s injury after our supposed return from the long weekend. He wasn’t healed. But if anyone could will himself to heal faster, it’d be him.

After the bedroom door closed, I trudged to the shower. The scent of Tony’s woodsy shampoo and lime shaving cream lingered in the humid air. An odd sense of longing swamped me as I stripped. Although I’d scarcely left his side, it seemed I hadn’t seen him for a week.

Had Tony felt that way during my stay in the hospital after the showdown with Leticia? It’d taken me weeks to find my balance.

Unfortunately, hot water didn’t turn my restless-ness into lethargy. I exited the bathroom in Martinez’s oversized silk robe, expecting to hear the TV blaring as Hombres security killed time in the living room.

But the suite was unexpectedly empty. The doors were locked with a note from Big Mike asking me to engage the dead bolts.

Huh.

I crept inside the darkened bedroom. A bare-chested Martinez sprawled in the middle of the mattress, a plain white sheet covering the lower half of his body. He’d shoved the pile of pillows over to my side of the bed. Typical. He hated pillows; he preferred to use me.

I watched him sleeping. Part of me didn’t want to disturb him; part of me couldn’t stomach twiddling my thumbs in the living room, especially if we were 300

alone for the first time in days. Truth was, I needed to be near him. I tried not to jiggle the bed as I crawled on and tossed the pillows to the floor.

Martinez automatically tucked my body against his, twining his fingers in my hair so we were touching from head to toe.

I finally relaxed.

“So damn tired,” he mumbled.

“I know.”

“Stay.”

“I am.” I kissed a tattoo-free section of bronze skin above his nipple and closed my eyes.

A series of gunshots woke me.

Terror beat from every pore; my heart thumped like a subwoofer. Where was I?

I caught a whiff of antiseptic. Then I remembered. I was in the suite above Bare Assets, not in a dirty alley in Sturgis surrounded by the putrid scents of restaurant grease and vomit.

But where was Martinez? I shifted and my hand smoothed down a muscled torso I knew as well as my own.

The skin was slick with sweat, not blood. No holes in his gut. I squinted at him. His brown eyes weren’t open and vacant with death. His lips weren’t bloodless and parted in a final parody of surprise.

Squeezing my eyes shut didn’t block the nightmare image: Jackal brandishing an old-fashioned pistol, laughing at my anguished shrieks as he emptied 301

the cylinder into Martinez’s chest. Laughing at my hair, my clothes, my skin, my soul, all awash in blood.

Tony’s blood.

The unshed tears poured out, grief so raw, so real, I was living that alternate universe. Even when Martinez’s heart beat strong and steady beneath my ear, and his chest rose and fell beneath my palm, I couldn’t make the dream fade.

Get control of yourself, Julie.

My tenuous hold on my emotions snapped like a cheap rubber band. I cried in silent misery, half-crazy with fear, half-dizzy with relief.

I couldn’t fathom going through gut-wrenching pain again. How would I survive another loss in my life? Especially him? I couldn’t. I’d break. I was damn close now.

Martinez’s fingers tightened in my hair a second before he said, “Don’t.”

Instead of laughing off his stern warning, air left my lungs in a frightened stutter and I sobbed harder.

His chest was slippery, as wet as my face. My fingernails left crescent-shaped marks on his pectorals as I clutched him.

“Julie.”

“I-I’m—”

“Ssh.”

“I-I c-can’t—”

“Stop.”

Tears blurred my vision. “I can’t—”

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“Try.”

“Oh, God, I’m suffocating.”

“Ssh, baby, just breathe.”

“I can’t stop thinking”—I swallowed hard and my voice came out a hoarse whisper—“that you could’ve died.”

An oppressive pause settled between us.

“But I didn’t.”

His gruff denial didn’t shame my tears into sub-mission. In fact, it had the opposite effect. The harder I fought for control, the more elusive it became.

My whole body shook.

“Julie.”

Breathe. In. Out.

“Calm down.”

A hiccupping cry escaped. “I can’t be calm because you can’t promise me you won’t die. You can’t promise this isn’t the last time someone will try to kill you.”

Tony’s soothing circular caresses in the center of my spine stopped.

I gulped air. My salty tears and inability to suck enough oxygen into my lungs reinforced the sensation I was drowning.

“Blondie.”

I burrowed into the spot where his arm and torso connected, searching for his warmth, using his flesh as a sound barrier, finding his scent as a balm to prove he was real.

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“Look at me.”

No
.

He tugged my hair, gently at first. When I wouldn’t budge, he pulled harder, trying to force my head back.

“I said:
Look. At. Me
.”

Slowly, I raised my chin and met his eyes.

Martinez placed his palm on my cheek, using his thumb to wick away the moisture from my face. He curled his hand around the back of my neck to urge me closer. “No more. Hit me. Jesus. It’d hurt less than wearing your tears.”

“I can’t—”

Then his mouth was on mine. Not the gentle communing of souls kiss I expected. But hunger.

The need he showed only to me. He hauled my torso higher, alongside his.

The sensations of his taste, his scent, his warmth flowed over me as I let him lead us where we both wanted to go, understanding the importance of him proving to me he could still take us there.

In the silence of the room, his rough-skinned hands made a loud scratching sound on the delicate silk as he slid it down my body on the outside of the robe.

His lips moved to my ear. “Take it off.”

“Tony, you’re—”

“Fine.” He tugged on the sash until the knot gave way.

“But I’ll hurt you.”

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“Only if you say no.” Hot, sweet, wet, hungry kisses tracked my throat, making me tremble and arch against him. “God. Please don’t say no. I need this.”

Not, I need
you
.

I went rigid, even when certain parts of my body had already gone pliant and damp with anticipation.

“
You
need this.”

The damn tears started again. He knew me so well.

Martinez kissed me as he peeled the robe away, baring me completely to his expert touch. He flattened his palm on my left hip and leisurely followed the bend in my waist up to my rib cage. His fingertips idly caressed the underswell of my breast. Rubbing his lips over mine in a seductive, wet glide, he murmured,

“I’m not dead, blondie.”

“But—”

“But if you don’t stop crying and put your hands on me right now, I might actually kill you.”

I managed a laugh and he kissed the corners of my mouth. Only he had the ability to change my mood from fear to fire so quickly.

After drugging me with more soul-stealing kisses, he pressed his forehead to mine. “Not so easy being on the other side of the sickbed, is it?”

“No.” I slid my mouth over his freshly shaven cheek, letting my hot breath flow into his ear, eliciting his deep shiver. Then I nipped his lobe with my teeth.

“I prefer to be on top anyway.”

“How well I know that.”

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I teased him with little whips of my tongue on the muscles straining in his throat while I eased the lightweight fabric sheet from his injured thigh. My lips mimicked the path my fingers created, trailing from his neck down his torso, leaving a sweet, breathy kiss on the wound on his rib cage, gradually making my way across the muscles quivering in his belly to his right hip, down to where the gauze covered his wound.

I circled a string of kisses around the bandage.

He hissed.

“You sure this won’t hurt you?”

“No.”

Not the answer I wanted. My gaze connected to his across his battered body.

“But I’d rather take the chance it’ll hurt than play it safe and feel nothing.”

I had to look away.

He relaxed into the mattress, giving me control.

It humbled me, having this man’s unwavering trust.

I used my hands, my mouth, my constant caresses to create his mindless pleasure. I took him over the edge and greedily returned for more, gorging on the dark, raw taste of him. Fueling my need with his.

“Julie.”

“Ssh. Let me.”

By the time he was hard and ready for round two, a desperate-edged hunger crackled between us like lightning.

And still I would not be rushed. Or denied my prize.

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I straddled his pelvis, careful to keep my knee from nicking either his injured rib or his leg and putting an end to this before it began.

Aligning his sex with mine, I played a game of tease and retreat. Recently our trysts were fast, intense, and frequent—not that I had any complaints—but I craved the unhurried, sweet intimacy we’d denied ourselves in our usual blaze of lust-fueled passion.

“Julie. Please.”

Was I hurting him? I quit moving. “Want me to stop?”

“No.”

“What?”

“You don’t need to go slow for me.”

I paused. “Maybe I need to go slow for
me
.”

He said nothing.

I studied him, bared before me. The tiny beads of sweat formed on his brow. The arc of his long, dark eyelashes. The warm breath expelled from his nose in shallow bursts. The slash of color across his high cheekbones. The set of his jaw and mouth, especially the ripeness of his lips. His face was a perfect mix of male ferocity and masculine beauty—an iron-willed man. A man strong enough for me.

Was I strong enough to bare everything to him?

I planted my hands flat on the mattress beside his head, angling my body so we were face to face as well as skin to skin.

“Tony. Look at me.”

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His lashes fluttered and he locked his gaze to mine. Everything I’d ever wanted was right there in his eyes.

“I’m done playing it safe with you.”

He cradled my face in his shaking hands. “Meaning what, blondie?”

“Meaning, I love you.” One push and he was buried deep inside me. I kissed him with the zeal I always did, but it seemed different. Truer somehow.

Martinez groaned. His hands slid over my skin and clamped on my ass as I rocked into him. The world fell away.

And oddly enough, my world finally felt right.

After Martinez dozed off, I ventured into the living area for a cigarette. Big Mike knocked four times and I let him back in the suite. Once the locks were secured, I realized he’d come alone.

He pointed to the bedroom. “Asleep?”

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you.” He closed the bedroom door, unnecessarily, because I figured the soundproof-ing in the apartment would keep our conversation private. “Remember the night Martinez was shot and you asked if we needed you to track down Jackal? Turns 308

out we do.” Big Mike shot a quick look over his shoulder at the door. “But bossman can’t know about it.”

With the brutal honesty I’d just given Martinez, now I was supposed to lie to him? Christ. What bad things had I done in a past life? Because the universe fucking hated me. “Why not?”

“He’ll see anything as a danger to you.”

“Is it?”

“Maybe. Jackal expects Tony to handle vengeance personally. Which is what Jackal wants and I’m sure it’s what Tony’s planning. You helping us track Jackal down is letting us take care of the problem and protects bossman, which is our job.”

“Wouldn’t that be going against Martinez’s direct orders?”

“We protect him even against himself.” Big Mike squinted at me. “So, you in?

Jackal wearing a toe tag was beneficial to everyone, no matter who pulled the trigger. “Yeah. But fair warning. If Martinez catches us, I’m rolling on you. I won’t fuck up my relationship with him for anyone or anything.”

“Deal.”

“I take it you have an idea where Jackal might be?”

“No. But Nyla does.”

“Why?” I exhaled. “She Jackal’s weakness?”

“No. Meth is Nyla’s weakness. She’ll surface when her supply runs out. Our sources swear she hasn’t 309

made a buy since the night you saw her at Dusty’s.”

“So? Why couldn’t someone else be buying it for her?”

“See, that’s a logical assumption. But crank heads ain’t logical. That’s why they’re addicts. We’re thinking she’ll make contact with the supplier tonight or tomorrow night. The other thing; Nyla trades sex for extra hits. The main supplier she uses is into kinky shit and Nyla gets off on being the only chick around who’ll do the nasty stuff. It’s another drug for her.”