Unforgettable (Untouchables) Page 5

  The man had been her fantasy once, when they’d both been too young to know better. The way he had touched her with his calloused hands from working at the lumberyard on the weekends. The memories of his caress still had the power to weaken her knees. Unlike the steroid-enhanced hulks her father and brother had employed, Blake was lean, but solid. The best she knew, or thought she’d known. Because the boy she’d once loved wouldn’t have been at Déjà Vu yesterday. He wouldn’t have scars on his knuckles or worry lines around his eyes. He wouldn’t know Logan and he wouldn’t kick a man in the ribs to keep him down. Confusion was dangerous, but she couldn’t clear her head enough to think.

  She took a deep breath, tried to school her features. By the way he frowned at her she must have failed. Did he think she’d run? From him? In a heartbeat. She wasn’t proud. Not anymore.

  The pressed trousers and silk shirt were a disguise, helping him to fit into… Into what? Something bad was going down at his club, and no amount of polish would change the facts. He looked softer here, surrounded by boy toys, but a barely-leashed predator lived inside him, like the dino in Eli’s little hands.

  “Don’t look at me like that, darlin’.”

  The word, spoken with the remnants of a Southern accent, caused a catch in her breath. “Like what? Like you just gutted me with a dull knife?”

  Eli looked up at her sharp tone. “You mad?”

  She smiled at the boy, doing her best to add a full dose of Aunt Vicki charm. “No, baby. Surprised.” An understatement. She was too stunned to pretend. Her information-gathering skills needed some serious work or she’d gotten out of the game too early, because she hadn’t known Blake was a player. She didn’t know him at all.

  The teakettle screamed like an alarm from the kitchen below. She didn’t cave to the impulse to find the nearest emergency exit. She led Eli back to the dinosaur village set up on the carpet by his bed. “I’m going to make myself some tea,” she told him.

  “I want,” he said, his innocent eyes begging.

  “Ha, not likely, kid. Your mom would have my hide.”

  “I’m a big boy.”

  “Really?”

  He smiled up at her, those baby teeth glistening. “Tea?”

  “Nice try, kiddo. Why don’t you hang out with Blake and I’ll go make my tea.”

  “No fair,” he whined, dropping to the carpet. Using the T. rex, he invaded a herd of herbivores, growling and munching.

  She took one last look at Blake. He wore the businessman camouflage well. The suit was high quality, and the gray shirt made of silk so soft she wanted to caress it. He didn’t look like a man who would sit and play dinos with a little boy. He didn’t look like a man with a death wish. Looks were deceiving. She turned on her heel and walked to the door.

  “That’s it?” he taunted. “You were always the queen of the exit line.”

  She flickered her gaze to the little boy playing on the floor. “What I have to say isn’t meant for little ears.” She was down the stairs before she could change her mind. She pulled the kettle from the stove, turned the burner off, and hit the mudroom in under than sixty seconds.

  “Going somewhere?”

  Far away from him, yet his voice made her pause midstride. It was raspy and deep and haunted her dreams. She grabbed her bag, hoping her keys and phone were inside. “I have an appointment.” Bad lie. She didn’t even know what day it was.

  “Victoria, we need to talk.”

  “No. We don’t.” Anything they needed to say happened years ago. Given his current life situation, he had chosen not to listen. Not her fault. She was out the door and down the back steps before he could stop her. He followed to the back door, but not beyond. “One of us has to watch the kid,” she taunted. “Apparently you’re the trusted one around here.” And knowing it stung more than a little.

  An hour later, parked outside her house, it still hurt. When Sofia needed someone to watch Eli, she didn’t ask Vicki, who missed her best friend terribly. She was tired of being the Lone Ranger, trying to bring a little justice to the world all on her own. Maybe it was a migraine hangover, maybe it was the fast food she’d eaten on the go, but she felt sick inside.

  The drive across town had given her time to do the mental math, and she didn’t like the answer. She didn’t like the equation. Blake’s presence in Eli’s room meant one thing. He was a freaking undercover cop. DEA? FBI? With his connection to Logan, probably FBI. And given his position at the club, his air of authority, he’d been undercover a long time. Risking his life. For what? Her thoughts stuttered at the implications. She couldn’t grasp the danger he was in, working at the club and now hanging at Sofia’s house. Why had Manny sent her to Déjà Vu? To Blake, because no way did Manny know their history. She’d kept him separate from her family.

  She could have lived the rest of her life not knowing her first love was an idiot undercover cop. She’d rather he be a mobster. At least as a mobster, she could get him clear, but a cop? There was no changing a man in blue, even when he was undercover.

  She parked in her drive, not overly worried about the people who had trashed her house. They wouldn’t wait around for two days. Whatever they were looking for, they’d either found it or given up. She wouldn’t stay long. The day was slowly fading and the air was cold on her skin as she approached the now-closed front door. She’d forgotten her jacket in her rush to get away.

  Chaos of the life-altering kind greeted her inside the front door. She closed the door and looked her fill. She’d seen it in a rush the first day, but now, she took time to inventory the damages. Stuffing and upholstery were scattered everywhere. Someone had taken vengeance on the sofa and love seat. They were a complete loss. Her favorite chair with its worn fabric was shredded. Photographs that once graced the mantel were swept to the floor. The damage seemed malicious, not like they were looking for something, but more like they were punishing her. For what?

  For being a Calvetti.

  She took a calming breath and grabbed a garbage bag from the equally trashed kitchen. What had they taken? Left behind? Destroyed? She filled three bags with the stuffing from her sofa alone, but she left the chair untouched. It hurt to look at. The wingback chair was the first piece of furniture she’d bought on her own. She’d gotten it from a crappy secondhand store near the university with her own money. Not her father’s. Not her brother’s. The chair meant something, yet it was destroyed like everything else in her life. And for the same reason.

  Someone somewhere hated the Calvettis, and she was the last one standing. From what she could gather, they’d methodically searched her desk and dressers before randomly trashing the place. They wanted information. Well, so did she.

  The crunch of a leaf outside alerted her before the powerful knock on the door. The light in the room was dim as night settled on the world outside. She’d been cleaning longer than she realized and here she was, alone and unarmed after dark. Her pulse tripped, skipped a beat. Where did she leave the keys and her kubotan? When had she needed it in her own home? Problem was, the space had been violated twice now. First with a dead body last summer, and now by whoever had broken into her house and tossed it.

  Another three quick knocks, impatient and strong.

  She quashed the panic with a deep breath. The people who trashed the place wouldn’t bother knocking. The old door didn’t have a peephole. She hadn’t wanted to mar the hundred-year-old oak, but with the week she was having, no way was she opening the door without knowing who was on the other side. She peered through the stained glass sidelights. If she looked through the clearest ones, she could make out the shape of a man. Large. Larger than her, anyway, but shorter than her brother would have been. When her gaze made it to the man’s upper body, she knew without a doubt.

  “Open up, darlin’. We need to talk.”

  Blake.

  The cool wash of relief was not because she was happy to see him, thank you very much. The knock at the door wasn’t someone trying to kill her
. No thugs. No threats. No seventy-four-year-old assassins. The tension eased, replaced quickly by anger, something to burn away the sudden adrenaline rush. She eased the door open enough to see him. “I don’t think so, Slick.” He needed a nickname, one that gave her some perspective, and “darling” didn’t cut it.

  He leaned against the doorjamb, his leather jacket folding into the wood frame. Mischief lit his eyes. “Talking was never our forte, if I remember correctly.”

  “Did we have something?” She picked a piece of string from the cuff of his jacket. “A hookup once or twice at a party. Nothing more.”

  He leaned in, his face crossing the threshold. “That the way you want to play it?” he asked, voice lower than she remembered, rough and sexy as hell. The man could read the phone book and turn her on.

  “It’s the way it happened, although I can’t say I’m surprised you remember it differently. You were definitely into me.”

  “Into you.” He brushed a finger over her arm, and she thrilled that it was still sandpaper-rough and oh so sexy on bare skin. “Darlin’, I was in you, over you, under you. Any way I could get you. No denying it.”

  A spark raced from his touch straight to her nipples. She pulled back her arms and crossed them over her chest. “That might have happened.”

  He laughed low, leaned in…and scanned the contents of her living room. “What happened here?” He pushed past, no longer gentle. The teasing light left his eyes.

  “What? This mess? Party got out of hand,” she said, her voice light, a little breathless. She glanced down at her hands as if her manicure mattered. “You know me. Spoiled little rich girl. The maid will get to it when she gets to it.”

  The clomp of his boots sounded like a soldier marching over hardwood floors as he took in the chaos, the bags of stuffing and torn fabric. “Was this retaliation for the other day? Because I made myself crystal clear that you were off-limits.”

  Her spine stiffened. She didn’t need his protection. “Of course not. It happened—”

  He turned, rested his hands on lean hips. The move pulled back the front flaps of his jacket, exposing the muscled chest behind his dress shirt. “When did it happen?”

  There was something wrong with her, because she knew better than to leak details. Lie. “How would I know? I’ve been out for two days. Maybe it was the men from your club. Maybe it was you.”

  He prowled the room, took in every detail, cataloging as he moved. Oh, she saw it now, the kind of cop he’d be. Driven. Detail-oriented. As dangerous as a hit man with a license to kill. He moved through the arch into the kitchen where food had been pulled from the fridge and tossed like confetti. The stench hit her now that she wasn’t in shock.

  “This happened the other day, didn’t it?” he asked.

  She glared at him in defiance.

  “Don’t bother lying. This happened before you came running to my club.”

  “Get over yourself.” She found her spine, straightened to her full height. “This has nothing to do with you. I didn’t ask you to come here. I didn’t ask you to interfere. I didn’t even ask you inside. Get out.”

  “Too late.” Gone was the flirtatious lilt and the wicked gleam in his eyes. “Pack a bag.”

  “Not a chance.” She settled against the edge of the desk. “I didn’t take orders from my father or my brother. I didn’t change allegiance when they died. No way am I taking orders from you.”

  “You’re wasting time. Until we figure out—”

  “We? Last word out of your mouth was not to darken your door again.”

  “You interfered with business. You won’t do it again.” His tone lowered to a commanding level. “What happened here changes everything. Until we figure out who did this and why, you’re with me.”

  The temptation to give in to his protection was like looking at the last brownie in the pan, but she had iron willpower. Plus, he hadn’t told her about his involvement with Logan and all its implications, so she taunted him to see how long it would take for the truth to settle between them. “And do what? Stay with you in your little drug haven?” she scoffed. “In your dreams.”

  “Argue later.” He pulled out a flip phone. “Pack now.”

  She stood in the arch to her kitchen, hands planted on her hips, forcing defiance into her stance. He was right about leaving, but admitting it stuck in her throat. The house had been compromised, and until she knew all the gory details, she had no business staying. She also couldn’t use a credit card to rent a hotel room for the night. Too easy to track, especially when she didn’t know if there was a threat, and if there was, who it came from.

  No way was she sticking with a cop, though. Even if he was an old friend. Of sorts.

  She didn’t have enough cash to rent a cheap room, even in a bad neighborhood, unless— If she could get to the storage facility, she’d have everything she needed to disappear. She cast a quick glance at him. “Fine. I’ll meet you somewhere.”

  “Do I look like an idiot?”

  He looked… Damn fine. Black leather jacket covered muscles she could only imagine, and his trousers showed off an ass so fine it could grace an underwear ad. What was the question? “I’m sorry?”

  “You try to run, darlin’, I’ll hunt.” His eyes glittered. “And I like the chase.”

  Her pulse jumped for all the wrong reasons. The thrill of the hunt was something she understood. Enjoyed on multiple occasions, but the challenge in his tone begged for a response. “I’m not going anywhere. With you.”

  “Pack.”

  She walked to him with a swing to her hips and a sassy smile on her lips. When she got to him, she pressed a finger to his oh-so-firm chest. Her fingers itched to explore all his taut flesh. The man obviously worked out. “Make me.”

  “Challenge accepted.” The bangles on her wrist jangled as he grabbed and pulled her close. “You wanna play?”

  “Said the spider to the fly.”

  He bent low, slow, torturing them both as their breath mingled. When he dropped—finally, finally—it was a slow glide as he brushed his lips across hers, relearning the feel of her, letting her rediscover him. Firm lips tempted as they slanted across hers, moved across her cheeks, leaving a trail of fire to her jawline. Her breath hitched when the hands at her hips pulled her close. The warmth of his hard body was the dream she tried to forget, but couldn’t. She wanted hard and commanding, something to dull her mind, but he moved slowly, tangling lips and tongues.

  This Blake was controlled, where the boy had raced to the main event.

  The years and the hurt and the world disappeared under his gentle assault. She drank him in, his breath, his tongue, the press of his lips. She gave herself to it, in anger for the lost years, the lost—everything.

  Lifting to her toes, she took her frustration out on him, forced the hard need into her kiss.

  “Jesus,” he muttered. He nibbled along her jaw and down the side of her neck.

  The pleasure hurt, the need like a fist in her chest. She struggled, pulled against his grip, but he held firm with one hand while the other swept her backside and lifted her close. The restriction of her hand trapped between them sent a burst of panic through her. She shoved against his chest.

  “Nice try, darlin’,” he whispered as he bit her earlobe, “but you wanted to play.”

  Chapter Five

  Blake twisted, putting Victoria between the counter and his frame. The way her body fit his was a thing of beauty, better than the memory. Hotter. She rubbed the velvet of her tongue against his, and his body throbbed with the need to own her. Mouths fused, he lifted her to the counter. She took advantage, drawing her legs around him, digging her heels into his lower back.

  He wanted slow. She wouldn’t let him. Even without use of her hands, she was lethal. Time had not dimmed the chemical reaction. “Can’t get close enough,” he mumbled against her neck. Their relationship had been an explosion from the moment they met until the moment she kissed him good-bye. His body burned wi
th the need for a woman he hadn’t seen in years. The second he saw her, he’d known they’d end up like this. He’d never met another who could light him up and turn him on like Victoria.

  He released her hand to cup her neck and turn her head for better access. He dived into her mouth, tasting the mint on her tongue. She moaned, ran a hand up his chest to tangle in his hair. The tug of it went straight to his crotch. The woman flat did it for him. Right up to the moment she yanked so hard, she took half his hair in a tight fist. “What the hell?”

  “Not the time,” she said, the breathy tone softening her words. Her chest heaved and she stared up at him with the green eyes of a gypsy and he knew she was just as wild. “Back off, caveman.” She pushed against his chest.

  He grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I would, darlin’, but your legs are holding me hostage.”

  A flush turned her cheeks a hot shade of pink as she released the legs manacled around his waist. He lifted her off the counter, but couldn’t help rubbing his hand over her jean-clad ass as he set her down. She shoved off, brushing his hands away, swaying her hips as she stalked from the room. He laughed low. It was good to see her again. Wrong time, maybe. Wrong place, definitely, but Victoria was the picture he compared all women to. It would be fun to see if the flesh-and-blood woman lived up to his memory of her.

  He heard her go back to what he assumed was the bedroom. Blake took a moment to take a few gulps of air and calm his body. A draft blew through the old house making it nearly as cold as the outside, and the leather jacket was more for show than warmth. He stepped out the back door to the deck, the fading sunlight casting the hillside and mountains into silhouette.

  The dark took control when the sun settled behind the blanket of the mountain. He watched the night, knowing what he had to do and hating to do it. No doubt he’d rather brawl with Mick than make the call, but Victoria was in trouble, and he was in the right place to fix it. Actually, he was in the worst fucking place for it, but no one else would give a shit about a mobster’s daughter. No way he’d walk away this time. She was worth the price he’d pay. Always had been, but he’d been too young to fight for her the first time. Fate had given him another chance. He wouldn’t make the same effed-up mistake again.