An Obsession with Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 3) Read online

  “The usual. Yes, of course,” she muttered, raising her glass to her lips once more.

  His thumb running over her inner wrist had her practically dropping the fine crystal rather than placing it back on the table. “Tell me about this,” he said, lifting her hand and running his nose across the elephant/Andrew tattoo on her wrist.

  “It’s a tattoo,” she said in a tone snootier than she’d used with him in days.

  “Is that so?” he said dryly. “What does it mean to you?”

  “That’s private. Tell me about your tattoos,” she forced herself to demand as she tried to pull herself from the moment. He needed to stop what he was doing with his thumb.

  A muscle flexed in his jaw, and a calculating light entered his eyes before he came at her with both barrels. “For all anyone in this fucking place knows, we walked in separately for modesty’s sake. I could have taken you in the car on the way here. You could have taken me, ridden me like the stallion I am. Or you could have interrupted my shave an hour ago by sliding up on the bathroom counter between me and the mirror to tempt me with a smooth shave of your own.”

  She gulped. “Maksim . . .”

  “I could have had you in our breakfast nook this morning, or maybe at lunch. Right on the table because you’re my favorite thing to eat.”

  Lust roared through her. I can’t allow him to do this to me. But her stupid body didn’t listen. It did its thing, tightening her belly, quickening her breath. As her cheeks flamed, Sydney was barely aware of Potty Mouth getting to his feet.

  “And now that you actually look the part of panting lover, let’s dance.”

  In a daze, the imagery he’d stuffed into her head making her core pulse, she allowed him to draw her up and bring her to a small dance floor surrounded by foliage in the back corner. Very private. She attempted to hold her breath when he turned and pulled her into his arms but couldn’t without getting dizzy. Dizzier. He made her feel as though she were a doll when her head barely hit his shoulder. Good God, the man was nothing but miles of hot muscle and . . . dammit, he smelled edible.

  “Your cologne is very distinct,” she croaked because she needed to say something. But not in that take-me-to-bed voice I just used! “I think I’d know it anywhere.” And would like it everywhere. All over me. I want to interrupt your shave!

  She tried not to groan out loud at her idiocy. This was so unnecessary, she thought as she dug deep for that control he always accused her of hoarding.

  She came up empty.

  Maksim had to fight to focus around the staggering amount of male satisfaction he experienced from Sydney’s words. At Micha’s slight nod—the one Maks had been waiting for—he zeroed in on the entrance in his periphery and waited until the man finished speaking with the hostess behind the podium and looked their way. Then Maks made his move.

  Dancing them nearer to the darkened corner, he bent his knees and tightened his arm around his Aussie’s narrow waist. When he came back up, he brought her with him, pressed hard against his front. “Play along,” he said quietly, his face still in her fragrant hair. He’d needed a break from seeing that fire in her eyes. That was doing nothing to make his job any easier, goddammit! “Don’t make a fuss—just play along, and I’ll explain later. Now tighten your arms around my neck and pretend you’re wishing we were naked.”

  The sweetest, most musical sound burst from her, and it took him a couple of seconds to realize it was her laugh. First time he’d ever heard it. She’d given him the odd reluctant snicker in the park last night, but this was a real, honest laugh. He drew back so he could watch her. Heated eyes sparkling, white flashing teeth, quick glimpses of her pink tongue. Fucking breathtaking.

  “Know what, lover?” Shit. His voice was a wreck. Deep and rough, as if he were already inside her. “I don’t wear cologne. Never have. So that means you’d know my scent anywhere. Like we’re animals.”

  Her impetuous outburst tapered off as he spoke, and the quiet little pant that was left behind had him role-playing with a fucking vengeance. “I’ll try to remember to explain this later,” he said before swooping in and taking that luscious mouth in a way he hadn’t yet. Full bore.

  Her startled gasp parted her lips, which in turn gave him all the permission he needed to finally sample what would be his prize for being a good, obedient boy. And what a fucking prize it was.

  His tongue went in with a slow sweep, and he licked into her warm mouth, drawing a needy little moan from her that had him hardening at a painful rate. Her tongue met his, circling around it, twining. He tipped his head to the side, deepening the kiss so that he was rolling and caressing those honeyed inner depths with an expertise that hopefully didn’t have her cursing him even as she enjoyed him. Her hands slid up from his shoulders; her fingers found the short hair covering his scalp.

  “This . . . isn’t necessary,” she said when he left her mouth to nip at her pretty jaw in an effort to slow this freight train down. He needed her breasts in his hands. Wanted her nipples between his knuckles. Had to have his tongue in her navel. Couldn’t live without the scent of her sex rushing into his nose.

  The sound he made then was disturbing because he was having a fuck of a time remembering that he was doing this for anything but the sheer pleasure of it. She shivered against him when he said, “Oh, yes, it is. It’s so fucking necessary it’s stupid.” He didn’t question the truth in that statement. A truth that shouldn’t have been there. None of this should feel necessary.

  Stepping even farther into the shadows, he wrapped a hunk of Sydney’s hair around his fist and pulled gently until her head was tipped back. Then he went at her neck, feasting on her fragrant skin. He made it to the silky material of her LBD—she pulled off the little black dress like no woman he’d seen yet—and wanted to rip into it with his teeth. “Goddammit, I need you bared,” he growled.

  “Yes,” she whispered, squirming in his embrace and rubbing against him like a little cat. “Bared . . .”

  Her agreement inflamed him. Actually, everything inflamed him—her touch, her scent, the feel of her slight body against his heavier one, her mouth, the accent that came out of it . . . Goddammit, he hadn’t been this turned on by just a kiss since he was fifteen.

  And wasn’t it funny how she didn’t seem to care that he was making out with her in a room full of people—even though they were all but hidden now—yet she’d looked down on him for doing the same with someone else the time she’d seen him in his club. He made his way back up the column of her throat, needing his little liar’s tongue again—she so fucking wanted him. He took it by sucking it back into his mouth. Sydney’s long nails scored his scalp, making him groan as he ran his hand up her ribs to finally cup her—

  “Well, isn’t this interesting?”

  The coldly delivered comment had Sydney’s pliant body seizing, and then she was pushing at his shoulders. Maks didn’t budge but to allow her to take her mouth away. With a last lingering kiss to the fragile slope of her perfectly straight nose, he brought his head up and looked toward the voice he’d hoped to hear. Micha was two feet away, he noted absently, not expecting anything less.

  Luiz Morales stood with a beautiful Hispanic woman on his arm. His wife. She looked . . . high. Her eyes were too bright and bouncy. She looked as if she were watching an exciting TV show that no one else could see.

  “Morales,” he said coldly. His tone matched the one he’d used when he’d spoken to him a couple of days ago. Maks had called to report that under no circumstances was Sydney to be approached by anyone in Morales’s organization. Before he’d hung up, he’d made sure the drug lord knew a follow-up call would be coming from Vasily. “Wasn’t expecting to see you so soon,” he added when Luiz continued to stare at Sydney as a kid would stare at a balloon as it floated up toward the sky. “Especially here.”

  Luiz turned furious eyes to him. “Why is that, Kirov? When I
own the establishment.”

  Sydney felt like marble against him, and he ran a soothing hand up and down her back. “I was under the impression this was Lucian Fane’s place.”

  “It hasn’t been for some time.”

  “Oh. My bad. Next time I’ll defer to Sydney,” he said, figuring she’d had enough time to gather herself. “She always knows how best to choose.” He felt her brace herself as he turned her, but he made sure to keep her firmly against him. Don’t worry, lover—I’ve got you, he tried to project when he felt her tremble.

  “Yes, when given a choice, I can usually be trusted to make the right one. Hello, Luiz. Is this your wife?”

  Whoa. It was all Maks could do not to lean over and look at where that tone had come from. And he’d thought she was sometimes cold with him. Christ. He was surprised icicles weren’t forming to hang off the Mexican’s nose.

  Luiz made reluctant introductions and, as though she’d been waiting to participate, his wife gushed an excited hello and nearly pumped Sydney’s arm clear out of its socket.

  The feel of Sydney’s hands settling on his where he’d put them around her waist, the back of her head coming to rest on his shoulder, was . . . satisfying. That was the only word he could think to describe it. Very. Fucking. Satisfying. And, unfortunately, it had nothing to do with proving a goddamn thing to the man in front of them.

  The role-playing would be for the sake of the outside world only.

  Vasily’s words echoed in the back of Maks’s mind, crushing a good portion of the desire lighting him up like a fucking motherboard. His Pakhan had given him strict instructions. Clear. Concise. And Maks had given him his word.

  He loosened his hold on Sydney just slightly.

  How the fuck had she gained the power to make him forget that?

  He wasn’t sure, but he was taking it back. Right. Fucking. Now.

  This was a role, and he’d damn well remember that.

  CHAPTER 7

  There was no denying it. Sydney was more thankful for the Russian standing at her back in that moment than even she thought she’d be when this time came. Seeing Luiz Morales now, the anger in his eyes, his threat from the last time they’d spoken echoing in her mind, she couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t stop imagining what he could have forced her to do with him, to him, what he’d have done to her, if not for the man holding her so securely. The same man who’d just blown her mind with a kiss that couldn’t be categorized no matter how hard she tried.

  “Since this is your first visit to Apetito, why don’t you join us for a drink?”

  Her nails sank into Maksim’s forearm at Luiz’s abhorrent invitation, so deep she heard him hiss.

  “I’m afraid we’ll have to pass this time, Luiz.” He didn’t sound even socially contrite, making Sydney want to cringe. Her mother would have died on the spot. “Sydney and I are celebrating, and we’d much rather do that on our own.”

  “Oh? And what might you be celebrating?”

  Whereas Maksim sounded almost bored, Luiz was the opposite. His tone implied a great deal of interest. He wanted details.

  Maksim loosened his hold, and she looked back at him over her shoulder, curious as to what he would say. Their eyes met, and something passed between them that she knew—for her, at least—had nothing to do with the game they were playing. It was personal and warm and so tempting it made her throat ache. It was a connection. Yes, she had her son in her life, and she loved him as much as a mother could. But as a woman, she hated to admit it, she needed more. She needed something like this. But not from this man. I shouldn’t want it from this man.

  “A personal accomplishment I have no interest in sharing,” Maksim answered, his tone cutting, as if the question never should have been asked.

  “Then I would suggest, since it’s so personal,” Luiz returned just as rudely, “you take it home and allow my patrons to enjoy their dinner without having to suffer through having to watch you two mate.”

  Mortification nearly rendered Sydney unconscious. Until she glanced around. Expecting scores of disapproving faces staring at them, New York’s elite wearing the same distasteful expressions she’d last seen on her parents’ faces, she was relieved to see nothing but tropical plants. Not one person was visible from where they were standing, which meant the patrons wouldn’t be able to see them either.

  Rather than be offended by the dismissal, Maksim was grinning when he looked down at her with something hot and dirty in his eyes. “My thoughts exactly,” he murmured. “Good night, Morales.”

  He took her hand, and, after nodding to the listless woman on Luiz’s arm, they walked away. When they reached the table, Maksim sat her down instead of allowing her to get her purse so that they could leave. He claimed his chair again.

  “Why are we sitting? Shouldn’t we just go?”

  His goatee curved with a wicked smile. “Not yet. Now talk about something random.”

  “But why?”

  “To quote Vincente, ‘Because.’ ”

  “Seriously, I really think we should leave.”

  “Even that little whine in your voice is appealing, Sydney. Do you know that?”

  “Cut it out,” she murmured, grabbing her small black purse. “Let’s go, Maksim. Please.”

  “Pardon?” he said politely.

  “I said, cut it out and let’s get out of here.”

  “And . . . ?”

  She frowned. “And what?”

  “That last part.”

  Okay. On top of expecting to feel a bullet between her shoulder blades any second now, her already stretched-to-the-limit nerves were fraying at an alarming rate. But she kept her voice level, her mother’s words from her teenage years echoing in her head. One does not raise one’s voice and shout like a lunatic. Control in any situation is what earns respect from those who will inevitably observe and want to emulate us. That nonsense had been spoken to Sydney more than once.

  “Please?” she repeated calmly.

  He nodded and made a go-on gesture with one of his hands.

  “Maksim?” she finished, unable to stop from grinding his name out from between her teeth. She’d managed to say it quietly, though.

  Settling back in his seat, he rested one hand on the table, the other in his lap. His purple dress shirt—which was so dark it appeared almost black—had the top two buttons open, and she had to force herself not to stare at the elaborate cross tattooed on his throat. His masterpiece of a suit was a stormy gray.

  “Liked it better the first time,” he complained, focusing on her mouth. “I’m used to the way you said it right there, but before you used a nicer tone. Normally your lips are a pretty pink. I’ve made them red. I like it.”

  She’d liked it, too, but would now put it behind her as an experience she hoped they wouldn’t have to repeat, because she just couldn’t be another forgettable face in some irreverent bastard’s history. She’d been there and done that, and even though the experience had resulted in her son, she didn’t want a repeat.

  Especially not with someone like Maksim.

  Her entire track record with men wasn’t a winning one. Andrew’s father had been a onetime thing in the bathroom of a frat house. Her second attempt at a relationship had been with a guy she’d met during her first month working at the club. He’d been a waiter who’d charmed her, pursuing her during their every shift together. She’d been nineteen then and lonely, wishing for love as every young girl did, desperate to know she could be seen as more than a teenage mother. She’d eventually given in, and they’d dated for about a month before she’d finally ended up in his bed.

  The same bed he shared with his live-in girlfriend.

  After that disaster, she’d given up for some time, concentrating on her little family and working her ass off, but she had eventually tried once more. She’d been twenty-three, Andrew a beautiful
five-year-old, and she’d met who she thought was a great guy through a friend of a friend. They’d been dating for about five months when he told her he was gay after all. She’d thrown in the towel then, not overly heartbroken, and had been single and much too wary ever since.

  Club life didn’t help. The nightly meaningless hookups, the sex between strangers, the drama of that-one-cheated-on-this-one-and-now-it’s-payback-time. Ugh. It was enough to jade even the most devout romantic.

  Gathering her dignity around her, and erecting what she hoped were stronger barriers against his charms, Sydney picked up her menu and wished she hadn’t gone down the failed relationship road in her mind. Depressing. “If we’re staying, maybe we should order. Are you hungry?”

  “Ravenous.”

  The heavily bound paper in her hands shook, and she looked beyond it to see those silver eyes staring right at her.

  “But we’re not ordering here. We’ll most likely be poisoned. The only reason I drank the wine is because I opened it myself.”

  Paranoid much? She placed the menu across the plate in front of her again and dropped her focus to his hands. Would he tell her what the symbols meant if she asked again? Nicely this time. Then again, maybe she shouldn’t. She’d heard it was a faux pas in the Russian organized crime world to—

  “I want you in my bed.”

  The gears in her brain rusted and seized midthought. Her gaze flashed to his, and the hunger that blazed there had her breath lodging in her throat. Oh, shitty-shit-shit. She made a noncommittal sound and reached for her purse, clutching it hard in her fingers. Sure, he’d said it before, in a variety of ways, but her resistance had never been so low.

  He snagged her wrist. “What do you have to say to that, lover?”

  She forced a “duh” look around the tremor fluttering from her center out. “Absolutely nothing. Didn’t you hear it? The nothing I said? Come on. We should go.” She got to her feet and had to step near him when he still didn’t release her.